The Castle Crawlers
Chapter 1
It was a warm, clear night, and all the balliums of Castle Tears were silent. Those who slept did so peacefully, and even the guards manning the walk-walks were sedate and still. The city-state of Tears was broaching its tenth full year of peace and prosperity, free from strife and siege, and even the most alert among its populace was finally settling into a sense of serenity and the belief that peace was here to stay.
The castle rested soundly, innocent of the knowledge that it was experiencing what would be its last moments of normalcy.
Two individuals in the castle were still alert. In the bailey, within the keep, they sat at a small, circular stone table, elbows resting on the top. Both wore robes, but only one wore the royal colors of white and lavender; the other wore plain brown ones made of flax. Their mood was calm but tense, the way a diver might feel when contemplating whether to really plunge down a waterfall.
The figure in brown shifted, conveying patience of mind but restlessness of spirit. Under its hood, large nocturnal eyes peered resolutely out from above a short, whiskered muzzle. It was a face covered in fur and spots.
"Are you certain you want to do this?" he asked the other figure – the second time in ten minutes of otherwise silence.
The man he sat across from could have passed as young were it not for the deceptively deep worry lines on his forehead and around his eyes. His shoulder-length blonde hair suited his pale skin but clashed with the gnarled hands and wrists protruding from his white sleeves. His supported his head and his blue eyes stared at small contraption of wood and wire set on the tabletop between his comrade and him: a loaded mousetrap.
"There would be no going back, would there?" he posed, and - despite knowing that his comrade knew the answer and was merely buying time - the cat man shook his head.
"We would not be able to turn back the hands of time to undo this" he said calmly, before adding "If you are still uncertain, we can postpone…"
He trailed off when the man shook his head, his expression pained.
"It's too important" he said, speaking as much to himself as to his friend. "The preparations… The time. We will never have another opportunity like this."
"I would not rush you…" the cat man said. "…but it is almost midnight."
He indicated the silver moon overhead with a clawed digit. The blonde man put both hands on his chin and looked so intently at the mousetrap as though he sought to spring it with the power of his gaze.
"They'll hate us, won't they?" he said in a vulnerable tone.
"I daresay you more than me" the feline returned. "But if doing this is still important to you…"
"It's more important than anything" the man with the royal robes said, forcing resolution into his voice and extending an open hand. "I'm ready."
The cat man pulled a wooden flute from his robe and transferred it to the blonde man's hand. The blonde man beheld the utensil intently: and etched into the instrument's surface were the words Most Royal House of Tears. Its open tip ended in the beautifully-crafted wooden corolla of a royal bluebell with delicately-curved petals. Slowly, the man lowered the head of the flower carving towards the mousetrap.
The descent tarried: the tip of one of the petals wavered an inch above the catch. Again, the blonde man looked to his partner, and his expression was a combination of agitation and fear. The cat man reached across the table and placed a stout paw on the other's bicep.
"Only you can make this choice" he said, evenly. "Whatever you decide, I will support you, but the choice can only be yours."
The royal-robed man gulped, and nodded. He held out his other hand and his comrade grasped it with his other paw, holding tight and demonstrating the good faith of his promise. The blonde man held his breath, and touched the wooden flower head to the catch.
The bar loosed, the hammer slammed down, and the flower head was severed from the flute with a CRACK that upset the night's stillness and shook an unexpectedly large amount of dust from both the instrument and the trap. Both individuals felt the faintest rush of wind blow outwards across their faces and in all directions of the inner keep. To the blonde man, the noise seemed to echo, and he held his breath until the silence seemed perfect again. He looked to the cat man, nervous relief in his eyes.
"Do you think anyone heard that?" he hopefully asked.
"Do you think it would matter now?" the cat man returned. "And besides, we now have our army."
One Week Later
Nestor woke up later than his friends, after the sun had already risen, and did so in a state of discomfort. He never slept well when wearing his brigandine beneath his usual leather armor, but it was his habit to don the majority of his battle dress as soon as his party came within two days' worth of travel of a hostile destination, in case they were ambushed by a welcoming party. Their current destination was not one he would normally need to equip himself for, but as per the latest information his team had received, Castle Tears had been still and inaccessible for days. Nobody knew what to expect, but Nestor prepared himself for the worst.
The warrior rolled onto his side and sat up, groaning at his soreness and alerting his fellows to his consciousness.
"Nestor, old bean!" greeted Samer, lifting the hem of his spangled robe as he climbed across the floor of rocks to what had been designated as the warrior's side of the cave. "Thank my boyishly handsome beard that you're awake! I was beginning to think I had mumbled a spell in my sleep and turned you into a log."
"You codgering old conjurer" Nestor muttered, running his fingers through his curly black hair and trying to master his irritation. "Please tell me you're bringing breakfast."
"Yes, but better than you imagine!" the wizard chirped, and produced a shiny piece of crockery from thin air. "I have finally perfected my greatest spell: tea from nothing! Witness, now…!"
He held his cup out at arm's length, moved the fingers of his other hand dramatically, and a stream of steaming fluid poured from a point in midair as though being coaxed from an invisible teapot. The wizard had to lunge to catch the tea; it had not poured from the area he had intended. Nestor watched Samer dance in place at delight of his own work; the wizard had not lost his enthusiasm for magic in over a hundred years of possessing it.
"Yeah, I'm sorry for not keeping up with your accomplishments, Samy" Nestor said. "But didn't you already figure this out a few days ago?"
"The tea wasn't hot, then" the older man corrected, blowing on his steaming cup. "But now, wherever we are, everyone in this party can meet the day with a cup of hot, aromatic, delicious… Bleagh! Swill!"
The wizard had tasted the tea and made a face as though he had sipped from a trough. Pursing his lips in revulsion, he held out the cup to the warrior.
"Black tea. I hate black tea. You can have it. It will wake you up faster than a ferret in your trousers."
His impatience assuaged by buffoonery, Nestor laughed at his animated friend and made as though to ward off the tea. The wizard comically persisted, carefree, until the liquid began to slop out of the cup.
"Careful!" Nestor warned. "I don't want that on me. Knowing you, that's bilge water."
"You insult the land's greatest magical cuisinier!" Samer said, trying to sound outraged but was betrayed by his giggles. "Am I not the only one you know who can make a chicken dinner from rocks?"
"Maybe rocks from a chicken dinner" Nestor returned, making Samer crow with appreciative laughter.
The wizard opened his mouth to retort, and for a moment, Nestor was convinced that his comrade was demonstrating the most amazing open-mouthed ventriloquism and voice impersonation he had ever heard. However, the voice that spoke did not in fact come from him, but from the individual who had approached him from behind.
"Peace, you two - peace! Won't you be still?"
From behind the tall wizard appeared a diminutive man wearing chain mail beneath his open shirt and a wheel-shaped pendant around his neck. He delicately brandished a short flail at the two of them, which Samer received with wide-eyed delight, as though the cleric were a long-lost brother who had shown himself again after years.
"Honesty! You're here to join us for tiffin, aren't you?" he said, and held out the half-empty cup to him. "Pray for my tea? It's beyond all mortal help."
"Really, Samer" Honesty admonished, his voice dreamy even as he tried to be stern. "This is no time for effervesce."
"You didn't sleep well, either, did you?" Nestor posed, finally rising up. "Either that or you're too into your prayers again to put on your shoes, again."
The cleric looked down at his bare feet. It was true; he had been very much caught up in the Pantheon as he had gotten dressed.
"So it seems" he affirmed. "But truly, that's beside the point. I don't think you realize how inconsiderate we're being to poor Dion."
The mood collectively sank, and everyone turned their heads towards the mouth of the shallow cave, where Dion's shadow lay motionless on the ground in the morning light.
"Oh dear" Samer said, his voice almost unrecognizably restrained. "He didn't sleep at all again, did he?"
"No, he didn't" Honestly replied sadly. "And he'll take no breakfast. He's been waiting for hours for us to get up, and I'm surprised that he didn't start out ahead of us before dawn."
With all the ferocity of a tired kitten, the cleric rounded on his comrades again.
"Wouldn't you feel terrible if it was your home that this had happened to?"
"Steady now" Nestor objected. "Forgot that Castle Tears is our home, too?"
"You know what I mean" said Honesty. "His father's there. They don't go a week without exchanging letters, and now there's been nothing from the castle for almost fourteen days. And everyone along the way has said the castle's completely shut down…"
"There, there, my dear sky pilot" Samer said, patting the cleric. "We're all deeply concerned about our liege, too…not to mention our rogue."
"I know you are, but I ask you to show it" Honesty insisted. "Pick up your gear and let's be off."
He turned and trudged off towards the cave entrance, shouldering his flail, and scooping up his sandals as he walked.
"But breakfast-!" Samer cried.
"Eat it in good health, but on the hoof" advised the cleric.
The warrior and the wizard exchanged glances and gathered up their effects. Samer had the bigger task, having strewn the contents of his pack about his sleeping area for the purpose of late-night experiments, but he gathered it up with another movement of his fingers that sent the various books, goatskin potion bottles, gems and twigs to settle neatly into his over-the-shoulder bag. He picked up his shepherd's crook topped with a crystal ball just as Nestor – having secured his chain lock – gripped his shillelagh, and the two walked into the morning brightness to join their fellows.
Now wearing his shoes, Honesty was attempting to soothe Dion, who appeared as preoccupied and despondent as he had for the last day. Short and tanned, the rogue appeared shielded from the brightening rays by something other than his hood. He stared into the south and appeared to take no notice of his company. In his hand, he ritualistically turned and turned a petrified crystal he had won as a gift for his father.
This was a drastic departure from his usual temperament: the prince had always been a little different from others when it came to communicating with his fellows, but he could usually be counted on to display his royal charm. His current state was fairly alien. An unspoken fear among his teammates was that if they did not reach the castle soon, he would shut down to them entirely.
"Good morrow, matey!" Samer attempted, but quieted at the sour look that dripped across Dion's face.
As Honesty shook his head in disbelief at the wizard's tactlessness, Nestor stepped beside Dion and made a more reserved attempt of communication.
"I'm sorry we overslept. If you want, we can run all day until we get there. We don't even need to stop for meals."
Samer silently balked at this prospect and even Honesty raised his bushy eyebrows, but it had the effect of draining the disdain from Dion's face. He nodded, stored the crystal in a pocket, and was the first to begin sliding down the rock wall onto the rolling hills below.
"Perhaps I can say a spell to make the ground a little flatter, to better carry out our warrior's promise" Samer commented sarcastically.
"Really, Nestor" Honesty added, loosening his collar as he looked apprehensively at the hilly horizon. "I was in favor of an early start and a day of traveling, but no meals? We'll never stop him from running all day, now."
Shrugging and smiling weakly, the warrior was second to begin down the wall.
"He'd do the same for us" he reasoned. "…But yeah, someone stop me from talking, next time."
Honestly sighed and made to follow.
"He's right" he admitted, and looked skyward. "I'll say a prayer for all of our shoes to hold out."
"Pray for our soles" Samer advised, and giggled all the way down the wall, his heels leaving a track of burning embers as he went.
They had traveled this part of the countryside many times before, but never at this speed. Dion was as good as Nestor's word, and kept a remarkable pace for the duration of the sprint. His party, though they frequently fell behind each other at distances of up to half-a-league, dutifully kept their legs working without complaint. They happened to be in close proximity when they passed the stream on whose shore grew delicious blackberries, and Nestor was proud to note that none of his fellows so much as groaned as they fled on by. Truly, they were a tight group that would have run even greater distances over rougher terrain if it were a personal matter for any of their number. Blood was thicker than water, but sweat was just as salty.
Nevertheless, relief was palpable as the fellowship climbed out of Viridian Valley with evening approaching and finally sighted Castle Tears. The spired acropolis sat on the highest hill, facing the empty Valley. Its eight outer walls were a dignified gray, though no one would notice this because almost every visible outer surface that was not shingled was overgrown with creepers - thereby almost allowing the structure to blend in with the landscape. It was usually a heartening sight, but now, it swiftly transformed the party's relief into dread: the royal flag was no longer flying.
"Ah-!" Honesty gasped, doubling over with his hands on his knees. "So… Now let's just- Oh Dion, do wait."
The rogue had started forward with every intention of continuing up to the gate. The cleric stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder, and Dion looked around with an irritated expression.
"I know" Honesty implored. "But we have to survey. There may be traps."
"There are no traps!" Dion snapped, speaking for the first time in almost two days and clearly offended by the suggestion that he could not spot a snare from a mile away.
"Not all traps are visible" Nestor reminded him, panting and putting one of his own hands on Dion's other shoulder. "We go charging in there like a troop of pigs, we might not be able to help anybody. Give us just a minute and let Samer do his thing. Sam- Oh, Samer."
The wizard was no longer standing behind them, but lying flat on his back with the tip of his hat pointing back down into the valley. He was heaving for breath. Honesty and Nestor dropped to his side, making sure their centennial friend was only exhausted. Dion regarded the scene with a combination of impatience and concern, repeatedly shifting his weight from one foot to the other as his fellows doused the wizard with water from a skin bottle. Samer sputtered ad thrashed.
"Gah-! Those nonverbal spells always go wrong" he cried. "I sought to feel refreshed, and get doused…and I'm a fire wizard, consarnit!"
"Just lie there for a moment" Honesty said, dabbing his comrade's wet forehead with his stole. "You're not the youngest anymore. I'll lay some healing on you."
Dion made an uncomfortable sound as Honesty placed his hands on Samer's sopping face and began to mutter. Coexisting with friends for months at a time had been the best therapy in self-control that he could have received, but balancing the health of Samer with the unknown fate of his home and family was proving stressful. He began plucking compulsively at his hair.
"No, no – I'm quite fine, thank you" Samer declared, waving his hands. "I'll be right up!... If our resident giant-wrestler would be so kind."
Nestor could have lifted the wizard to his feet with one hand, but used both to tip him up stiffly, like a vampire rising from a coffin. Samer required continued physical support as he smiled hearteningly at Dion and then fished through his pack, coming out with a device that looked like a kaleidoscope. As Nestor held him under the arms, Samer set the device against his eye and angled the opposite end at the castle. The apparatus glowed slightly as the wizard peered through it.
"Oh, frog's breath" he grumbled, making his fellows perk in anticipation of an explanation. "Nothing! No active magic up there that I can see. No abjurations, no enchantments, no conjurations – not even any illusions! Between here and the castle walls, there's nothing. I don't even see anybody on the towers. No fun at all."
"So we're dealing with something I can hit" Nestor commented, a trace of excitement in his voice.
"Not necessarily" Honesty corrected, rubbing his amulet and glancing skyward. "If someone's placed the castle under divine protection…"
"We'll watch for storm clouds and thunderbolts" Nestor conceded, and slung Samer around to carry him on his back. "Everyone needs to watch for anything suspicious. That includes you, wizard."
"It does not get any more suspicious than this dandruff, back here" Samer quipped weakly.
The hike up to the gate took the better part of an hour, given the group's cautious advance. Ever on the lookout for projectile-bearing enemies to suddenly appear atop the castle walls or come flooding out of the gate, their vigilance rendered the questing party even more exhausted by the time they reached the castle. Honesty kept glancing up for hostility from an enemy deity (causing him to slow down so that Dion bumped into him several times), but the sky remained as clear as ever despite coming nightfall. Dion's assessment of the terrain proved accurate, and the troop reached the top of the hill without hindrance.
There were signs of people having attempted to gain entry. The giant bronze bell mounted to the left of the gate was hanging lopsidedly for having been rung to death, and the wooden gate bore gouges from having been jabbed in frustration by spears. Three separate, covert glances were leveled at Dion, who regarded the damage stoically. With the tiniest of frowns on his face, he took a necklace from around his neck and touched the flower-shaped emblem against the hidden inlet between the rocks. He pressed, turned, and the sound of deeply-embedded wooden clockwork stirring to life preceded the heavy SHOOMP that announced the unbarring of the gate.
Knowing that the ride was over, Samer slid off of the warrior's back.
Grasping his shillelagh at the handle while his friends likewise armed themselves, Nestor – the only one among them strong enough to push open the gate by himself – led the way inside, looking and turning all about as he moved forward. Were this a regular homecoming, handy servants would be flocking them now before the inner curtain, eager to take Dion's load off him and generously taking the packs from the rest of the party as well. Then they would enter into public square where the prince and his cohorts were recognized by all. As they entered it now, desolate silence was the only thing to greet them. The cobbled streets were clean and the many quaint wooden homes built on top of each other still retained vestiges of charm, but merely in the way that an expensive robe shows its luster even on a skeleton. Doors and shutters stood alternatively open and not a single face looked out at them. Even the animals – chickens and livestock, dogs and cats – appeared to have vanished.
As the party stalked towards the keep like infiltrators, they passed the great commemorative statues of the goddess Shelyn that Honesty's forefather – Morality – had erected. In her stone form, Shelyn wept for all the suffering the kingdom endured, her tears supplied by the hot spring beneath the hill whose water was channeled upwards by magic for the aesthetic purpose. Now, however, Shelyn's unmoving faces were dry; water was no longer reaching her statues.
Samer took his crook and crystal ball into one hand so he could reproduce the kaleidoscope with the other. He peered around again.
"Still no trace of magic" he reported. "Someone's even taken my flourishing charm off the flowers."
He was right: the bluebells that were planted along the avenue leading to the keep and which flourished unusually well in this climate thanks to the wizard's magic had wilted, their fallen petals creating rough outlines up the street.
Nobody needed to remark on how confounding the entire situation was. It was possible for a powerful sorcerer to spirit away an entire population, but not without leaving a lasting signature that Samer's Revealer would let him see. There was always the possibility that everyone in town had been carried off by raiders (or worse, eaten by enormous beasts), but there were absolutely no signs of the struggle that the hardy folk of Castle Tears would have almost certainly put up. Honesty was certain that he would have detected Rapture if one had occurred. The one remaining simple explanation for the desertion was that everyone had retreated into the keep, but even if there had been a siege, no one would have taken down the flag. Additionally, nobody could imagine why all magic in the castle had been lifted.
The square and the avenue were not nearly as essential to his comfort level as the keep and his own room were, but these places had nevertheless been a source of soothing familiarity for Dion. The rogue prince tended to regard things and people in different ways than most others, and now that he beheld his castle-to-be devoid, he did not feel sadness or concern about the people, but rather the unwelcome prodding of anxiety. If he were not busy looking for traps, he would have preferred to just stare at Honesty's back to deflect what worried him. With effort, he was able to channel his thoughts into a need to find out what happened and restore things to how they ought to be. Whoever was responsible for this was to blame for how he felt. If his troop and he could find the scoundrel and neutralize him, then everything would fall back into place; he was sure of it.
Before he knew it, the castle's massive keep was before them. Its walls were still draped with the royal banners, despite the absence of the flag overhead. Every window was protected by glass panes, all of them unbroken. Nevertheless, here was the first overt sign that something adverse had taken place: the drawbridge was crushed, lying in two pieces in the scalding moat below – the only source of water harnessed from the subterranean springs that did not require magic to operate.
The distance between the keep's open entrance and the end of the square grounds was not terribly far: perhaps twelve feet, which was easy enough for all of them to clear in a jump – even Samer could jump that far without the aid of magic. Again, the group was befuddled: it would have made for an illogical defensive move to destroy the drawbridge, and there were no signs of offense leveled against the keep. If invaders had succeeded in crushing the drawbridge, why were there no signs of a makeshift bridge lain down?
"How odd" Honesty declared, his eyes tracing the span of the moat.
"Weird" Nestor stated, peering into the darkened interior of the keep.
"What a great mystery!" Samer chirped, and magicked a tiny, fiery canary from thin air. "Go, my tweeter!"
The bird flew through the gaping entrance, becoming a tiny, glowing light in the darkness. Its cheeping echoed outward to the party, and eventually, it flew back out and singed Samer's robe as it perched on his shoulder to peep at him.
"My friend says everything looks normal in there" he translated. "The great curtains have been drawn and it's dark, but as far she can see, everything's in order. Oh, and she says your hair could use a trim, Nestor."
"What do you mean, 'as far as she can see?'" the warrior posed, ignoring the remark. "Is anybody in there?"
"No!" the wizard assured him as the bird flew off anew, into the sky. "Nobody's in there. And she could not get beyond the entry hall; the doors are closed."
"Make a bigger bird that can open doors" Nestor suggested automatically.
"Maybe after the old man catches fifty winks" the wizard replied, nose in the air. "I hate to announce my limitations, but if I try anything larger than a chicken right now, it's bound to come out as a warrior-eating dragon."
"Would it be able to open doors?" Honesty asked hopefully, and Nestor nudged him.
Deliberation followed as to how to best approach. Dion regarded it as a waste of time: he knew that there was only one way in or out of the keep, and after assuring his cohorts that there almost certainly were no traps, nets, or cages awaiting them immediately on the other side of the moat, the rogue turned inward to occupy himself while the others conferred. He would have hopped right over the moat in an instant, but such solitary behavior tended to get negative reactions out of his teammates. They really slowed him down sometimes, he thought, and in times like this, it was terrifically frustrating. His hand reached for his hair, but he caught himself in mid-pluck. To compensate, he took his rapier from its loop and began turning it over repeatedly with one hand; the blade caught the light from the sun each time, and the momentary glare was relaxing.
"Dion? Dion?.."
He heard his name but it did not occur to him to respond yet. When Nestor laid a hand on his shoulder, he finally looked up.
"Dion, we've decided to take the jump" the warrior said. "…Wanna wait a bit?"
"Let him come when he's good and ready" Honesty said. "There's nothing out here. We'll just hop in and get a better look at the hall."
Nestor appeared apprehensive at the idea of splitting up at all in such a situation, but nevertheless turned to join the other two, showing Dion a small smile before he looked away. He tripped on his way over to the wizard and the warrior.
"Damn shoes…" he grunted. "They're coming apart."
"Care to walk on air for the rest of the day?" Samer offered helpfully.
"Save it, Sir Can't-Make-A-Big-Bird" Nestor rebuked. "If anything's roughing around in there, I might need some magic fire and I don't want you to faint on me."
"If I faint, you and dear Honesty can practice your refreshing spell again" Samer returned with a raised eyebrow. "Let's get on with it! I'd love to set something ablaze."
"Come, then. On three?" Honesty suggested.
Still slightly detached, Dion heard his friends count upwards, then the sound of their collective running start and leap. As they landed, the prince realized that it was counterproductive to make his team wait for him, and turned to face his fellows.
He looked towards the keep's entrance, across the moat…and found nothing there.
Rather, he found no one there. What he did find was a pile of clothes lying on the ground, just over the first few stones of the threshold. Honesty's mace and Samer's crook fell on top of them with a WHUMP, joining Nestor's shillelagh and chain lock. The warrior, wizard, and cleric themselves were nowhere to be seen.
Dion stood still, staring at where he would have expected to find his fellows. His eyes eventually moved about, scanning the area for some other area they might have landed or hid in. It was not improbable that Samer had executed another magic trick that separated the three of them from their clothes and left them invisible. Even if that was not the case, they still had to be somewhere.
As he stood there, a deep and unpleasant vibration began within him, and an off feeling of unrightness began to take hold. If he were to panic now, it would not be out of fear, but out of the sheer unfamiliarity and confusion of his situation.
"Hey!" he called out. "Hey! Nestor! Honesty! Hey, Samer!..."
Only silence came back. It hit him that something was indeed very wrong, and it was not simply how he felt about the situation. Something had happened in the second between when they had landed and when he had turned around. It had been a full twenty seconds since then, and if neither Nestor nor Honesty had gotten Samer to stop playing a joke, then clearly no joke was being played. Something had happened to them.
His adrenaline building, Dion about to take a running start of his own when he finally heard it: the faintest squeak of Nestor's voice – so quiet, it sounded like it was coming from a hundred yards away.
"Dion!... Dion!..."
Nestor was calling for him. Nestor did not call for help unless he really needed it. Dion took off, and leapt from the edge of the moat, kicking his feet up and soaring towards the keep's entrance like a hooded projectile.
"No! Stopstopstop!"
This time it was a group of voices, and Dion distinguished all three of his comrades in the clamor. He distinguished their tone over the meaning of their words, and – knowing that when this laid-back bunch yelled so, it had to be for something important – did all he could to heed. If he could have, he would have stopped in midair like one of Samer's experiments with gravity. In lieu of that, he achieved an almost dead stop upon landing on the threshold. His arms windmilled for a moment as he regain his balance, his feet cemented to the first foundational block of the keep.
Keeping his balance was no problem for Dion, but his friends were still invisible to him. From his perch, he could see further down the hallway – right into the shadowy confines of the entrance hall – but not to where he was certain the rest of his party must have yelled at him from.
"What?" he called into the darkness.
"Oh, thank Pelor - he's fine" came Honesty's voice…from the vicinity of Dion's feet.
The prince looked down into the lumpy pile of clothes and weapons lying on the floor, and his keen eyes promptly distinguished three sets of eyes looking at him – black, shiny eyes peering out from furry, whiskery faces.
"Dion" came Honesty's voice out of the straw-colored mouse's mouth. "Don't move, alright? Everything will be alright; just don't panic."
"I'm not panicking" Dion replied to the rodent.
"You're doing better than me!" Nestor said, from the throat of a brown mouse. "Samer, you flounder! You said there was no magic here!"
The Nestor mouse took hold of the shoulders of a black mouse and began shaking it. The black mouse flailed its little forelegs and squeaked.
"Stop it! Desist! I'm an old man-mouse!"
The Honesty mouse separated the two of them with some difficulty.
"Please" he said. "Everybody try to relax. We need to get our bearings. Clearly, we all jumped into something. Let's see if going back reverses the effect. Let me go, lest all of us return to form at the same time and we fall in the moat."
Dion watched the little rodent scurry over the pile of clothes and join him on the block he was standing. Nothing happened. Honesty circled the prince's boots, climbed over his toes, and hopped up and down as much as his new body would permit. He remained tiny and unchanged.
"All right" he said in his minimized voice, still mellow. "So the easiest possibility wasn't the right one – when is it ever? We just need to think."
"I always think better with tea" Samer commented, and within a second, he had reproduced his tea-pouring trick from the day before on a micro scale without even thinking about it, complete with a tiny cup.
"There!" Nestor said, pointing a tiny, clawed finger. "Your magic still works! Change us back!"
"Nestor…" Samer said, serious for a third time that day (a personal record). "I cannot perform large magic without rest. I could not even create that larger bird you wanted; you think I can manage three people?"
He sipped his tea, and winced at the taste.
"And besides, this wasn't magic. My Revealer is never wrong. I might not be able to alter this with magic."
Groaning, the brown mouse shuffled across the comparatively enormous set of trousers belonging to Honesty. Shortly thereafter, he shuffled back the way he came, and put a paw on Samer's furry shoulder.
"Sorry I shook you, mate" he said.
"Apology accepted" Samer said. "Want some tea?"
"No" Nestor replied, and put both of his paws on his comrade's boxy hips. "But hold onto it for a moment."
Samer was lifted into the air above Nestor's head as though he were made of paper. Unperturbed, the mousey wizard looked down as he took another apprehensive sip of tea.
"You're going to carry me some more? Very charitable of you!"
"Just checking" Nestor replied, and carefully set Samer back down on his little feet. "Hard to judge with you, but I think I'm still mighty."
"Likewise, I still feel the holy presence" Honesty added. "I'll be saying a prayer for us shortly, but it's clear that we retained our talents…not to mention our speech, our thinking capacity…"
He ran his paws over his head, flattening his ears in the process, and perched himself on top of his medallion, which was now large enough for all three mice to sit on if they pleased. Nestor stepped forward, holding out his forelegs.
"Everyone…" he began. "I've used some of that thinking capacity, and I think we've been had. We're mice, and can't turn back. We won't be getting across that moat, and even if we could, it wouldn't change how fuzzy we are. Whoever did this is gonna be the same rat that did this to the castle, and he…she…it wants us to go in deeper. Don't know what else we can do but go on."
"So what are we waiting for?" Samer asked, gripping his tail and waving it like a weapon of war. "I may be a mouse, but in my chest still beats the heart of a senior lion! Let's go find that bad egg and boil it! In black tea!"
"I think we're waiting to decide what to do with Dion" Honesty said.
Again, all three pairs of beady eyes turned upwards at their still-human comrade, who had been observing them calmly.
"I can't make the jump back over" he said, anticipating their thoughts. "I don't even have room to back up."
"And if you take but one step forward…" Honesty said apprehensively.
"You'll be a member of the cat bait brigade!" Samer finished.
As a group, the three mice congregated at the rogue's feet. Dion placed his chin against his sternum to look down at his three transformed partners, and saw that Nestor had placed the paws of his forelegs on his right boot; Honesty had done the same for the left.
"Maybe you should stay" the diminutive cleric said.
"He's right, pal" Nestor added. "No sense in all of us turning vermin."
"Besides, your father will cage us if he found out we let you grow a tail" Samer concluded, waving his own rear appendage again for emphasis.
"Traps" said Dion, automatically.
"Don't worry; we'll be fine" Honesty implored. "Look at how tiny we are; you think we'd overlook any snare?"
"We'll go slowly" Nestor said. "And keep out of sight. And if something should happen, I'm still strong and Honesty's still got his prayers and Samer still has bad jokes."
"I can still deal out plenty of pun-ishment!" Samer heartily agreed.
The mice were met with Dion's dissatisfied frown. His face had become filled with such untouchable resolution that it was clear to Nestor, Samer, and Honesty what he was thinking. They attempted to protest, but the prince spoke over them.
"I decide what happens to me" he stated with clarity that he had been unable to manage for the last two days. "Back up."
Dion raised his foot, and as his friends scurried back a yard, he set it down on the stone before him. The last thing he saw from his human height was Nestor's undeniably irritated expression as he looked back at him over what once was his shoulder.
WHUMP.
Once the sound of clothes hitting the floor was heard, the three older mice turned back around and hurried to where Dion had stood a second ago. Once they reached the pile of clothes, they burrowed through it, pulling the garments aside as best they could. Finally, Samer made a noise of delight as he peered under the rogue's old vest, and cried "Hooray! It's cute little Dion!"
He held the fabric up so that Dion – naked now but covered in gray fur – could crawl out.
"What's so hooray about it?" Nestor asked, huffing as he waded across the clothes to them. "He shouldn't have moved."
Even with his new face, Dion's frown was unmistakable as he looked up at the warrior mouse.
"I decide what I do with myself" he said. "You can save me from monsters, poisons, and angry gods, but you don't get to decide what I do or when I get to save you back. I put our team together; I'm always going to be with it."
The older mice exchanged glances – silently regarding the unexpected change in their predicament. Slowly, Nestor's look of irritation turned to sheepishness, while Samer looked ironic and Honesty looked pleasantly humbled.
"Ah, well" the cleric conceded. "It was wrong to ask you to wait. We should have known better."
"Yes, Dion's not one to let us hog all the fun!" Samer added.
Nestor shrugged, clearly deciding against wasting any more energy on ill will, and put an arm around the mouse prince.
"We're all still standing as one, then" he declared, and held out his other paw to Samer and Honesty, who stepped in for their closed huddle.
Pleased though he was that his teammates were taking his stride, Dion could only take a few seconds' worth of hugging. He wriggled free of the group embrace, and when his fellows let go of each other as well, they found him lifting up the blade of his sword with both paws.
"Samer, you have to do this" he said. "You can't change us, but you can make the weapons and other things smaller, huh?"