Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx
Pars V: Ascensum
(i)
Wednesday, June 23, 724 CR
He bowed, a full goblet held adroitly in each
hand such that neither spilled a drop, and she
curtsied in return. Turning away she was soon
engulfed by her small circle of ladies and
retainers as she went to meet Bryn at the tourney
gate. Stepping around the table, Charlie cast a
glance toward Maysin who excused herself from the
company of the other steppe-born ladies. He
waited for her and when the zebra reached his
side he favored her with a warm smile. Thank you
for accompanying me this day, Maysin. I would
like a little privacy for the nonce so you may
enjoy the rest of the day as you wish.
The zebra stopped and her ears fell flat against
her mane. Are you all right, Charlie?
He nodded. I think so. It is just... what I do now I must do alone.
Her ears lifted again and Maysin's posture
relaxed. I leave you to it then, milord. Will
you have need of my services tomorrow?
He blinked and then laughed. I have no idea. Surprise me!
Her braying laugh echoed in his ears even after
she had turned and headed for the main entrance
to the High Box. Charlie slipped into the shadows
beneath the box, still deftly carrying a full
goblet in each hand, where the smell of hay and
horse suffused his nose almost immediately.
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to
the dim light and the coolness of the shadows was
a welcome respite from the growing mid-day heat.
His whiskers and toes led him without error
around the many pitfalls and stumbles in the dim
light until his eyes adjusted, so it was not
difficult for him to find the goal of his search.
Standing upon a bale of straw and leaning upon
the topmost railing of a stall box, Baron
Matthias was idly scratching the brow of a
powerful golden steed that appeared well pleased
with the attention. Charlie made his way over and
leaned against the stable wall nearby.
They truly are magnificent creatures, the young
rat observed. Charles turned his gave from the horse and down to his son.
They are not truly the same as those upon whose
backs we crossed half of Galendor, however. Their
blood is mixed with that of the Tagendend
chargers. Charles observed, accepting the goblet
that Charlie offered. They sipped in
companionable silence for a few moments, Charles
turning to lower himself down onto the bale upon
which he had stood. A saddle blanket covered it,
making for a comfortable seat without the scratch
and poke of naked straw. I saw you and Erick
have words. Is all well between you?
Charlie continue to lean against the side of the
stable, the inquisitive snuffle of the horse
within stirring the short fur of his head between
the slats. No, he offered honestly. He is
still displeased with me for injuring you. As he has the right to be.
Charles sighed and nodded before looking up. His anger will pass.
Charlie nodded, crossing to another blanket
covered bale and sitting down to face his sire.
It always does. He believes I have done his
house a grave injury, and humiliation. I admit
that, but it will take time for my apology to
make its way through to him. And still, Charlie
dropped a hand to pluck at the mithril crescent moon that hung at his breast.
Matters of faith, Charles nodded with a moue of displeasure.
Will pass, as all things do, in time, Father.
Charles raised his gaze, one eyebrow quirked. Father, now? Not sire?
Charlie laughed, warmly; ruefully. On pain of
applied switch, Father, from mother and Mother
and even Father. They demand my acknowledgment of
our relationship, and I admit my error. From his
seat he bowed across at the Baron before him.
And my anger, even were it fresh and burning
within my breast, would have to admit the same.
You are my father, and that I do not argue.
It... He sought the words, taking a long breath
and letting it out with a gusty sigh. And yet,
it discomfited me for all the years of my life,
calling you sire or father, yet having another to
whom I turned when I needed to seek a Father.
Leaning forward he rested his elbows upon his
knees and clasped the goblet between his slender
fingers just as the princess had done minutes
before. And, you know, it was the wine that really did it.
The wine? Charles raised a brow, incredulous.
Charlie nodded. On my last visit, you brought
out a fine Lorland vintage. One that must have
cost a fine bit, and certainly one you would not
have had at table otherwise but for myself and
Bryn. Releasing one hand from the goblet he
waved in the general direction of the Keep. A
distant, rolling note filtered through the walls
of the stable, bringing a sudden hush to the
rumble of the crowds beyond the dim horse-scented
shadows below the Duke's box. As we may have
found at table here, as a daily norm. It said to
me I am different, I am apart. I am a Lord, and
you a vassal. The herdsmans' horns, high upon
the slopes of the mountains around Metamor,
filled the valley with their booming, solitary notes.
You are my son, do you not deserve what my House
can offer? Charles asked, almost defensively,
though still curious at the direction Charlie
took. Beyond the stables the notes of the distant
horns changed, becoming a coherent musical
movement. Even the echoes harmonized with the overall piece.
Charlie shook his head, No, Father, I do not. I
am your son, and I deserve what your son
deserves. Erick, Baerle, Bernadette my
siblings; brothers and sisters of your House do
not sup so grandly save on Holy Days, and my
visits. Leaning forward, Charlie reached out a
hand that was quickly grasped by his sire.
Father, I am your son, not a Lord to you. To act
otherwise... He sighed, releasing his father's
hand and leaning back. Somewhere closer than the
rolling throb of the distant horns a bell tolled.
Once, deeply, a lingering tone that faded slowly
before the same bell rang again. Charlie's ears
told him that it was vaguely from the direction
of the Keep; likely the largest of the bronze
bells in Metamor's Follower Cathedral.
From somewhere in the opposite direction another
bell answered the third ring of the first, its
note slightly higher. Another chapel bell. The
two harmonized almost immediately, slipping into
the underlying theme of the horns smoothly.
To act otherwise stands me apart, and reinforces
that distance from you. A third bell pealed into
the growing chorus of wood and brass, from a
different direction, another new note. Closer,
however, within Keeptowne where the second bell rang from somewhere in Euper.
Charles tipped his head slightly, his goblet held
lightly upon one knee. Had you thought that it
was brought to table for Bryn's sake?
No, for he would not he did not notice the
distinction between a House vintage or one of
Lorland's best. Any such are available to him on
a whim, he does not think upon the burden of cost
it would place on a House. Charlie shook his
head slowly. He is a royal, and it has made him
complacent to some things. But Malger has taken
me upon his travels; I have been feted at the
finest tables of the south as often as a mean
trencher of whatever a roadside inn could scoop
from its stewpot. He has purposely traveled as
nothing more than a wandering minstrel, because
he wanted me to understand the low as much as the high.
That is why that wine cut so keenly, Father.
Charlie looked into his goblet for a moment
before taking a swallow. And then I found your
dream, and that wrecked things entirely.
Charles stroked a paw across his chest with a
snort and a nod. I noticed. But you should know
one thing, my son; that wine was not brought out
for either you or Bryn. It was brought out for
us, to celebrate having you with us so unexpectedly.
Charlie blinked and then lowered his eyes, claws
scratching against the goblet resting in his
fingers. I... I had not considered that. He
shook his head back and forth, sighing in regret. I had not thought of that.
Both of their heads lifted, ears perked, as
dozens of bells, booming from temple and chapel
clerestories to the bright, brassy dinner
triangles suspended from Inn doors, filled the
air despite the muffling stacks of hay and wooden
walls of the stands. The crowds had fallen
deathly silent, caught in awe as the city around
them sang as it never had before. Charlie found
himself smiling; Malger had spent five years
working with the peasants, priests, herdsmen, and
craftsmen through Metamor in careful secrecy to
prepare for just that moment. He almost regretted
missing out, though he had witnessed the Singing
City more than a few times during their travels.
Malger made it a tradition to pass through
Silvassa during their festival of music whenever he could.
An electric shiver raced up his spine as the
first crisp, sharp note of a silver flute cut
through the underlying theme like the blade of a
fishwife's filleting knife. He saw his father
shudder as well, whiskers back and ears up, his
eyes closed. The first was soon joined by other
winds; clarinet, recorder, more flutes in a
rising rill. At the crescendo the music seemed to
hover, the bells abruptly silent, everything
fading into the throbbing echo of the distant
horns. A cello began the descant; a slow
dirge-like note into which the sibilant whisper
of other strings slipped in and darted about,
each improvising on that basic tone, distinct and
individual bit in perfect harmony. Somewhere a
tom thrummed a short tattoo for several seconds,
following the sift darting theme of a single
viola. Another drum, basso and deep, rolled in like a charging steed.
Piping, swift, sharp, playfully rising and
falling the winds returned, each finding a theme
among the many strings, undercut by the rolling
rattles of tom and tambour and the heavy thump of
bass drum and, washing across the entirety of the
orchestral movement, the ringing of bells.
Such was the raven and the rat, Charlie said at
length, during a long pall in the music where
only wind and string sand a single sonorous note.
He could only imagine what stupendous illusions
were being crafted to accompany and accentuate
what he heard. A dark nightmare, weighing a
single soul. He leaned forward, his dark rodent
eyes gleaming in the diffuse light of the stable.
What more can you tell me of it?
Charles closed his eyes, thumbs tapping his nose
even as one of the golden horses leaned its head
over the wooden slats and lipped at the curve of
his ear. What can I tell you? I will tell you of
what lies Beyond the reach of Daedra. Listen
well, my son, for I will never tell this story again.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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