The Castle Crawlers
Chapter 3
Nestor's makeshift bed consisted of a wool hat, folded three ways. It was quite comfortable, but he could not sleep. He lay quietly with his forelegs behind his head, unable to keep his eyes closed for more than a few seconds. His party had been moved to a cleaner loft above the tower study, where Honesty and Samer now dozed heavily and Nestor stared silently into the darkness; Prince Dion had departed to a private area with the King. The entire abode was as so peaceful that it almost seemed like any normal night at the castle, but the warrior could not feel any less like slumbering. His mind was active with what he had been told a few hours ago.
They had not gone to see the Oracles after all. The three old women – now three ancient mice – had been informed of their rescue but declared it senseless to hold an audience while one of their party was goofy and the other was unconscious. Hence, the wizard and the cleric were immediately bedded down on a leather glove and a millefleurs scarf, but before they settled to rest as well, Nestor and Dion sat audience for Captain Ko and the King (Dion actually sat in the King's lap, clinging to him single-minded possessiveness while his father groomed his fur in a newfound mouse-like manner) and listened to what had happened in their absence.
A week ago, the inhabitants of the keep had awoken in the dead of night to the sounds of screaming and struggling from beyond the moat. They had wanted to investigate, but found themselves unable to easily get out of bed because the blankets – along with the rest of the bedding – had suddenly grown much larger than them. Everyone in the keep had become a mouse. Those who managed to overcome their disorientation and master their new bodies climbed onto the eves of windows, where they watched as large figures carried and dragged the rest of the castle's inhabitants into the keep, where the people immediately underwent the same transformation before being driven further inside.
It quickly became clear that the figures were not invaders but also residents of the castle, and their transformation had likely occurred at the same time as that of those in the keep. The cows in the barns, the horses in the livery, the chickens in the yards, and the cats and dogs in the homes had abruptly become immensely powerful two-leggers, and they had single-mindedly fallen upon their masters. No one was sure why these transformations had occurred outside of the keep while the people were only transformed once they were inside it.
When the mice had seen Hyle – unchanged and carrying his iron baton – enter the common area from the bailey, a surge of hope rose in them. Their wizard was gone, but certainly their unafraid druid could help them resist this assault. Their hearts sank and their stomachs turned to ice when the animal soldiers had cowed to him and he began directing them in greenspeak. He oversaw the corralling of the entire castle and then personally destroyed the keep's drawbridge – ensuring that no one could escape. From then on, the mice had lived in the walls and ceilings, constantly threatened by the chimeras and minotaurs and horsemen, and completely unable to escape and seek help.
At this point in the narration, the expression on Dion's face had grown cold and Nestor's paws had drawn into angry fists. So the double-cross had indeed happened as Dion had predicted, and their friends and family had spent the last quarter-month held prisoner by Hyle and his minions. The thought was enough to make the adventurers' blood boil, but at that time, Deighna the cook had arrived bearing a makeshift tray (it was actually a large, square splinter) carrying cheese and sausage.
"Now don't make it sound so bad, your Highness" she had insisted. "You'll sell all of us short."
The cook reached for what Nestor had thought was a decorative bauble attached to her improvised apron, but turned out to be the head of a long and pointy pin which the mouse held aloft like something she had drawn from a stone.
"I am rather proud of myself and all my stirrers, you know" she declared.
The story became something of a best-case development, then. Upon seeing their druid work not towards furthering this awful scheme, the mice became filled not with dread but with indignant rage. When the creatures noticed the mice on the table of the common area standing on their hind legs and staring at them, they approached menacingly with outstretched hands. The first of the mice to be reached was Hildegard the kitchen maid, who armed herself with a shaker from the tabletop and, upon being lifted up in a horseman's hand, assaulted his eyes with pepper. Her effort triggered a mass militarization of the mice, who had - with uncanny success - achieved mass organization within the walls. Hildegard, who still carried a bag of spice on her person, was instantly promoted to senior maid and honorary guardsmaiden.
The creatures were too numerous and mighty to be engaged in a contest of force, but the mice had nevertheless achieved enough victories against them to merit counting. The Oracles had literally been snatched from the clutches of a cat monster by a similar apparatus as used to rescue the hero party, and - in a feat that would be lauded for as long as the castle-dwellers would live - a counteroffensive was undertaken to battle off the invaders as they sought entry to the King's chambers.
"It was…simply glorious" Captain Ko had to concede. "Don't say so to my swordbearers, but who needs guards when the commoners are so brave."
"Our kingdom is small, but I would not wish to preside over any other people" the King added proudly.
Disappointingly, the King's rescue marked both the last time the mice had laid eyes on Hyle and the last time they had managed to enter the King's tower, the single unlocked entrance to which had subsequently been manned by the creatures. Since then, the mice of the keep had successfully kept themselves supplied and rationed, but had been less successful in making any headway in escaping or making headway against the beasts. It was uncertain what they would have done, had it not been for the Oracles' suggestion to wait for the heroes' return.
Nestor knew that many among the mice wished that the adventurers would see the Oracles right away. Like him, they were wide awake and ready to reclaim their home and original forms. But despite his own indignity after hearing the perpetrator's identity confirmed, he knew that he had to rest for a while. He thought back to Samer's one-mouse charge against the dog-man and thought how hotheadedness would sooner get him into a pitfall than allow him to achieve his goal.
He sighed, rolled onto his side, and thought.
Hyle had been a mainstay of the castle for as long as the warrior could remember; when he had been very young, the druid was already a grown man. It was a rare thing for a single castle to host both a wizard and a druid, but Hyle had a legacy with the royal family. His ancestral roots lay in the kingdom's foundation, the story of which was partially illustrated in the tapestry the mice had climbed. Samer had dedicated himself to the King at a later date, and won the hearts of the tiny city-state with the benign wielding of his mighty powers, but Hyle – despite his melancholy manner and comparatively meek magical abilities – had served the crown as stalwartly as his forebears had and was therefore guaranteed lifetime employment.
Nestor tried to corral all of his memories of the druid and examine them for hints of his treachery to come.
As his comrades had mentioned a little while ago, Hyle had never seemed in the best of spirits and turned down not only Samer's playful jousts, but most offers of companionship. His chambers were always neat and he was peerless at tending to the greenery of the castle, including the gardens of the King's subjects, but he seemed to find no revelry in anything. He did not get along well with animals, save for his feline cohort: a little cat he called Richael. Nestor wondered whether Richael too was now a monster, employed in mouse-chasing to a higher degree than ever before.
He shared the sentiments of Dion and Samer: Hyle deserved to be duly punished for treachery of such a large scale. After all, he and those before him had been sheltered by the castle for decades. True, he had sacrificed his energy to winning the siege wars, but no more so than everyone else and certainly for no less compensation and commendation. His name was inscribed on the golden shield that hung in the King's tower to honor the protectors of the crown. The King could not remember any time when Hyle had even been in a troublesome situation with him or anyone else in the castle. Despite all of this, the druid – in his quiet and private way – had found reason to turn the castle's inhabitants into mice and trap them in the presence of violent animal soldiers.
Nestor tried to weigh the causes. Had Hyle been holding some secret grudge against the castle? – was he possessed? – had his mind become afflicted? What Hyle had done was inexcusable and demanded consequences, but Nestor found himself at least interested in what would drive the solitary druid to turn against everyone he knew and forsake his future and legacy with the castle.
Through the dimness, the warrior spotted movement. Nestor's eyes peered across Honesty's body and followed the slow rise of Samer's form. The wizard was not only sitting up, but levitating upwards off his bedding. Having witnessed this oddity several times, Nestor counted the moments until the rejuvenated wizard awoke.
"One pretty pony… Two pretty po-"
Samer's eyes flashed open in the darkness, and he fell back onto his glove. Nestor elevated his head on a paw and watched as his comrade thrashed around in the dark. When he had regained himself enough to be still and look around, he caught sight of Nestor, who wiggled the digits of his paw in greeting.
"…Oh" said Samer, and his eyes traveled around the dark space in full. "Oh-!"
He reached out and touched Honesty, who groaned in his sleep and rolled over to curl into a plump little ball of fuzz.
"Oh Nestor… Dear Honesty…" Samer said in sorrowful tones. "I'm so sorry."
"For what?" prompted Nestor.
"For getting us into this" Samer replied. "It's dark and quiet and smells odd. We've been eaten again, haven't we?"
With a sigh, Nestor carefully climbed over the furry bun that was Honesty to be closer to Samer, in case he needed reassurance.
"Not quite" he said, putting his paws on the wizard and urging him to lie down again. "We survived."
"Ah, so I routed the rascal!" the black mouse said with a sudden, happy giggle. "Was I brilliant?"
"You were valiant, selfless, and stupid like only we know you to be" replied his friend as he absentmindedly straightened the older mouse's whiskers. "Really, you old wizard, pick a letter: T, E, A, or M – you can't be all of them at once."
Cowed, Samer folded his paws and received the scolding. However, he could not remain somber for long, at which point the end of the whisker Nestor had been stroking popped into flame just as the warrior drew the tips of his paw over it. Nestor drew his paw back in surprise, and then shook a fitfully giggling Samer by the shoulders.
"Dingbat!" the warrior accused.
"Dingmouse!" the wizard corrected. "Now please, tell me why none of us are digested. I- …Wait. Where's Dion?"
Filling in Samer only took Nestor a fraction of the time it had taken the King and Ko to relate the same tale, in addition to the outcome of the battle. However, around this time, Honesty awoke as well and the story had to be repeated – this time with illustrative aid from Samer, who created tiny ember figures to act out the story on the surface of his palm. As distracting as this was, it was good to see that the wizard had regained full control of his powers.
With his wits about him again, Honesty sat with his thighs drawn up against his tummy and his elbows resting on his knees. He was pleased to learn that everyone in the castle was well, but remained preoccupied with the subject of Hyle.
"Druids cannot manifest such power of their own being" he replied to Nestor's summation. "Methinks our old friend has been tempted. I sense the shadowy right claw of Vecna about him."
"Please! For one, he was no chum of mine, no matter how hard I tried to make him one" Samer objected. "And you always try to turn things religious, Honesty you old bap. What is more likely – that the Master of the Spider Throne has a personal interest in turning us all soft and fluffy, or that old Hyle is commanding borrowed spirits to see us all long-tailed and whiskery? That druid probably got into my tomes…"
"You told him he could!" Nestor pointed out. "Gave him the key to your room while you were away!"
Honesty sighed. "The perils of wanton generosity…"
"I'll remember that, the next time you want sip of wine in the middle of a desert" Samer huffed. "Or a fireplace in the middle of the tundra."
"We can just guess how he is doing it…" Nestor concluded, grudgingly. "…which means we don't know what we'll face when we meet him. Ought to stay loose with our tactics."
"I will pray that poor Hyle develops sleeping sickness" suggested Honesty. "Oh, what will Pelor think of me for that…"
Further brainstorming was interrupted by the appearance of Dion, who entered through the door Nestor had seen him depart with the King several hours ago. He was alone, now. After Samer had started a small height into the air, he scrambled to his hind legs to frantically approach their fourth team member. Honesty and Nestor interpreted this as a good enough reason to get to their footpaws as well, and approached their rogue as he fended off the affections of the wizard.
"No kisses!" Dion insisted fiercely, a paw on Samer's snout as the latter embraced him.
"But Dion, I thought you were done for!" Samer insisted. "I thought I'd never experience your flocculent mien ever again!"
"No kisses" Dion insisted and sought refuge behind Honesty, who smiled complacently as he looked towards the wizard.
"Saint Cuthbert does not approve of that sort of thing, Samer" the cleric imparted.
"I wouldn't kiss him to begin with" said the wizard. "But isn't this wonderful? We're together again!"
"We were hardly apart" Nestor reminded him. "But yeah. Lucky that we all got out of that in the hallway, not any the worse. I think Dion actually looks better now than when we started, don't you?"
He had a point, his partners would agree. The Prince was a changed mouse from when he had entered Castle Tears in a state of tension. Now he stood upright more freely, was looser and lucid, and clearly emanated an aura that was approachable for jests. No one said it, for Dion was hard-pressed to accept mushiness from them even in the best of moods, but it was something of a joy for his cohorts to see what a little quality time with his father had done to improve their rogue. Despite himself, Honesty patted Dion on the shoulder.
"So do all of you" said the rogue and looked away – unsmiling but nevertheless bright-eyed. "Everyone's awake, so we should go see the three seers. But the King wanted you to see something else, first. It's interesting."
Everyone's weapons were stowed in a corner of the recovery room, but the adventurers left them standing as they filed into a circular passageway that connected to the other "rooms" of the tower ceiling where the mice had established their base of operations. They passed by various spaces that had been set up as kitchens, dressing stations, communal bedrooms, and a room that was completely devoted to fashioning mouse-sized garments from fabrics taken from below. To everyone's delight, the mood was not terribly tense: all except the youngest of pups were veterans of siege warfare, and making the utmost of adverse situations had been elevated to an art form within Castle Tears. Along their procession, the party witnessed mice working with energized determination, relaying stories of heroism from the night of their transformation (Deighna, her pin, and her underlings had already achieved legendary status), and even laughing from the sewing room where tailors tickled each other with the ends of feathers plucked from noble garb.
The King was not technically inside the tower. The mice had lifted a tile out of the roofing to gain access to the rooftop, many dozen feet above the ground. A tiny, sloping platform had been created for a foothold, and the King and Ko stood upon it beneath a starry sky. By the position of the moon, the adventurers guessed that it was midnight.
The King was dressed more plainly than most of their party had ever seen him, but his gait and posture made it clear that it could only be him. The entire party bowed before advancing further.
"I am so glad that everyone is well again" the King said with a modest smile. "I daresay that we as a whole may be in better states than our enemy. That is what I want to show you."
He stood aside and let Dion direct his comrades forward, urging them to look down at the path that led from the moat-severed entrance to the keep back to the castle square. The moon was bright in the sky and the mice's vision was good, and thus they were clearly able to make out a small procession of figures heading away from the keep, towards the town. Two were very large, the third very small. They looked like…
"A horse, a bull, and a dog" Nestor recited.
"And they're pure and pretty again!" Samer added with delight. "Returning to the comfort of their stalls and nooks!"
"Precisely" said the King. "We have seen several of them leaving the keep tonight. Whatever magic kept them in their militarized state appears to be waning from their being, one at a time."
"Then…!" Nestor said, hope rising in his chest like a spring swell, but Captain Ko was already shaking her black-streaked head.
"None among us has turned back yet" she said. "No one among us even feels any different. The magic over us seems to be stronger."
"It's not magic!" Samer insisted, though the disappointment of not having so easy a solution to their problem was written deep in his face as well.
"We must regard this as a positive development" the King moderated. "We are still mice, but Hyle's force has been reduced. Our moment to strike is at hand. Tonight, it is our time to set things right again."
The heads of his company collectively turned towards the King, their furry brows raised and their dark eyes shining with surprise. Even Dion gave every impression of this being an unexpected statement.
"Tonight, your majesty?" repeated Honesty, momentarily grounded from his usual dreamy state.
Nestor had not planned to passively remain a mouse for very long, but given their resources and the apparent strength of their enemy, he had assumed that he would spend at least a full day with whiskers longer than his ears. However, in his usual serene state, the King nodded and turned to his son.
"Prince Dion, while you roused your comrades, I visited the Oracles again. They knew that all necessary parties were awake and bid that you assemble before them soon. They predict that tonight and only tonight will we be able to topple Hyle."
Prolonged expressions of surprise met the King, and every one of the adventurers reflected very gratefully on their few hours of rest. Ko was the first to move, and she walked carefully across the platform to revive Nestor by punching him in the shoulder. The warrior looked 'round, frowning at his former superior, who smirked at him.
"C'mon then, warrior" she challenged. "If it was me they wanted, I would already have had my chat and be on my way to tying the traitor's ears together. I trained you better than to stand there like a goldfish with legs, so set an example and hop to it!"
The only source of light in the room occupied by the Oracles was a solitary lightning bug that alternatively crawled and rested on the ceiling. Despite its movement, its greenish-yellow glow seemed consistently fixed on the three mice seated upon a couche constructed specifically for their use. All three of them were clad in surprisingly nice clothing: their headdresses were clearly bonnets, and they wore dresses over the knees of their hind legs. A makeshift table bearing food stood close by. Were they still human, they would have been passing a water pipe between them, but in its absence, they were slowly working their way through the tobacco the mice had been able to recover by way of a long reed. The entire room smelled sweet and smoky.
Panya – still the tallest and thinnest of the trio, even in her current form – beckoned the four heroes forward as soon as they had closed the door behind them.
"They're witches but won't admit it" Samer informed his fellows in a whisper. "How else could they know we had arrived?"
"Even someone who can't see can hear you giggling down the hallway" Nestor replied. "Now stop goofing."
The group stepped into the thick cloud of smoke that enveloped the seated mice. They themselves had been provided no chairs to sit on, and thus stood as a wall across from the three blind Oracles. Kameke – the shortest and stoutest - held out the reed to them.
"Anyone?" she offered in a squeak. "This is a particularly refined blend."
"Thank you!" said Samer, reaching for the smoking stick. "This is the kind that makes you feel particularly happy to be alive, isn't it? I'd love… Oh."
The wizard caught the disapproving gaze of his compatriots, frowned in disappointment, and retracted his hand. He shook his head with an attempt at dignity.
"Oh well" said Kameke. "We had hoped this would be a beneficent means of keeping our wizard's chatter to a minimum. We do have a lot to get through, so please spare the unnecessary comments."
Affronted at the insinuation that he talked too much, Samer opened his mouth indignantly, closed it, then crossed his forelegs and proceeded to say very little throughout the course of meeting.
"We should invite some discussion, nevertheless" Panya said, with the air of having remembered the answer to a riddle posed earlier in the day. "Inevitably, there will be questions…"
Seizing the opportunity, Dion spoke up with what he thought should be the obvious inquiry.
"Why didn't you warn us that this was going to happen?"
The Oracles took a moment to reply. Their composure remained static, but it was clear that the Prince's piercing question had not been without sting. The aura in the room shifted uncomfortably
"None of us knew, my Prince" Panya eventually replied. "If we had known, we would have rung the bell."
"How could you not know?" Nestor asked..
He looked to each of the old mice in sequence – from Panya to Kameke to Kesi - and addressed each in turn.
"How could you not have seen what his intentions were? Or what he planned alone in his room? Or that he would turn every one of us into rodents?"
The reed stopped being passed around; it rested in Kesi's paw, burning away and creating a cloud above the couch that appeared to shine green with the insect's glow. As the silence grew, Nestor grew irritated. It was not in his nature to be belligerent towards elders - far less towards people who could not see - but he agreed with Dion's sanction that oracles were not of much use if they could not foresee a monumental event such as what had befallen them.
He opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped short upon hearing the surprised gasps of his fellows. He followed their gaze upwards and started, too. Hyle's face, detailed in the smoky cloud cast from the reed, peered down at them with a somber expression.
"We do not ask anyone to take from us the responsibility of our own folly" Panya said, quietly. "This was our sole task – the one means by which three withered old women with no sight could serve the crown – and we failed. Our fiasco can never be undone."
"But before we are cast out for being weak and fallible…" added Kameke. "…we ask that we may prove the worth of our talents to the castle anew. We sit here in great comfort, but we sit ready to serve."
"To serve the only ones who can lead the kingdom out of peril" Kesi rounded. "You may be certain that what will come to pass tonight will determine the fate of the castle. Do not receive this as an affront, but if you leave here without heeding our words, it will be all the more difficult for you to ensure that the future settle in our favor. Will you listen?"
There was no question about that. Samer – still noticeably grouchy but nevertheless intrigued by the promise of a good story – wordlessly conjured chairs and the adventurers sat before the seers. Above them, Hyle's face was washed away in more smoke.
"The intentions of the traitor Hyle were never clear" began Panya. "When we pledged ourselves to the King, he was already with the castle. He had already been here before the King was born. He was, however, a blank slate."
"Intention can be read for the past and present without the aid of passion, but impassiveness makes for an unreadable future. Looking back, we realized Hyle had allowed the whims of others to shape his future – always doing what he was told to do, and never holding ambition of his own. We believe that he intentionally made the future not be his own for the sake of being unpredictable to seers like us."
"And yet here he is, with an obvious plan of his own in a state of near-fulfillment" Kameke said. "How is this possible, you wonder?"
"By forming his plan very long ago" Panya went on. "He calculated the events of this past week further back in the past than I can see, and imbued his plan into an impartial timekeeper that I cannot read – for example, a very long-lived plant. Something with no mind of its own, made to hide one very dark ambition."
Dion interrupted: "How far into the past can you see?"
"Two hundred years" Panya said, with a hint of pride in her voice.
"Wait" interjected Nestor. "You can see two centennials into the past, and you didn't see Hyle's plan being formed?"
"Yes" claimed Panya. "Hyle formed and hid his plan over two hundred years ago. He is more than two hundred years old."
For the second time since they had rested, the adventurers were dumbstruck by an unexpected piece of information. Clearly sensing their disbelief, Panya nodded and took a draft from the reed. She handed it to Kameke.
"Hyle has no lineage within these walls" the short mouse declared. "That much is clear, now that he has shown his true face. Hyle has spent the last six generations telling each subsequent king that his father served the past ruler. That was a lie. No matter what name he took, there was only ever one man."
"Is he even a druid?" Dion put forth.
The Oracles turned to each other, their mouths pursed quizzically. The trio was clearly in tentative disagreement, regarding the answer.
"He possesses green magic, for certain" Kesi said.
"But that can be improvised by a powerful wizard" Panya reminded them.
"Whatever he is, he is not a practicing druid" Kameke declared. "No true greenman would prolong his turn upon the wheel of life for so long. And most importantly, this is not green magic that binds us. It is not magic of any kind."
Samer made an irritated expression as he poured himself some tea; this was old news, after all.
Above the Oracles, there appeared in the smoke the imprint of the weeping mouse the adventurers had noticed in two places throughout the keep. The image became animated, and the green-illuminated rodent shook with unheard sobs as it hid its eyes.
"There!" Nestor said, pointing. "What is that? It's all around the tower, but I've never noticed it before. What's it mean?"
"What's what?" asked Kesi. "Is it the smoke again? Truly, we can't see what puffs up in there any more than we can see anything. It's not an intentional apparition."
"The crying mice!" Nestor specified.
"Oh" said Kameke. "Yes, they've appeared to us, too. We don't believe that's Hyle's work. Though he may have had something to do with it."
"When powerful ill will against the natural world is planned, the world may seek measures to ensure it is not done" Kesi explained. "When Hyle sealed his ambition away, the world deemed it threatening enough to warn those it would affect most directly. These images were scattered throughout the keep while it was being built, acting as warnings for dark times to come. The weeping mouse is an obvious symbol."
"Rubbish warnings, if nobody can even notice them" commented Dion, clearly disgusted with the ambiguity of the supernatural.
"To the contrary, my Prince" Kameke corrected. "These warnings are most pertinent. That they formed at all alerts us to the magnitude of Hyle's plan. Hyle's design was not merely to topple our King and claim the crown – that sort of thing happens all the time. No, we are mice for a much more ominous reason than that."
"…So what is it?" asked Nestor, following what he thought was a respectable silence.
Kesi's sisters inclined towards her. She took the reed and puffed fiercely, holding up one digit as a request for patience. When she finally exhaled the smoke from between her lips, the rising stream formed itself into a dramatic illustration over their heads: a castle on a hill and the sky above, connected by a vertical bridge.
"He seeks to join the Material Plane and the Outer Planes" she interpreted. "Likely for some form of ascension."
A dull slap was heard following Kesi's prediction and a surprised Honesty rocked forward in his seat. Samer had finally asserted himself, albeit wordlessly, and had clapped him on the back.
"What?" asked Honesty. "What have I done?"
"He thinks he's clever" Nestor said, with a disapproving glance at the wizard. "Not everything to do with the metaphysical is linked to Honesty, Samer."
"So why are we mice?" Dion asked over his comrades, his face mildly contorted with frustration. "Why are we mice if he just wants to go to heaven?"
"We don't know, my Prince" Kameke replied, sadly. "He keeps this information guarded. What we do know is that tonight is when he will act decisively."
"This last week has been secretly marked by many failures for him" Panya elaborated. "It may have been a lucky coincidence for him that you were away when he enacted the mass transformation, but he definitely sought to carry out his plan while you were away. He did not succeed, for our situation has not changed. But his plan is finally drawing to completion. He is neglecting his soldiers and allowing them to turn back into beasts because he is too fixated on his dark work."
"And tonight will be either his moment of failure or triumph" Kesi said. "One week – it is a common time limit for supernatural schemes. One week ago, our world changed, and before the sun rises today, Hyle will have achieved his end or been put to ours. I do not think anyone seriously considers that our lot will improve if the former comes to pass."
"The question is, how he is to be stopped" Kameke put forth. "Simply, you must enter the King's tower, find him in its bowels, and destroy the chalice of his ambition."
In the smoky cloud, there appeared an image of a wand with its end formed into the shape of a royal bluebell.
"Is the smoke doing something again?" asked Panya. "If you're seeing what I think you are, you need to find whatever could have spawned this and break it. Break it good."
"How will you get to the King's tower, you wonder?" posed Kesi. "You will find an ally who will shepherd you to there."
The cloud of smoke was changing again, the image inside it morphing. The adventurers sat at complete attention, wondering who at this point could be such an exceptional ally to them. They had faith in their fellow castle-dwellers and would have been grateful for their support, but as they had yet to succeed in storming the second tower, it seemed unlikely that they would manage to do so now. As the apparation began to take shape, Nestor and Dion wondered whether one of their comrades from the road was on the way to the castle to help them. Perhaps it was Samer's old rival Meldrum, or Arcturus the shapeshifter, or even Jordan, the dragon who had eaten them…
The image focused and the heroes stared in disbelieving astonishment. Samer was the first one to make a disappointed face and speak the name with the utmost skepticism:
"Fat-Fat?"
The others were preparing in their own ways. Honesty led an open prayer to Ehlonna for luck on their quest. Nestor dined, doing his best to make sure that no bread or cheese went to waste. With his speaking privileges restored, Samer went about helpfully improving things where he could: he multiplied the food store, regenerated all of the burnt candles, and began changing the makeshift garments of the mice into finer-fitting ones until the tailors expressed their discontent with this indirect criticism of their work (a compromise was reached wherein Samer only created mouse-sized armor and weapons, which no one else was able to produce without a forge). Meanwhile, Dion sat in the King's private quarters, where he placated himself with the tiny abacus that Samer had conjured for him while his father petted him between the ears.
The King was as surprised as anyone at the revelation that his pet was to play a role in saving the castle and preserving their collective future, and he was not pleased. Years ago, convincing him that his only son was capable of going adventuring on behalf of the crown had cost substantial effort, and he initially felt no less complacent with the thought of his prized cat undertaking a dangerous mission. However, the Oracles had been clear about the part Fat-Fat would have to fulfill in the saving them.
As the monsters resumed their old forms in increasing numbers, Fat-Fat was the only one other than Hyle's own cat that would not be inclined to leave the keep; he lived in the towers, after all. The Oracles had predicted that the Persian would soon be resuming his natural state, and sure enough, scouts had reported soon thereafter that the reformed puffball had been spotted scurrying down the stairs to the common area. The Oracles claimed that the bridge connecting the towers would be one of the last places still guarded by the remaining beasts (scouts confirmed this, too), and to get across it without engaging in foolhardy combat, a non-rodent animal would be required to subvert the monsters' senses. It was up to the adventurers to not only get to Fat-Fat, but to convince the fearful cat to bring them to the King's tower.
No matter how troublesome it might be, the adventurers agreed that this method would be infinitely more efficient and safer than a second battle with the monsters.
Dion began to review this plan in his mind, but his thoughts conscientiously drifted to his father. Perceiving the unspoken feelings of others had always been a troublesome task for the Prince, but patience on his father's behalf had contributed greatly to the son's ability to interact with others, and the King's example had made it clear to Dion that there was indeed incentive for never giving up on this never-ending task. As he sat there, he would have much preferred to remain in his relaxed state, but he knew that his father would likely be feeling apprehensive. He did not blame him, even though he did not fear the future at all, and thought it best to demonstrate his courage to the King by initiating the quest without being bidden.
With great poise, he set his abacus aside, rose up from beneath the King's paw, and turned to face his sire.
"Papa, I need to go make sure that my friends aren't eaten like they almost were on our last trip."
This declaration jumped his memory, and he reached into his pocket.
"I won this for you" he added, holding out his paw to show the King the petrified crystal that Samer had been nice enough to shrink along with his rapier.
The taller mouse took the stone and examined it. Always regal and collected to his subjects, the King allowed his brow to rise in surprise in the presence of his son.
"This is million-year wood" he declared. "It is extremely lucky."
"It's not working" said Dion, thinking back to the near-miss with the chimeras.
The King looked at Dion, who knew at once that his father was going to insist that he keep it instead, simply because it was supposedly lucky. Before the Prince's frustration at this confounding turn could set in, however, the King did something unexpected: he retrieved the sword that Samer had created for him, set the crystal onto the floor, and cut the crystal in two before his son's surprised face.
Dion already guessed his father's meaning before the King carried the halved crystal over to him. He did not think much of the gesture, given that it had come at the expense of the present he had spent the last many days anticipating to give to his father, but he let the older mouse say what he wanted to, regardless of his personal disappointment.
"One half for you, to help you remain safe" the King said significantly, and placed part of the damaged gift into his son's hand.
Dion looked at it, and was surprised by what he saw. The King had delivered such a precise slice that it had not truly tarnished the crystal, which was now smaller but still slightly. Additionally, it was extremely pleasant to feel along the cut, which was smoother than the surface of a mirror.
"And one half for me, so you will know that I am safe" the King finished, closing the paw in which he held his own portion.
He placed his other paw on the back of Dion's neck in a paternal gesture.
"We both worry about each other so much, don't we?" he said, looking into the young mouse's face with an adoring smile. "But these will remind us that we do not have to, for I am a great King and my son is the bravest and cleverest rogue in all the lands. Think of how even greater of a ruler you will be."
The thought of the crown passing was not an idea that Dion liked to entertain, but he understood what his father had meant: there had been no need to worry himself the way he had when he did not know what had become of the King. Looking down at his half of the crystal, he stepped forward and allowed his father's arms to envelop him. King Tears pressed a kiss to the top of Dion's head and held him for as long as he could. He had braced himself, but was clearly disappointed that the night could not end at that moment, with nothing more to worry about than Dion's upcoming birthday.
"Just keep being careful" he bid. "Your life is important to me."
Dion nodded against his father's chest, and held the crystal shard against his own. Despite the tenderness of this exchange, the rogue's unique mind was already heating up like a furnace in preparation for the mission ahead. He did not mind being a mouse, but could not abide the thought of his relationship with the King being endangered by the schemes of a devious druid. Hyle had imposed on one of the few things in the world that brought calm to the atypical Prince, and for that, there was no alternative to soundly stopping him and ensuring that he would never be able to mount such a scheme ever again. As his father cuddled him in what the King might have thought was a moment of peace, Prince Dion was realizing that he did not care whether or not Hyle still had a pulse, come morning's first light – all he knew was that he would pay for even thinking that he could do what he pleased in Castle Tears.