Eventide - V
Chapter V
Richard splashed water over his face from the basin that had been set out that morning. His eyes closed, he let the droplets bead along his fur, wicking away the heat of the morning. A servant bustled about nearby, tending to the well-rumpled bed.
"Are you going out again?" Called the nurse-maid as she paused to paw through a pile of discarded garments. "Lord Blackpaw will not be pleased if you do."
"Only for a short while," he replied through a towel as he blotted the water from his fur. The soft fabric was warm from having hung out in the sun to dry and still bore the scent of dew.
The young rat pulled a wry face as she sniffed a particularly suspicious garment, which was promptly tossed into the wicker basket at her side. "Master Richard, please don't anger your father. You know how he can be."
"Yes, I know, Amelia. Tell him I have a guard with me." Pulling a spare tunic over his head, Richard padded towards the balcony.
Amelia shook her head as she watched the young fox slip over the railing. She had seen him climb the ivy that grew along the wall many a time in his youth, and always for the same purpose.
"I just hope he knows what he's doing," she mused before hoisting the basket and plodding off to do the morning's laundry.
The docks were nearly empty come noon, as even the usual workers had slunk back to the holds of their ships in search of respite from the summer heat. Sitting in the shade of an upturned barrel, Owen fanned at himself with a paw as he waited for Richard to arrive. At the sound of pawsteps across the creaking wooden expanse, he poked his head around the wide barrel. His ears drooped at the sight of a fat little shrew that waddled towards a nearby skiff under the weight of a bundled fishing net.
"Have you seen a fox around here?" Owen hailed the shrew.
Moisture beaded along the stout creature's brow as he glanced over his shoulder. "Sorry, mate. Ain't seen any foxes 'round here--lest yer lookin' fer the ol' cap'n of the Swallow."
"Thanks," he called absently as the shrew trundled off down the dock.
With a groan, Owen stared off down the span of the river whose waters seemed to have gone still with exhaustion. He had almost given up hope that the fox would arrive when a paw traced the outline of one of his ears.
"Sorry I'm late," Richard said as he padded around to join the otter, "I slept longer than I meant to."
Owen accepted a proffered paw with a roll of his eyes. "At least you're here now. Come on, most of the walk should be in the shade."
Skirting about the various crates, their forms draped in taught canvases that moored them to the decking, the pair made their way to an old ramp that ran along the high city wall. The dirt track wound along a small copse of trees before coming to the river's edge, its length deeply scarred by the ruts of carts in some by-gone day.
The gentle babble of the waters was calming, lending a refreshing sense to the cool air of the many trees that formed a canopy of green that overhung the riverbanks.
"You look tense,"
"Huh?" Owen pushed a willow branch out of the way, pausing for the fox to duck beneath it.
"You look tense." Richard repeated. "Some-thing on your mind?"
There was as light pause before he replied. "No, not really."
Richard sighed. "You can be a pretty terrible liar, Owen. But if you want to keep it to your-self, that's fine, too."
They walked in silence for a time, Richard gazing about at the greenery. Though he had walked in the gardens of the noble's district, they paled in comparison to the natural world--instead of manicured lawns and arranged beds of flowers kept at a distance or surrounded by tall hedges and statues, here was a garden sculpted by the earth itself.
It was nearly an hour into their trek along the river when Owen finally spoke up again, his voice kept low as if in fear of eavesdroppers.
"I have this friend back at the abbey--well, he's a bit more than just a friend, I guess--but, well, when I went back--" Owen started, only to be cut off by a wave of the fox's paw.
"Slow down. You're not making any sense. Either way, I hope you don't mind pausing here," said Richard as he eased himself to sit atop a mossy rock that jutted out of the river. "My paws could use a rest."
Nodding, Owen took up a space nearby on the long grasses of the riverbank. "Alright."
Dangling his paws into the cool, soothing current of the river, Richard let out a content sigh. "So, about your friend?"
"Oh, right." Murmured the otter as he pulled at grass stems. "Well, that morning after um, after we," his voice trailed off at the sound of a giggle from Richard.
"It's okay, otter; so we had sex." The fox said nonchalantly.
Owen nodded, hoping his blush wasn't as evident as it felt. "Right; when I got back to the abbey, my friend Jeremy--he's a rat and um, well,"
Richard flick water at Owen with a foot paw.
"Hey!"
Holding up his paws innocently, the fox gave a smile. "Must have been a fish! Now out with it, or we'll have to walk back by moonlight."
Owen harrumphed and folded his arms at his chest. "Just let me get my thoughts together."
Birds tittered and sang in the tree tops over-head as Owen went on to explain of his rather unexpected escapade with Jeremy in the abbey cellars. Richard listened intently and was even so bold as to ask the otter for additional detail on the act. Owen was blushing furiously all the while, which only added to the fox's fun.
"So let me get this straight," he said when Owen had finally finished repeating the tale in its entirety. "You let your cute rat friend take you in his muzzle, but you're worried about what I would think of it?"
Staring down at his paws, Owen nodded, feeling rather foolish after hearing it from another. "Um, yes."
Richard couldn't help but giggle. "Well, if you really want to know what I think, I'll tell you." Taking a moment to slide off of his perch and wipe sodden paws on the bank, the fox smiled as he continued. "I think it was a very valuable experience for you and Jeremy. I am, however, rather jealous, but I can forgive it if you're still interested."
Owen blinked, looking up at Richard. "Huh?"
"Well, are you?" He asked again, offering a paw.
"Yes," Owen replied as he took the fox's paw for a second time that morning.
Walking amongst the shadows that danced across the underbrush between shafts of green and golden light, Owen cast a sidelong glance back towards the fox, who watched a dragonfly lazily hover near a row of bulrushes. Richard met his gaze before trotting over, the furred brush of his tail brushing against Owen's leg as he moved up beside the otter.
"So this is the way you come to the city?" He asked, a childlike grin splitting his muzzle.
Owen gave a nod. "Most of the time, though I usually just swim; it's faster."
Richard shaded his eyes with a paw as he peered up through a gap in the trees at the sky. "How much farther would you say it is? It feels like we've been walking for at least an hour or two."
"That's because we have been." Owen said with a smirk, raising a webbed paw to motion towards an oblong stone that stood along the far bank. "There should be a way to cross just up ahead."
Squinting into the gloom, the fox shook his head as he mounted a low rise along the path. "If you say so."
It was a but a matter of moments before they came to a bend in the river's course, the dense woodlands forming a screen on either side of the water's edge. The sound of gurgling water was audible from somewhere nearby.
"Down here," Crouching, Owen slid over the grassy edge to disappear down onto a lower embankment of sand and pebbles. Richard followed suit, crunching down onto the narrow jut of damp land.
The source of the noise was revealed to be a set of large stones that broke free of the water to form a small cluster of rapids where the river babbled and swirled. The broad, flat surfaces of the boulders were a sizable distance from one another, leaving several gaps that would have to be jumped across. Richard watched as Owen went first, hopping lightly from stone to stone before coming to rest on the far bank beside the steep overhang of earth. With a wave, the otter beckoned him onwards.
"I'm not so sure about this," he muttered.
Owen called from where he stood. "Just give it a bit of a run."
Biting his lower lip, Richard took a quick dash forwards and leaped across the wide, central gap. He yelped in surprise as he felt his paws slip. Scrambling forwards, the fox practically tumbled across the curious ford only to be caught by Owen.
Giving a pull, Owen tugged Richard up onto dry land, the force causing them to collide. "Um, Richard?"
"Yes?"
Trapped between the embankment and the fox, Owen blushed at their proximity as well as the familiar stiffness that pressed against this thigh. "You're um,"
Richard grinned mischievously as he gave a gentle push forward, the motion eliciting a low whine from the otter before he moved aside. "Where to now?"
"You're terrible, you know," Owen sighed and rolled his eyes, his cheeks warm from a faint blush. "Just follow me."
Pushing aside the fronds of a willow that hung over the river's edge like a curtain, he revealed a small depression that had been carved into the bankside to form a set of stairs. These lead up to a path that wound between the trees into the deeper reaches of the forest, the shaded walkway lined on either side with small, carved rocks at odd intervals. Here and there a larger sentinel stood beside a tree or a short distance away, nestled amidst a clump of shrubs, the large holes bored into them like un-blinking eyes that watched as the two friends ventured onwards.
Eventually the path gave way to a clearing, its center dominated by a small hillock ringed with great, monolithic stones. Their faces had been painstakingly carved with a tracery of abstract patterns that seemed to flow across their surfaces, radiating outwards from the bizarre, eye-like holes near their tops. Lichen and velvety moss crowned the stones, inter-mingling with swaths of clover that clung to the shady reaches of the low rise. Richard looked about breathlessly in awe and wonder at the ancient place forgotten by the passage of time.
"How did you find it?" He asked, after having regained his voice.
"Well," Owen started, a blush touching his cheeks at the memory, "I found it one after-noon with Jeremy when we were younger--I think we were shirking kitchen duty again. We got lost and ended up finding our way here. I guess I've just been returning to it ever since."
Richard watched as the otter strode over to one of the tall stones that leaned apart from the rest. Upon this he placed a paw in reverent silence. "Like a sanctuary," he murmured.
"Yeah," For years, Owen had found solace amongst the stones, their stoic silence giving both reassurance and a sense of guidance that he had often found wanting back at the abbey.
Taking a seat upon a patch of downy clover, Richard leaned back and rested his paws.
Owen rolled his eyes. "Didn't you rest about an hour ago?"
Richard stuck out his tongue playfully, a paw motioning to the grass beside him. "Oh come now. You can hardly expect one of noble blood to be used to long treks through the country-side. Besides, I'm enjoying the scenery; it's far more beautiful than what's back at the manor."
Raising a brow, Owen took up a place beside the fox and asked, "What's at the manor?"
"Manicured shrubs that glare at you in frosty silence, perennials that spout etiquette, and a lovely little stream that babbles incessantly about politics. All quite lovely, really." He said.
Stifling a giggle with a paw, Owen shook his head. "You're terrible,"
"I only wish I was joking. Everybeast seems to romanticize this whole nobility thing, but it's actually quite unpleasant."
"Really?"
Richard leaned forwards and curled his paws about the otter's middle, pulling Owen closer as he replied. "Well, it does have its perks,"
Before Owen could reply, Richard had teased his paws beneath his tunic, their soft, leathery pads massaging through the dense fur of his stomach. What more, he could feel the firm outline of the fox's arousal pressing against his lower back.
"R-Richard?" Owen bit his lower lip as he felt the other's muzzle snuffle between his ears.
Teeth gingerly nipped the edge of a small, lutrin ear before Richard spoke, his breath heavy and warm against Owen's ear. "I'm a bit jealous that your friend got to it before me, but it doesn't mean I can't still have fun."
As the narrow vulpine muzzle slid down his neck to bury itself in the thick fur where it met his shoulder, Owen closed his eyes. He could feel the other's paws, their touch the faintest whisper against his jerkin as they ghosted down his stomach before black-furred fingers intertwined with the corded knot that held up his breeches. With a flick, it was banished, the hempen rope coming free in two limp strands. Owen shuddered as Richard's paw pushed on-wards, leathery pads rubbing against the flight of creamy fur that lead down to his sheath, which even now had grown hot and stiff under the fox's ministrations. Biting his lip to keep from moaning as Richard's fingers pressed along the ridge of the furred rise only to venture farther still, Owen barely registered the other's command.
"Lean back," murmured Richard, shifting his weight to move out from behind the otter, his paw fondling its prize.
Nodding dumbly, Owen allowed himself to be lain against the loamy grass. Richard, mean-while, had busied himself from where he knelt before the otter, his free paw slowly pulling the restrictive fabric free.
The warmth of Richard's touch left him for a moment, leaving the cool damp air to flood in where it had once been. "D-don't stop,"
With the otter's breeches lying in a messy pile a short distance away, Richard shook his head. "Shh," he cooed, paws gliding up the otter's toned legs to massage the fur of his inner thighs, "don't worry."
Lowering his muzzle as he leaned forwards, resting on his arms, Richard planted a brief kiss upon the glistening tip of the other's shaft where it showed above its furred confines. The gasp from Owen was all he needed in confirm-ation before trailing lower, his nose leaving a narrow furrow along the firm outline of the otter's sheath.
Owen couldn't help but shiver, the sensation giving rise to his arousal as subtle waves of pleasure coursed through him, only to pale to what happened a moment later. As Richard's muzzle brushed along the depression of his sac, the fox's paw slid up from behind, cupping his balls even as his fingers elicited a new form of pleasure as they teased the hidden spaces behind them.
His tongue snaked past dark lips to leave a damp mar in its wake as it trailed upwards, caressing Owen's sac in a lewd kiss. Beneath him, the otter squirmed, giving voice to throaty moans as his thick tail twitched with each slow, agonizing lash of Richard's tongue. Fingers curled about the base of the other's shaft, black on ebon as Richard tipped the steadily dripping rod of flesh towards his muzzle. With his tongue curled beneath its tip, the fox began his slow descent.
Each bob of Richard's muzzle upon him sent his pulse racing as each breath became more laborious than the last. The tightness of flesh on flesh was exquisite, driving him ever closer towards climax. Of a sudden, Richard took him all the way to his roots, the vulpine muzzle clamping down about him as the fox's tongue teased in ways Owen could scarcely imagine. It lasted for but a few moments; with a sharp intake of breath, Owen pressed feebly into the other's maw, his entrapped shaft bursting forth with a stream of hot, musky seed. Thick, milky strands of the stuff splashed against the back of Richard's throat even as he lifted his muzzle to keep from choking on the wild torrent.
After what seemed an eternity, it finally sub-sided. Owen lay against the grass, breathless as he panted, drawing in gulps of the cool air of the clearing. Before him, Richard sat up, a paw daintily wiping away a small trail of fluid that had dribbled along his chin.
Catching his breath, Owen gazed up at the fox. "Th-that was incredible," he said, words hanging in the silence that followed.
Richard smiled, his paws already busy with the task of stripping away his own garments. "Better than before?" He asked with a playful grin.
Owen blushed, all too certain of what it was the fox had asked. "Yeah,"
"Good," came the reply as he shuffled closer, his own slacks now added to the little pile on the hillock, "let's try something new."
"Hmm?" The otter looked on in curiosity, his head still muddled with lust, his eyes locked with the thick, pulsing shaft that stood proudly between the fox's legs.
A finger circled the air as Richard smiled. "Roll over."
Doing as he was commanded, Owen watched over his shoulder as Richard sidled up behind him, a paw hoisting his rudder out of the way.
Richard halted, a paw still holding himself in position beneath the otter's tail. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what...?" Owen murmured, trying to press back against tip of the fox's shaft that had moments ago tickled against him, only to feel empty air.
Rising slowly, Richard cast a paw about for their discarded clothes, ears canted towards the forest's edge. "Someone's coming."
As Owen negotiated donning his breeches, Richard helped him to hide behind the circle of stones, golden eyes watching the underbrush that ringed the clearing, the dense tangle of greenery creating a narrow barrier between themselves and the forest proper. Whatever was the source was heading towards them at a quick pace, sounding as if it were crashing through the loam headlong.
"What is it," muttered the otter as he fought with the leather thongs of his pants.
"Shh," Richard cut him off with a paw as he peered around the edge of the huge sentinel.
Something burst into the clearing with a muffled yelp only to fall to the ground with an arrow protruding from its back. Blood seeped from the wound as the creature gurgled, paws feebly pulling at a tussock of grass. A sibilant hiss echoed through the silence that followed. Richard watched in horror the scaled, wedge-shaped head of a huge reptile pressed through the low-hanging branches. The beast was clad in tattered rags, a longbow gripped in yellowed claws as it stepped forth to kneel beside the slain creature. Its scales and motley garb blended perfectly with the shadows of the forest, making the hideous thing seem to disappear whenever it stood still.
Another lizard, similarly dressed and deeply scared across the side of its snout arrived, its narrow tongue flicking in and out from between scaled lips as it spoke.
It spoke in a bizarre manner, its voice like the rustle of long-dead leaves as it hissed and clicked, motioning towards the creature with tilt of its head.
The other hissed, its slitted eyes narrowing as it prodded the limp form. Its reply was short and equally unintelligible.
The second lizard gave a short nod before drawing back into the woodlands with nary a sound.
Owen pawed at the fox's arm, eyes wide as he spoke in a strangled whisper. "What was that? What happened?"
Richard hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he let out a sigh. "I... don't know. Whatever it was, it didn't look friendly. We--we should leave, get somewhere safe."
"The abbey," said the otter as Richard began to rise, "it's not far."
Nodding, the fox helped Owen to his feet.
They had only made it a few paces before Owen caught sight of the creature where it lay. "Did whatever it was do... that?"
Richard nodded. "I think so."
Padding over quickly, the otter knelt and placed a paw along the side of the creature's neck. Upon close inspection, it looked to be a weasel, though its fur was covered in mud and battered by its flight through the woodlands. "I think its dead." Owen said weakly, glancing up at Richard.
"We might be too if we wait around for those lizards to return," Richard retorted, "come on, let's go."
Realization sunk in as Owen rose, motioning towards the tree-line with a quivering paw. "Th-This way," he murmured.
The tracks of the two hunters lead off into the dense woodlands, thankfully in the opposite direction of the old abbey. Moving swiftly by way of the river, the pair kept to the shallows in hopes that any trail they might leave would be washed away by the river's steady current.
They traveled in relative silence; every sound the possible threat of the death. It seemed like an eternity before they reached the fork in the river and the old ford there. Climbing up the steep banks, they left the darkness and gloom of the waterway behind as they stepped out onto the packed earth of the road as it wound through the countryside, feeling as if some great and oppressive shroud had finally been lifted.
Just over the next rise, the tiled rooftops of the abbey could be seen, its stones glistening in the afternoon heat.
Brother Meuric, a white-tailed deer of middling years, plodded up steps that lead to the wall-top, their surfaces worn and bowed from many a footpaw that had trod them in the past. Slung beneath an arm, he carried and old quilt stitched from a myriad of varicolored pieces of cloth, each one graced with the embroidered likeness of a woodland flower.
As he mounted the last step and gazed out over the grounds below, he smiled, what fur was exposed above his corded habit ruffled by the playful touch of a passing breeze. Turning, he began to spread out the quilt upon the sun-baked stones, as had become a past-time of his in recent years.
Though but an hour past lunch, Meuric felt that today was particularly deserving of a nap; the sun was high overhead and warmed the air on gentle breezes, their passage bringing with them the sound of the leaves quaking in the trees that ringed the walls of the abbey. The deer cast a final glance out over the swath of fields that bordered the old road before he lay down, only to rise.
Pushing a pair of cut crystal spectacles up from where they sat on the tip of his narrow muzzle, Brother Meuric squinted as he peered in the direction of the brown-gray smudge that ended up from the path, the tall plume of dust drifting ever closer.
"Visitors at this hour?" He mused, scratching idly at a midge that wandered towards an ear.
With a shrug, he wandered his way down towards the large, wooden gate that stood in the center of the wall overlooking the road. The iron-bound portal opened with ease, one of its massive doors swinging inwards before the curious Brother peered out at the travelers. He smiled and waved upon seeing who it was.
"Back from another journey, eh? Well, come on in." He called to the pair as they jogged the rest of the way.
"Thanks," Owen panted as he leaned against the thick wood of the gate, casting a wary eye back in the direction from which they came.
Brother Meuric shook his head and smiled. "Oh, it's the least I could do. Though I must say, I might be taking more than just a nap after hauling that old door." Blinking, the deer squinted at Richard as if having only just seen him. "Hmm? Oh, hello, there. Who are you?"
"Richard," replied the fox with a curt bow.
"He's a friend I met in the city," Owen added.
Nodding in understanding, Brother Meuric motioned the pair inside as he shut the gate. "It's good to meet you, Richard. I'm Brother Meuric. Please, feel free to stay and enjoy our abbey for as long as you need. And Owen? Father Bernard was asking about you."
Thanking the kindly Brother again, Owen led Richard through the stone-lined walkway that crossed the grassy courtyard and lead towards the great edifice of the abbey's main building.
Richard glanced about at the surroundings, awestruck by the simple harmony that seemed like another world hidden behind the pale stones of the walls. Several abbey dwellers tended to the orchards while a pair of elderly mouse wives led a veritable flock of young ones towards the edges of what looked to be a large pond.
"Who is Father Bernard?" He asked quietly as they crossed the threshold into the vast mezzanine of the abbey.
"He's the abbot," Owen replied, taking a turn towards the wide stairs that lead to the upper floors, "he's very old, but nice."
Richard nodded, watching the wayward gaze of a young squirrel made from the corner of his eye. "Should we tell him what we saw?"
Owen shook his head as they passed the door of the infirmary, his voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "No. I don't know how to explain why we saw... what we saw."
The chaste touch of webbed fingers against his paw told him what the otter had meant. When they had finally arrived, Owen knocked lightly upon the door that stood open towards the small vestibule leading towards the abbot's chambers.
"Just a moment!" After a great shuffling of papers and robes, the abbot tottered through the archway of his study, a leather-bound tome gripped in his paws.
"Ah, good, it's just you, Owen." He said as he waved the pair in. "I was afraid you were Brother Edwin trying to get me to sample his brew again. Do come inside. Your friend may come to."
The room itself was spacious, though lined with shelves stocked with books, parchments, and old scrolls that dominated the space, their shapes ensconced in the dusty light that shone in through the high, stained glass windows set in the far wall. In one corner was a small bed, a hefty desk a short distance from it whose surface was littered with a sea of parchment. Shuffling over, the elderly abbot sorted through the contents of the desk as he spoke.
"I would have said something earlier," he began, wrinkled paws shoving aside a large scroll, "but I just couldn't find the proper time to do so."
Owen raised a brow, curious what it was the abbot was talking about. "And what exactly is it?" He queried, rising on tiptoe to peer over the veritable wall of books.
Stifling a sneeze as a plume of dust rose from a toppled stack of parchments, the abbot turned his gaze back to the otter. "A gift of sorts, actually. You had it when you were but a pup."
"It's from back then," murmured Owen. He caught a glance from Richard. Mouthing a quick 'I'll tell you later', he asked, "so why wait so long?"
Abbot Bernard chuckled, ruffling the fur between the otter's ears as he passed by to go root about on one of the shelves. "There were instructions--oh, dash it all, I can't find the confounded thing."
Richard had been looking about the study for some time, feeling out of place in the musty, down to earth world of the abbey. Raising a paw, he motioned to a small object that hung from a small peg near what he presumed was the abbot's bed. "Is it that?"
Turning, the old hound followed the line of Richard's paw. "Ah, so it is; you have good eyes, fox. I had completely forgotten that I had put it there--to remember to give it to you, no less."
After having retrieved the object, a small, black stone roughly the size of a robin's egg that hung upon a leather thong looped through a hole near its top, Abbot Bernard reverently gave the pendant to Owen, clasping it in the young otter's paws. "It had belonged to your mother. She had entrusted it to my care for safekeeping, saying that I must give it to you when you were ready."
"Ready for what?" Owen murmured as he opened his paws to gaze at the stone.
"Alas, I do not know," replied the abbot, who withdrew with a quiet shuffle of his oversized habit, "only that something tells me that now is the time. But enough of this; please, introduce me to your new friend."
"Is this your first time here in our abbey?" Abbot Bernard asked after introductions were made.
Richard nodded. "Yes. To be honest, I can't say that I was even aware there was an abbey here."
With a knowing smile, the abbot took a seat on a well-used chair, his wrinkled paws bracing his knees as he lowered himself carefully onto the upholstered surface. "I see. We do not have such a great influence to be known by those outside of the local country. Regardless, you are always welcome to return and share in our hospitality whenever you need."
"Thank you, sir. If anything, I would like to stay here for perhaps a few days." He replied, glancing over towards Owen.
"Of course, but please, call me father." The abbot nodded, motioning towards Owen. "Do forgive me for not guiding you, but these old knees just don't cooperate as much as they used to. Owen, would you please show our guest to the dormitories? There should be an open room there."
Owen hesitated for a moment, trying to keep his voice level when he spoke. "I thought that maybe Richard could stay in the gatehouse. It's out of the way and that way if he uh, if he needs anything," the otter's voice trailed off with a shrug.
"Yes, yes, that should be fine," the elderly hound replied as he scratched an ear, glancing towards the scatterings upon his desk. "We shall talk more over supper. In the mean time, I have to get back to, hmm; I can't seem to recall what."
Leaving the abbot to his devices, the pair returned to the central hall. Even beneath the grand, vaulted ceiling, its dizzying heights held up by wondrously carved buttresses, the sound of the bells tolling the hour could be heard.
With a glance down the wide stairs towards the corridor leading to the kitchens, Owen let out a sigh. It had been several hours since he had eaten breakfast and now that the shock of their encounter in the forest had subsided, he was becoming aware of just how hungry he was. Richard, it seemed, sensed his thoughts.
Brushing the tip of his muzzle along the outline of the otter's ear, Richard whispered into the silence of the abbey. "We should get something to eat."
"No, absolutely not!" Sister Alicia stood with a large serving spoon in the crook of her paw and a scowl on her muzzle as she motioned about the kitchen. "I just finished cleaning this place after lunch and you are not about to make to make a mess of it again."
Owen held up his paws, taking a step back as he explained their plight. "I wasn't going to do anything--we were just wondering if there was any food left."
Waggling the spoon under the otter's nose, Sister Alicia shook her head. "I should send you away for missing meals again. Now stay there while I see what's in the larder."
Richard watched as the sister departed. "Is she always like that?" He asked quietly.
"Not really," sighed Owen as he leaned on one of the wide countertops, "I just seem to be a total disaster in a kitchen."
The fox chuckled, giving him a gentle shove with a paw. "You do have a bit of a habit for making a mess."
"Shush," Owen glared back at him.
Sister Alicia returned a few moments later bearing a small tray upon which was balanced a clay jug and two earthenware bowls with an assortment of fruits. This she placed upon a small wooden table that sat in the far corner near the ovens which even now glowed with the light of freshly baking bread. Turning to the two, she motioned them over. "Some vegetable soup--cold, mind you--and rosehip tea; just clean up when you're done."
The food, though simple, was delicious and did wonders to take their thoughts away from the events that had unfolded but an hour prior. Owen watched Richard as he ate, who enjoyed the meal thoroughly, even going so far as to compliment the now-absent sister. Rising, the otter snuck a pair of fresh scones that had been set to cool upon a large stone, passing one to the fox alongside a small jar of berry preserves.
"I don't think she will notice if a few scones go missing," he giggled around a mouthful.
Richard smirked, raising a brow. "Did you just giggle?"
Owen waved a webbed paw, adding another glob of the sweet preserves to his scone. "Am I not allowed to enjoy a meal with you?" Taking a bite, his cheeks colored as a sizable raspberry tumbled from atop the scone to leave a smear down the side of his paw.
Taking the otter's paw in his own, Richard lowered his muzzle to gently lick the sugary, raspberry dribble from Owen's velvety fur, his eyes watching the other's as he did so. He smiled as he watched how Owen's blush grew at the almost lewd act.
"So tell me," he murmured, teasing a thumb along the inner pads of Owen's paw, "what made you say you wanted me to stay in the gatehouse?"
"I-I just thought that it might be better that way," replied Owen.
Richard smirked, his fingertips teasing at the damp fur where his tongue had been but a moment ago. "I thought you didn't want anyone to be suspicious."
Biting his lip, Owen stared down at his free paw. "You're a terrible tease, you know."
"Perhaps. More tea?"
"Oh, uh, yes."
Silently cursing the fox, Owen leaned back in his chair and shook his head, his gaze following the gentle bob of the fox's tail as it receded down the short hall that lead to the larders. He must do that on purpose, he thought.
The sound of paws approaching down the hall caught his attention. Canting an ear in the direction of the arching doorway to the kitchens, Owen half expected to see Sister Alicia returning to inspect the preparations for dinner. Instead, he saw the lanky form of Jeremy as the rat poked his head in.
"Are you hungry, too?" Asked the rat as he slunk inside, casting a glance over his shoulder.
Owen nodded. "I kind of missed lunch."
Scooting over a short stool that had seen many an hour beneath the paws of young kitchen helpers, Jeremy took up a spot. "Ah. I was wondering where you were. What is it you've been doing lately?" He queried, his words punctuated by the snap of an early apple.
"Oh," he paused, taking a glance down the hall where Richard had disappeared. "I've just been at the festival--nothing too special."
"Huh. Kind of makes me wish I had gone," mused Jeremy as he chewed.
"It's really just the same thing most days," he lied.
With a shrug, Jeremy leaned forwards, the ends of his muzzle turning up in a devious smile. "Well, if you want to, we could go together."
Owen pushed around remnants of soup in his bowl. "Maybe."
In the awkward silence that followed, Owen began to fervently wish Richard would hurry back. These thoughts were made especially pertinent in his mind as he felt the familiar touch of Jeremy's furless tail as it glided over his bare paws. He was about to say something when Jeremy spoke in a quiet, almost nervous tone.
"I, uh, I was wondering," he began, his paws toying with the core of the apple that now lay aside on the table, "if you would be interested in maybe, you know, doing something again."
No sooner had the words been spoken then the voice of Richard could be heard as he strode back to the kitchens.
"Sorry about that, I was helping a nice little mouse to carry down some bundles. Anyway, here's the tea." He said with a nod in the rat's direction. "Are you also a friend of Owen's?"
Jeremy blushed, his ears flushing with color as he nodded, gawking visibly at the new arrival. "I--yes, uh, yes." He stammered as he looked to Owen for assurance, only to see that the otter was staring quite intently at a glob of something on the tabletop.
Extending a paw, Richard gave a smile, introducing himself with a kind of cool grace that belied his stature. "I'm Richard. It's a pleasure to meet you."
Taking the proffered paw, Jeremy shook it weakly, nodding somewhat dumbly as he gave the fox a brief glance over before seeming to find his voice. "Same h-here,"
"Anyway," Owen butted in as he rose from his chair to begin collecting their tableware, "I'll see you again at dinner--I need to show Richard around the abbey, since he'll be staying here for a few days."
With a nod, Jeremy rose as well and made his way in the direction of the cellars. "Alright, I'll talk with you then."
•••
Dinner had been an altogether pleasant affair. The tables bore a wonderful spread of soups, grilled meats, and freshly baked loaves of bread smeared with everything from butter, to fluffy cream, to a variety of fruits preserved in honey. Salads had been prepared and Brother Edwin had even carted up a keg of last year's Three Oak's ale--with the help of a pair of burly hedgehogs that were visiting while on their way to the city.
Jeremy, however, had been little more than a thinly veiled fountain of questions, chatting away as he asked Richard a variety of things. The fox had replied much in the same manner as he had beguiled Owen before in the markets, speaking of a merchant father and the interesting--if otherwise mundane--life of serving the people for a profit. Thankfully, it seemed the young rat still hadn't found his paws when it came to the strong ale, and it wasn't long before he was quietly slumped against the table and snoring peacefully as afternoon gave way to night-fall.
Walking back under the light of the waning moon, the sky a velvety expanse that glittered and twinkled with the myriad stars, Owen allowed himself to be assisted through the portal of the gatehouse and up the stairs. Once there, he sat down on the edge of his bed, rubbing a paw at weary eyes as he spoke.
"I'm not a little kit, I can walk on my own," Owen complained, though his grievance lacked heart.
The fluttering of expensive linens as they fell to the floor in a heap announced that Richard was duly intent on rest, the fox following in the wake of his tunic as it sailed a short distance to fall across the well-worn seat of an old stool.
"The last time you had anything like that, you had to take a bath," he chided.
Owen blinked hard, the memories of that night at the tavern coming back in a rush as the fox walked into the room, the fur of his naked chest reflecting like liquid gold in the pale moonlight that filtered in through the balcony.
"Owen?"
"Oh, sorry, I was just... thinking," he murmured, suddenly brought back from his brief fantasy.
Taking a seat beside the befuddled otter, Richard began helping Owen out of his jerkin, his black-socked paws expertly gliding over the clasps with a practiced ease. "Ah. I was wondering about your relationship with Father Bernard."
Leaning his head back against Richard's shoulder as the fox's paws began to trace little circles through the fur of his stomach, Owen replied, "Well, for one, he's not my real father, even if he's been my father for as long as I can remember--I think that makes sense."
"So who was your father?"
"I don't really know," the otter said with a sigh, burying his nose into the soft ruff of fur that lined Richard's cheek, "I think I was too young to even remember."
They sat in silence for a brief time, Richard busying himself with looking about the room. His prior visit had been in the dead of night, and now with that a drooping tallow candle burned nearby, the room was cast in a bronzy glow. Though old, the crafts-manship of the small abode was genuine. Reliefs of trailing vines had been carved in the molding about the door and along the polished wood of the rail where the narrow set of stairs disappeared down below. Everything seemed to have been visited by the gentle and masterful paw of some bygone age, stained with time and the passion of an artisan. His eyes had begun to drift shut as he traced the pattern of the familiar rush mat that lay on the balcony when Owen spoke again.
"Father Bernard said they had died when bandits attacked their caravan as they ventured across the lowlands. My mother managed to get away but was gravely wounded. She died shortly after reaching the abbey." His voice was breathless as he said the words, sounding far away despite his proximity. The amulet was clutched tightly in his paw, his knuckles standing out in white relief against the dark brown of his fur as he continued, "this is... all that's left of them, now."
It was then that Richard came to realize that Owen's silence was not from sleep; the telltale dampness on his shoulder told otherwise. Shifting, he pulled the grieving otter close to himself, holding him in his arms as Owen sobbed quietly against his bare chest.
•••
Night had fallen quickly over the city, the walls that once stood lined with guards now empty, their duties having called them to the faire grounds. A gentle breeze rolled through the darkened sky, carrying with it the wispy trails of dark clouds that threatened to break across the last remnants of the night's revelers who still danced and sang about the great bonfires. In the silence backed by the distant sound of music and drunken voices, the hordes of Illatryx descended upon the eastern wall.
It took but a moment for the first of the guards to fall slain against the still-warm masonry, his body slumped beside the battlements as if in sleep. Two more swiftly joined him, unaware of their comrade's death, even as they breathed their last. Swiftly and without a sound, they disappeared over the other side, moving ever closer towards their quarry.
The Blackpaw estate lay quiet, its denizens bedding down for another night as servants went about their rounds snuffing candles and lamps. One by one the rich glow of firelight faded into shadow like dozens of eyes slowly shutting across the sprawling façade. The only sounds were those of the wind as it whispered through the vernal embankments of tall, arching trees that dotted the gentle roll of the land-scape.
Stifling a yawn, a young skunk paused beside one of the large, vaulting windows that overlooked the rear of the beautiful manor. Gazing out over the swaying grasses, he idly snuffed the glowing candles of a wall sconce, eyes picking out the shape of the stand of aspens he often sat under. He was about to move on and finish his duties so that he too might get to bed when something caught his eye. He squinted through the gloom that filled the wide hall, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever had darted across the old stone pathway.
Perhaps another servant, he thought to himself, his mind going back to his own adventures under the cover of night with a beautiful slip of a ferret girl. Lifting a paw, he was about to muffle another yawn only to have it die in his throat. Eyes wide with shock and a pain that dimly registered in the back of his mind, he gazed down at the blood soaked steel of a blade that suddenly blossomed from his middle.
Valencia stalked through the servant's quarters, her gaze casting about the dimly lit quarters of the long and wending passages that ran beneath the estate. She was in luck; everybeast was already asleep. A devilish grin touched her lips as she followed the directions of the hastily scrawled parchment that she held clutched in a paw.
She had acquired them through one of her more recent 'payments' to the young weasel--Darach, if she recalled--as well as the location of a spare key for entry to the vault. The vixen couldn't help but chuckle to herself at the memory of the boy as he gasped out each turn. It amazed her to learn that it had been secreted away in one of the most unlikely of places: built into the rear of the cellars, a stretch of natural caverns that had been renovated decades ago when the name Blackpaw had been known for little more than ale and wine.
Reaching the place was trivial, despite the warren of tunnels, and Valencia soon found herself standing before the wide archway, the portal like some great maw leading into the belly of a beast of earth and stone, its stomached lined with row upon row of oaken barrel. From an iron hook, she lifted a grimy, glass-sided lantern and lit the candle from one that guttered but a paw's breadth away, its wan glow only serving to ensconce her in a bubble of golden illumination.
Upon reaching the third junction, she paused to look over the note once more. Perusing the neat and flowery script of her own paw, Valencia counted out the rows of barrels before ducking between two. Hidden between the stacks, their wooden trestles reaching up to the rough cavern ceiling overhead, was a narrow passage no wider than two beasts across.
As Valencia stepped through the fissure, she could feel fur upon the back of her neck rise as darkness closed in about her, the feeble glow of the lantern barely enough to shed light upon the claustrophobic walls. Thankfully, it lasted but a few moments until she came out into a fairly large space. Here, the walls had been left untouched, unlike the smoothed stone of the cellars--even the floor was uneven and bore a myriad pattern of veins and cracks. But it was the something else that caught her gaze.
Before her rose a massive door, its height fading into the shadows beyond the reach of her lantern. The great stone behemoth stood like an imposing sentinel, barring her passage with its polished face that bore the crest of the House of Blackpaw in its center.
From the silken folds of her nightgown, Valencia produced a single key. It fit snuggly in her palm, the fine silver sheen of its burnished metal reflecting across the supple leather pads. Guiding it with but the faintest quake to her grasp, she slid it deftly into the awaiting lock. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as it key turned with ease and a dull clank resonated throughout the cavern. As if of its own whim, the door swung open.
A voice called out from nearby as the sound of paws could be heard slapping against the cool stone floor, growing louder with each moment. Turning, the vixen clutched the leather sack to her bosom, only to see a serving girl rushing towards her. Between gasps of air, the rat coughed out a warning.
"M-mistress, we must flee! The manor--it's under attack!"
Valencia's gaze narrowed as she glared down at the girl. "Attack? You should be running to get the guards!"
Looking up through red-rimmed eyes, the girl shook her head, a thin plume of ash rising from her fur. "Can't... all dead," she gasped breathlessly.
"What do you--?"
She was cut off by a grimy paw that locked itself about her wrist as the rat tugged her down the passage in the direction she had come. "This way," said the servant, "it's a sec-secret!"
They fled down the hallway in silence, the rat following a crazed path that wound through the lower levels at a breakneck pace. Others rushed about nearby, all of them shouting and panicked as the sounds of some terrible fate thundered out over-head. Of a sudden, the rat came to a halt, nearly causing Valencia to bowl over her short form. A key was produced and a well-disguised door revealed itself from where it was set into side the wall of the kitchens. Valencia barely had a moment to catch the scent of baking scones before she was pulled along into blackness and the door shut behind her.
"Where are you taking me?" She hissed, her vision having failed her.
"Shh!" Came the reply as the rat's paw once again guided her along. "Keep quiet."
Though dry, the passage stank of loam and earth. Thin tendrils like fingers seemed to grasp at her as she passed, only to come away with a swat. As her eyes adjusted, Valencia began to make out the heavy wooden beams that shored the rough-cut tunnel at odd intervals, the earthen walls pierced here and there by snaking roots. From above they could hear the attack raging onwards, though now it sounded distant, as if someplace else entirely. The minutes dragged on, and soon her wrist began to ache where the servant clutched her, leading her onwards to whatever safe haven was at the tunnel's end. Then, finally, they came to a halt.
"I'll go first," the rat whispered, her voice having recovered during their trek.
Valencia only nodded and watched as the girl mounted a wrought-iron ladder and ascended up-wards into the gloom. She waited in silence until the girl spoke again.
"Come on!"
Gathering the hem of her gown in a paw, the vixen made the awkward climb, the rungs cold against her paws. A few moments later, she was hauled through a hole with the help of the servant. Valencia gazed through the hazy gloom at the small space in which she had arrived, thankful for the thin shaft of milky light that filtered through a window overhead. It appeared to be little more than an old store room, the floor paved with wide, stone tiles--one of which had been moved aside to reveal the exit of the tunnel.
"Where are we...?" She asked, dusting herself of as she rose.
The rat, who had busied herself with the wooden door set in the wall, replied in a quiet tone. "Some place safe for now. We can't stay here, though."
Valencia frowned, watching the girl work. "Why?"
"They're bound to find the tunnel eventually." Muttered the rat, who shot a look of thinly strained patience in her direction.
Once the door was prised open, the bedraggled fugitives stepped into the remnants of what at first looked to be an abandoned cottage. Trees could be seen through the broken windowpanes, and a carpet of dead leaves blew in drifts across the floor. Nature fought in silence, slowly reclaiming every inch of the structure, down to the door, whose face now bore the tangled vines of creeping ivy. The beauty of the place was lost upon them as they hurried to the edge of the woods.
"I came here once as a child--there is a river not far from here. We can follow it to the old abbey, it should be safe there." The rat spoke solemnly, her eyes never stopping as they roamed the dappled shadows of the canopy.
Valencia broke her silence and spoke, reaching out to lay a paw on the servant's arm. "I... thank you. For helping me." She murmured.
The servant turned her head to reply, a smile visible on her face, "It's the least I could do for you, Mistress."
"I never got your name,"
"Amelia."
The words seemed to hang in the still air as some-thing flashed between the trees and the world went dark.
Valencia struggled even as she was thrown roughly to the charred ground. Spitting a mouthful of foul ichor as she pushed herself to her knees, she stared up at the imposing figure of the rat that stood before her, only its muzzle and gnarled ears showing from beneath a tattered cowl. She clutched her parcel to her breast, not daring to let it go.
"W-who are you?" She asked, squinting through the pain that throbbed on the back of her skull.
"Who I am is of no concern to you, wench," the figure replied coldly, its voice like a winter gale that savagely tore at the last of autumn's long-dead leaves, "however, you have something I want."
For the first time in many years, Valencia felt fear. The figure's eyes seemed to bore into her very being, the twin orbs glistening with the reflection of firelight. "If its money you want, the Lord Blackpaw is very wealthy."
The figure cut her off with a wave of a clawed paw as it lowered itself to sit upon a crumbling pile of masonry. "The Lord Blackpaw is rather indisposed at the moment," it said, paw groping in the shadows nearby, "what I want is in that bag of yours."
She could feel the bile rise in her throat as she saw the grisly object that the figure produced. It was the severed head of Lord Blackpaw, tongue lolling from where its jaw had once been, the eyeless sockets staring back at her where his eyes had been plucked out. Choking back vomit, she averted her eyes.
"There's nothing--"
Dropping the macabre trophy, the figure raised its paws to grasp the folds of the cowl. Fabric hissed over fur and flesh as it drew back the hood to reveal its, that of an aged rat. Her beauty was stark, slate gray eyes and high cheekbones lending to her vatic gaze as her eyes met the trembling vixen's.
"Show me the stone," The rat spoke calmly, her voice seeming to change. It became warm, almost friendly.
Valencia felt herself compelled to reveal what she had stolen. Tugging open the corded straps of the now filth-covered sack, she reached inside with both paws and fished out the stone.
"Place it on the ground," the voice commanded.
Doing as she was bidden, Valencia gingerly set the stone at the others footpaws before shrinking back. She glanced in the direction of the serving girl, who groaned and sputtered as she came around.
The robed one sat in silence for a time, watching them. The ache in her head seemed to have dulled, though Valencia felt instead it had been replaced by something different entirely. Her thoughts clouded as they sprang into her mind, drifting into obscurity under the watchful eye of the creature before her.
"I have decided I will give you both a chance at life," it said when the servant girl finally came to, "assuming you swear fealty to me. I will become your master, and you the slave. If you please me, you shall be rewarded; fail and you shall suffer. But know this: the alternative is a death."
Valencia hung her head and stared at the muck and grime that pooled about her, staining the edges of her night gown and tainting her once-beautiful figure. Her reply was automatic. "I-I will serve you."
Leaning close, the figure turned to the serving girl, a malevolent grin upon her muzzle as she spoke, the cowl of her robes slipping to the side as she did so. "And yourself?"
The mark was nearly invisible in the half-light of the destruction of the manor, yet even then it stood out against the robed figure's grayed fur where it graced the upper curve of a breast like an inky stain.
Seeming to draw upon a hidden strength, the servant girl struggled against the armored beast that held her captive, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the other rat, spittle flying from her lips as she shouter her own reply. "So you return at long last. May you be cursed, daughter of the Seventh House! You should have died with the rest of your kin; then the daemons to which you bartered your soul could drag you back to the pits from whence you came!"
Rage flashed across the robed one's eyes. In a moment, she grabbed the stone from where it lay upon the ground and thrust it at the serving girl. Both went still as time seemed to slow. Something flashed in the girl's eyes, a light that seemed to grow from within before fading away--it was too quick to make out. Then, without warning, the robed figure slumped forwards, her body having gone limp as the stone rolled from her paw to fall with a squelch to the ground.
"Release me." The serving girl commanded.
To Valencia's surprise, the guard did as it was bidden, bowing as it backed away. Illuminated by the firelight, the girl seemed to have changed; her features were stronger, eyes darker. With a dour look, she inspected herself, paws touching and groping as they moved across her body, brushing away traces of ash and muck. With a pleased nod, the girl smiled.
"This shall do. You there, bring my body back to the temple. Now that I have the heartstone, I can begin work on finding the other artifacts."