---------
Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars IV: Infernus
(p)
Saturday, May 12, 708 CR
Charles frowned, fingered the severed flesh of
his tail one last time, before letting it fall
behind him. The wind had completely stilled and
the stone bridge no longer filled him with dread.
Their steps carried them across the abyss and
into a broad, winding ravine between low ridges
of jagged rock. The land remained barren with no
sign of life. He could hear in the distance more
screaming but nothing any closer.
His gait felt awkward with half his tail missing,
but Charles adjusted after a few minutes and felt
his balance restored. He walked beside his
protector, right hand wrapped about his
Sondeshike, the left gripping his cloak, though
he felt no more need to cover his snout. Whatever
influence the blood dust had held over him was
broken. It stank and revolted him but nothing more.
To his surprise, they walked unmolested for more
minutes than he could count. The ravine widened
and flattened until they reached another ledge
and beheld a vast plain spread as far as his eyes
could penetrate the crimson gloom. In the midst
of that plain he beheld a vast circle of stone,
fiery columns at every turn, and a monstrous
castle capping the field whose towers seemed
deformed as if each had been beaten into place
with a giant hammer. The walls seemed to be giant
arms stretched outward from the fortress to
encompass everything in sight. Charles tried to swallow but had no spit.
His protector's voice filled him deeper than
before, as if it were reaching to the wounds
already healed. The abode of the master of this
realm. The bridge and our escape lie beneath the
center of his arena. Do not hesitate to strike
anything that attacks you in this place. Not even for a breath.
Of course, Master Åelf.
A narrow track along the ledge guided them down
to the plain; at points it turned too steep to
walk and so they scrambled part of the way.
Charles grimaced at each bump of his tail stump
against one of the stones, but tried not to think
of it or the ruin of his ear. One hand over stone
at a time they climbed down until the slope
leveled and they were able to walk again.
The plain stretched in every direction, seeming
wholly empty but for the castle and arena. The
screams that echoed faintly in every direction
were now accompanied by some other sound. Charles
grimaced as he realized it was a thousand
monstrous voices cheering some infernal victory.
He tried not to let his imagination ponder
anything they might see there, but he could still
remember the image of the black armored daedra.
He could not stop the shudder from shaking his fur.
The trek across the plain did not take nearly as
long as the distance suggested it would. What
demons chose to watch from those walls appeared
more interested in what transpired within than
what lurked without, and Charles and Qan-af-årael
reached them without any alarm sounding. They
were fashioned from the same blood-imbued rock
that festered in every direction. Charles again
had the impression that they were beaten into the
ground instead of built up from it.
He saw no opening, but Qan-af-årael turned to the
right and after only thirty paces came to a cleft
in the wall wide enough for both of them to pass
through. Charles gripped his Sondeshike so
tightly that his claws pricked his palm. Darkness
closed in around them as they passed through, but
the Åelf seemed to know the way twisting without
striking either wall. He turned Charles and the rat obeyed.
They emerged in the midst of a long series of
wide steps, rising behind them and descending to
the arena floor before them. On every side
Charles glimpsed some monstrosity. Hell hounds
bayed where they were chained, gremlins cavorted
and hooted in tiny, nasty voices, while larger
creatures roared their approval in tones that
could grind stone. For the moment, their
attention was on the arena floor and both Åelf
and rat went unnoticed. They walked down the steps.
Charles felt his eyes drawn to the castle yawning
over the field. A figure garbed in black armor
lounged upon a hideous throne of skulls, one hand
wrapped about a basalt iron chain. The coils of
chain dangled off the parapet and into the arena,
ending in a spiked collar about the neck of a
gargantuan wolf-monster, its red-stained fur so
soaked in blood and gore that it was impossible
to tell what color it might once originally have
been. The beast was gnawing into the entrails of
some other creature it had just killed, something
that might once been man-shaped. All that could
be recognized now was a man-like arm ending in a
golden lion's paw. Charles averted his eyes.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and another
wall, this one only slightly higher than the rat
himself. Qan-af-årael hoisted himself onto the
wall, and then helped Charles scramble over. They
dropped a good twenty feet into the arena below.
Charles brushed a bit of dust from his scouting
cloak, and then resumed following the Åelf toward
the center. They walked a good thirty paces
before the roar of approval and malicious delight
of the crowd gave way to bewilderment and calls for blood.
The thing in black armor stirred in its seat, the
chain in its hand rasping over the stone like a
coiling snake, and Charles felt his neck tighten
even without the collar. The beast gorging itself
at the other end of the chain lifted its head.
Eyes of solid, featureless gold blazed with fury
at the intrusion into its domain, and
blood-soaked jaws spread in a warning growl. Fire
licked the ground at its feet, followed by
spindles of ice lacing the dusty sand covering
the arena floor. None of it came near them, and
for a moment Charles wondered if they were not
mere warnings to keep away from its kill.
Ah, new victims for the Beast! shouted the
thing in black armor. The voice thundered and
almost cavorted in its malevolence and amusement.
The head, limned with red at every crevice,
turned toward Charles. Handicap your rage here,
little Rat, and I guarantee you a slow and torturous death.
Charles tensed at the voice, fearful that a chain
would sprout from his neck again, but there was
nothing before him but the sand, the glimmers of
ice, and the immense wolf wreathed in a wintry
tempest. Qan-af-årael continued walking, though
from his hands the tree blades sprouted, burning
a bright blue instead of their usual green.
Charles started spinning the Sondeshike, eyes transfixed on the wolf.
From the ends of each thread of ice sprang
another five wolves, equal in size and
indistinguishable in appearance. The six wolves
opened their jaws as one, and from those maws
erupted a shower of ice that flashed across the
arena. Qan-af-årael swung both blades and
deflected the worst of the storm, but the
stinging frost still burst through. Charles
raised the spinning disk, and felt the stab of
chill rush through him. Icicles shattered against
his shield like hail against stone.
From his right a large shape bounded. Charles
turned to strike, but met only air as his staff
passed through the image of the beast, seeming to
shatter it into a thousand immaterial fragments.
He tensed when he realized it was an illusion and
spun on his feet anticipating a real attack from
behind. But this was only a probe of skill and
perception, and nothing but cold struck at him,
snow and ice closing a veil around him. Charles
spun around, trying to locate the wolf, and then
realized with sickening suddenness that he could
not find Qan-af-årael in the maelstrom either.
The fire of anger will burn through the snow,
little rat! the mocking voice called out,
booming across the field and over the cheers of
the crowd. They shouted a name, a name of hard
edges and slashing bite, but he allowed none of
it to distract him, not even the poisoned
suggestions. Anger clouded his thoughts and he needed them clear.
A second wolf struck him from behind, but this
too shattered at the merest touch of his
Sondeshike. The scattered blistering red fur
enveloped him for a moment and he gasped at the blindness that took him.
And then he heard it. So subtle and so small,
something that an untrained ear would never
discern, but also something that came and went so
quickly that only reflexes trained for a lifetime
could understand in time. He heard the faint
clinking of a chain. He knew that sound for it
had almost been his chains. The wolf, the real
wolf and not one of its illusions, had leaped into the air at his right.
Charles ducked and lifted the Sondeshike in an
overhand swing just as the monstrous beast
hurtled through the screen of sleet. The staff
struck it in the shoulder, diverting its
trajectory just far enough aside that its jaws,
which snapped shut with the finality of a
headsman's axe, claimed but a whisker from the
rat's jowls instead of the entirety of his face.
The wolf landed behind him, metal claws of one
forepaw grinding into the stone for a pivot point
to maintain its moment, and then hurled itself
back in for a second bite. Charles twisted to
bring his staff to bear, but the beast moved as
lightning, faster even than a Sondecki locked in
the Tanze. He would draw blood.
Through the tempest, the blue fire of the tree
sword crashed down with a thunderclap into the
beast's back. Charles flinched and brought his
hands up, expecting to be battered backward by
the bisected pieces of the wolf, but the blade
did not pierce its bloodied fur. The beast was
instead driven for a moment into the ground.
Twisting in place without even a hint of pain,
the wolf snatched the end of the blade in its
jaws, and bit through. The light flared,
momentarily resisting the assault with an
ear-flattening screech, before exploding in a cerulean cascade of sparks.
The black-armored thing laughed, and his voice
cleaved through the battle noise as clear as if
he were standing next to them. What's the matter
rat? Have you forgotten how to fight? Use the
rocks! They are yours to command; they will bend
to your need; they will answer to your rage!
Charles resolved anew not to turn his flesh to
stone for any reason as he turned the Sondeshike
hand over hand, twisting it back and forth before
him as he drove through the wintry veil. Swirls
of white cascaded around him as he struck at the
beast's momentarily unprotected head. In
response, the golden-eyed wolf leaped upward
thirty feet into the air from a dead crouch,
opened jaws vomiting forth a wave of ice that
splashed across the ground, engulfing both
Charles and Qan-af-årael. The wolf then vanished
back into the fog of snow, impossible to follow
among all the swirling gusts and illusory shadows.
Charles dashed the Sondeshike against the ice
encrusting his feet; two blows was all it took to
free them. It took only moments, but it still took too long.
The rattle of the chain reached his ears just as
he drove the brass ferrules into the ice the
second time. Without other options, Charles
shrank as fast as he could, dwindling almost to a
full rat, and the Beast's red jaws slashed
through where Charles been standing only a moment
before. Charles willed himself to grow again,
tight fist rising in an uppercut arc, only for
the Beast to yank sharply to the side, jerking
its iron chain hard against the back of the rat's
knees. A shaggy shoulder slammed the rat further
off-balance an instant later, toppling him
complete. His eyesight filled with slavering jaws
and bared teeth, his nose with icy,
blood-metallic breath, and his chest was crushed by heavy paws.
And then suddenly the wolf's head was not there.
Or rather, half of its head flew off in a spray
of gore when a violet nimbus so dark it seemed
black, ripped through the air and cleaved the
monstrous wolf's head in twain. Charles slid both
his Sondeshike and his legs between him and the
wolf's body and heaved upward, catapulting the
corpse into the air as Charles sprang back to his feet.
But the wolf with half a head, to the rat's
surprise, landed on its feet. A snarl escaped its
throat as it swung a somehow undiminished glare
back to rat and Åelf. The blow had removed the
top right half of its head, from the left eye
down to the jaw. All of it grew back as if the
flesh were a swarming mass of leprous thread
tying itself together. But unlike the rest of
him, this flesh and fur regrew white and the eye
that opened was a soft but lively brown.
For a moment Charles felt a stab in his heart.
His gaze swept across that almost friendly
half-visage, the spiked collar at his neck, and
the long, iron chain that bound him to the master
of this realm. He trembled in the certainty that
this is the sort of monster he would have become
had he accepted the chain still offered to him.
This beast had once been a man like him.
But that two-faced moment did not last. The great
wolf shook its head, and the red coating the rest
of its body seeped across to swallow the white,
as if the blood were a living thing ever feasting
upon the beast's hide. The brown of its eye
flared into golden fire to match its malevolent
twin. Its paws braced and its jaws stretched
wide, each fang shimmering with a unearthly white
light in the glow of the deep violet blades while
the rest of it seemed to retreat into darkness.
Its maw was a cavernous emptiness into which no living thing could come out.
Energy blasted at the Åewlf in bolt after
thunderous bolt, slamming against Qan-af-årael's
parrying purple blades like a battering ram
against a castle wall. The warring magics clashed
with a scream so strident that Charles clasped
his paws over his ears, nearly defeaned. Even the
hellish crown cringed away from the aural
assault. Charles began to fear that even
Qan-af-årael might not be able to withstand this,
and he was not about to wait to find out. He
danced back out of the way, lifted his arms, and
flung them downward. The burst of Longfugos
ripped up the surface of the rock and ice,
carrying with it a sheen of white and red in its
wake like a wedge aimed directly at the wolf's
head but the beast split itself with illusion and
leaped in three directions to dodge the strike.
Its chain, glowing as if white-hot, hissed as the
ice-filled blast struck it but otherwise showed
no damage. The lightning bolts ceased and did not return.
Good! Good! Use your fury, Rat! Exult in your
hate and anger and you can defeat the Wolf!
Charles instead sang beneath his breath the Song
of the Sondeck. He would not hate and he would
not be dispossessed of his Calm. And in the
moment of clarity his denial gave him, an idea
arrived. Everything in this place yearned for
violence. He could strike his enemies without
ever touching them. Why not the stones as well?
They were ravenous for it. Could he touch them without being touched by them?
The wolf tilted back its heads and loosed a
thunderous howl that split the sky and shook the
stands. Charles struggled to keep his feet while
the Åelf remained immovable. From the stands
rushed forward all of the hell hounds that had
been gathered in observance. Some of these came
up short when their masters restrained them, but
more than three dozen rushed onto the field from
every direction, jaws slavering for blood.
Charles sucked in his breath, raised his
Sondeshike in the air, and then struck the ground
beneath his feet. A ring of stone erupted around
the arena, knocking most of the hounds backward
and even impaling some who yelped in anguish as
their blood splattered in every direction.
Another dozen continued to rush forward. He
struck the earth again and half of them were
balked. They scrambled to climb over the wall of
jutting stone, but it bought them time.
The war wolf actually appeared surprised by this
attack, but that surprise only seemed to delight
him, as he licked his jaws and brought another
swirling tempest into life: this one a mix of
both brimstone and snow that stung, singed, and
chilled at the same time. Golden eyes glinted with savor.
Hold him at bay a moment longer. I stand upon the bridge.
Charles felt a twinge of anger slipping in
through his hands and up his arms. The
black-armored figure rose from his seat and
applauded, both hands holding chains. The first
was the iron chain about the wolf's neck. The
second was spectral and incomplete. Charles
renewed the song in his heart. He would not let that second chain appear.
The wolf thrust its tornadoes of ice and fire
loose, and they careened one off another, turning
the air into a churn through which the rat found
it impossible to see. He twisted the Sondeshike
again, stepping deftly through each hole in the
air, always keeping near the Åelf. His heart
raced as he danced, but he held tight to that sliver of Calm he'd found.
Jaws snapped from his left but the rat heard no
chain and he ignored it. The bite crushed down
upon him before vanishing in a wisp of ice that
cut his flesh and made his ruined ear twitch. The
clink of chain then sounded from his right, and
he flicked the Sondeshike without touching the
ground. The stone rose up in a long set of
spikes. The wolf appeared through the midst of
his tornadoes, crashed into the spikes and
shattered them with its body. Its momentum
stalled, the wolf regathered its strength and
leaped again with a snarl. Charles flicked his
staff upward and a tower of stone erupted from
the ground to knock the wolf aside.
Brilliant! Now strike with anger unfurled and your stone will crush all!
A glimmer of weight touched his neck and Charles
began to sing the Song out loud. The weight
vanished with those sweet words that soothed his
heart. Still he could hear the chain-bearer's mocking laugh and trembled.
The snarling of the hell hounds that had crossed
his barrier turned his ears. Charles spun on his
paws, smacking each out of the way with gusts of
air and force, doing his best not to move the
rock unless he had to. Charles heard the snap of
bones and the yelps of pain but refused to savor
them. He struck to kill them because he must, not
for love of their death, but for love of his family.
Even so, there were more rushing him from all
sides than he could stop, and the beast wolf was
still out there prowling and waiting for its
chance to fell him low. Charles sucked in his
breath, and then swung the Sondeshike out in a
wide arc all around. The ground in every
direction save for near the Åelf erupted into a
thousand spears so narrow and sharp that over a
dozen of the hounds were skewered immediately.
The rest bayed and snarled at the periphery,
clawing at the spires with no way to get through.
The chain stretched out from the black-armored
thing's mailed hand, rushing out to meet the rat.
He could feel the collar at his neck as a weight
coming into being. The chain did not quite reach
him, but another such blast from his hands would
tie him to it forever. Charles wailed at the deception of material strength.
He felt it more than heard it. A gust of freezing
wind whipped his cloak from behind, and Charles
spun in time to see his stone spear barricade
engulfed in a coalescing wave of ice. The
blood-red wolf leaped atop the nullified obstacle
with a triumphant snarl, and then launched
intself at Charles with jaws and claws
outstretched. Charles lifted his Sondeshike,
ready to sweep out another thrust of stone, but
into that moment came a still, small voice, like
a whisper that even a gentle breeze would steal
away. But through the cacophony of the cheering
mass of demons and monsters, through the snarling
of the attacking hounds, through the throbbing of
Qan-af-årael's efforts, and even through the
mocking laughter of the demon lord, this voice touched him.
In weakness power reaches perfection.
Charles did not swing his Sondeshike, staring
down death for the moment unafraid. The paws
smashed into his chest and the two of them
crashed into the ground, shattering the remnants
of ice still there. He felt the nearly-completed
collar dig into his shoulders as momentum bore
him into the rock. Before him, paws ready to
eviscerate his gullet, jaws eager to feed, was
the red dire wolf. Charles gasped for breath but
found none, the brutish weight of the beast nearly collapsing his ribcage.
The beast snarled its victory and then glanced
down at his chest as if choosing where to take
its first bite. From the corner of his eye
Charles saw Qan-af-årael's violet blade descend
toward the creature's back. All time seemed to
still into that moment. Golden eyes, blazing in
their fire, fixed upon his chest, and then froze.
A blink as the countenance of the wolf changed,
softened, filled with surprise and wonder, as if
confronted with something from a half-remembered
dream. The tongue lanced between fangs, shaping a
word that could not be uttered by its throat as
anything more than a choking whimper.
A hopeless plea lived in that shaping and in
those golden eyes. An uproven yet absolutely
certain conviction filled Charles in that moment.
He knew this creature not just as a victim of the
Lord of Rage, but as a man and a fellow Keeper.
The purple blade descended even as the wolf
darted its head forward to strike at Charles'
throat. Teeth crunched into the ephemeral collar
with a shriek of rending spellcraft. Charles
thrust his Sondeshike upward against the wolf's
side, sprawling them both away from Qan-af-årael
and against the rocky spears; the wolf's back
passed a hair's breadth from the touch of his protector's blades.
Time crashed back into them both, and the wolf
bounded up the spears and snapped its jaws in a
fury rekindled. The only difference was the
direction: outward. The remaining hellhounds
balked and milled in confusion, not daring to
risk the War Wolf's abruptly turned wrath and,
for a moment, an unexpected stillness blanketed
the arena. Charles ran one hand over his neck and
savored the feel of nothing but fur there. His
hand fell down onto his chest, and trembled at
the stitching of the Long Scout heraldry there. A
whisper passed his tongue, You're Misha's friend.
NO! A voice thundered with such magnitude that
the rat lost his balance. A wave of power crashed
into the spears, shattering them into flecks of
sand and hurling the Beast through the far arena
wall with a crunch of stone. YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE!
The black-armored man stepped over the wall into
the arena, his form stretching nearly a hundred
feet into the air. A blade dark and twisted,
limned with bloody light, filled the hand that
had once gripped a chain unforged. Hell hounds
yipped in terror as they tried to get away.
Several fell beneath his boots and were crushed.
Gremlins flew down from the stands and fought
over the ruined jelly left behind.
The bridge is ready, Charles. You must go now.
Qan-af-årael's real voice felt so soft that for a
moment Charles thought it stranger than the
tyrannical blast from the lord of rage. His eyes
flicked to the Åelf and marveled as he too seemed
to swell in proportion to match that of the
deadra. His countenance was imperious and full of
a majesty untouchable by death. At his feet lay a
circle of darkness that pushed apart the red
sands of the arena like a beast shouldering aside
the earth as it sprang forth from its burrow.
NO! YOU ARE MINE, LITTLE RAT! Out of the corner
of his eye, Charles saw the sword drive
point-first into the arena floor. The ground
split in a thousand sections, fiery red light
erupting in a mist of flame through each crack.
Charles danced back from the nearest blaze,
wincing as the searing heat reduced the fur on
his left side to blackened curls. The flesh
beneath screamed and burned as on the day he'd been struck by the Shrieker.
Qan-af-årael swung his violet blade through the
flames; they wailed and fell leaving no trace of
their presence. Charles crawled forward, barely
able to move either left arm or leg. He kept the
Sondeshike tucked beneath his good arm as he
dragged himself toward the bridge. Only a few
feet separated him from the nightmare conflagration and safety.
The Åelf stepped forward a pace, his rich blue
eyes ageless and unquestionable in their
authority. He does not belong to you. But take
that which is yours. So saying, the Åelf reached
down, grasped the iron chain, and lifted the
half-buried dire wolf into the air. With a twirl,
he cast the blood red beast toward the lord of
rage, who was so shocked that any creature could
defy him that he paused just long enough for the
wolf to bounce off the black plate covering his face.
YOU DARE! I WILL DESTROY YOU BOTH! he roared
and the earth heaved and dust howled in every
direction. The crowds in the stands started to
scatter. A brilliant plume of crimson light
cascaded from the armored thing's body, blasting
outward like a detonating storehouse of dragon
dust. Charles stretched his arm as far as it
could go, slipped his hand into the gap between
the folds of the arena sand, and then was upended
head over heels when the wall of tremendous
energy struck him. Into the gap he fell and all
through the bridge the force thrust him. For a
single moment all became dark and silent as if
his eyes and ears had been plucked out.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
_______________________________________________
MKGuild mailing list
[email protected]
http://lists.integral.org/listinfo/mkguild
