The Oerth Cycle

Click to read an excerpt from The Last God

Click to read an excerpt from Legacy of the Last God

Click to read an excerpt from Ayre of the Last God

Click to read an excerpt from Children of the Last God

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Click to read an excerpt from the NEW Oerth book, Paradox of the Last God

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Excerpt from The Last God

One.

The sun shone down warmly on Merle, and she wiggled her whiskers in delight. Darting beneath the shade of Old Gnarly, her favorite oak tree, she turned her prize over in her paws - a gleaming river stone, shaped and colored almost perfectly by the running water of the babbling brook nearby. It was a nearly perfect sphere, and she was very pleased with her find.

'I am the happiest mustie alive' she thought, and grinned otterishly to herself.

Old Gnarly had a hollow spot at the base of his roots, and Merle doffed her pack and sat down, smoothing her green-dyed leather dress quietly for a moment before she looked at her prize again. With a practiced flick of the fingers, she tossed it spinning into the air, her sharp eyes watching it for a wobble. There was none. She caught the stone, and examined it closely again.

"You are just perfect. Let's see how you fly," she said to the stone, and grinned again for a moment before reaching into her pack for Stonecatcher.

Stonecatcher was what Merle had dubbed a little invention of hers - a small box, about the size of her head, made of wood. One side had a rectangular hole in it that went all the way across its width and half way down its height. Inside was an angled plank to deflect stones she aimed at it into the bottom of the box, and another small plank kept them from bouncing back out again. The other musties had just shaken their heads when they saw it. They could never understand why Merle wasted so much time making odd things. "Touched in the head," they said, tapping their headfur and nodding to each other knowingly. "My inventions," Merle always pouted in reply, and strutted off to her burrow in a huff.

With Stonecatcher nestled snugly into Old Gnarly's hollow, Merle scampered off twenty paces. Reaching to her waist, she pulled her sling from her pocket, and slipped the stone into the sling's rounded leather pouch. Gripping the sling's leather thongs with a practiced air, she whirled it above her head for a moment, then snapped her arm down suddenly, releasing the thong pinched between her thumb and forefingers. The stone flew straight and true, smacking the bounding board in Stonecatcher with a hollow thunk and rattling about inside the box for a moment before lying still. Merle chittered in delight as she scampered back to the tree. The other musties always chided her for her technique with the sling, but none faulted her for her accuracy or the amount of succulent rabbits she brought in to the communal cookpot. "You don't use a sling like that. You twirl it at your side, like this," they said. "My sling is twice as long as yours - that won't work. I use it like this," she always replied. "Then trim the thongs to a more reasonable length," they chided again. "Longer slings hit harder and shoot farther," she always snapped in reply.

Merle understood why her sling was better than those of the other musties, but couldn't explain it to them. She understood the longer thongs allowed greater force to be developed as she whirled it - she had made the sling after she had played a game of "Crack-the-Whip" with some other musties two years ago. At first, there were only four, and Merle was easily able to hold on as the leader spun everyone around. She tripped waving to some others who bounded up to join the game, and she sat on the grass to catch her breath before grabbing onto the end of the line again. But by then, there were nine, and she could hardly hold on. As her grip slipped and she tumbled into the grass, it dawned on her that this was the same force imparted into the sling stones - and a longer sling would mean greater force. The others thought she might be hurt. They all gathered 'round her in concern, since she wasn't giggling and laughing after the fall, but then shook their heads in disgust when they saw she was fine. "Oh, she's just thinking again. That Merle. Always thinking instead of playing." Merle's reply had been little more than an enraged snarl, and she hadn't shared her discovery with her playmates. Instead, she made a new, longer sling, and spent months practicing with it until she was as good with it as she had been her old one.

Merle stood, drawing herself to her full three feet of height, and held the stone aloft. Pitching her voice low in imitation of Byarl, Chief of the Musties, she intoned "I find you fit, O Stone of the River. I dub thee..." Merle paused, then collapsed on the ground in a gigglefit when she realized she had no idea what to name the stone. She sat up again, resting her back against the tree, and regarded the stone again, still grinning. "Well, little stone, I am not Byarl, and you are not a mustie reaching their Age of Majority, but I still name all my stones. I will call you Seeker, for you fly true and seem to almost seek the target I am aiming at. I hope that I will always be able to find you after a shot, and that we will be good hunting partners," she said to the stone, and slipped it into the pouch she carried at her side. Patting the pouch to make the twelve stones inside it rattle, she smiled happily.

"Hoyo, Merle!" a small voice squeaked from the other side of the clearing. Merle looked. It was Tinker, her mouse-friend. Tinker was a little gray mouse. He was slightly shorter than Merle, like most mice, and had black eyes like twin pieces of jet. He waited until Merle smiled at him before he approached. Merle got along better with the industrious little mice than she did the musties. The mice were always thinking and working and making interesting things - most of which they traded to the musties for tanned rabbitskin and other things the musties made. Merle had two sling-stones Tinker had made, rounded glass spheres he'd created by dripping molten glass into a bucket of water. But, though Merle loved the mice dearly and enjoyed their thoughtful, industrious company, the mice themselves feared her and every other mustie as carnivores.

"Hoyo, Tinker! Whatcha got in the basket?" Merle asked, pointing at the small woven basket Tinker carried in his paws.

"Gooseberries. My mom wants to make Gooseberry pie for the family tonight, and she asked me and my sister to gather some. You'd have smelled it, but you're upwind of me," Tinker replied with a mousie-grin, walking up to Merle.

"Ooooo! Gooseberries! Can I have one?" Merle asked, eyeing the basket hungrily.

Tinker blanched at Merle's gaze, his own instincts sending a thrill of fear down his spine. "Umm... No, they're for mom," he replied nervously.

Merle saw Tinker's expression, and smoothed her own face to an apologetic look. "Sorry, Tinker. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm just a little hungry."

"That's okay," Tinker replied, his smile slowly returning. "I guess you could have a pawful if you can help me find more."

Merle opened her mouth to say 'yes', but shut it suddenly, and shook her head. "No, it's a little early in the season for gooseberries. You'll need every pawful you can find," she replied, trying to suppress her tummy's audible growl.

"Well, I do need your help - that's why I came. I also need to pay you something - the Law of the Mice demands it," Tinker said, drawing himself up to his full height and looking down at the seated Merle.

Merle giggled, covering her mouth politely with her paw. Mice were funny like that, with all their rules and regulations and their orderly lives. Tinker had once visited her burrow, and was shocked to see dozens of inventions of hers scattered about the room, piled in corners, and otherwise in disarray. "Don't you have any sense of order? How do you find anything in this mess?" he had asked. Merle had simply giggled and replied "Everything is where I put it last. That's how I find it all - I just remember where I last put it." Merle didn't have any parents to reprimand her for being messy, as they had been killed by a bear over a year ago - though even if they were alive, they wouldn't complain too loudly. Musties were all a little disorganized, anyway (or so Merle always told Tinker, at any rate). Merle had visited the snug, orderly little burrow of Tinker's family, so she understood why Tinker thought her place was messy.

"It's alright, Tinker. You're my friend. I'll help you because I like you," Merle replied, still giggling.

"No, that won't do," Tinker said, plopping himself down to sit before her, then crossing his arms firmly. "Is there anything you would like? Is there anything you need?"

Merle thought about it. What she really needed was to go hunting for some rabbits or birds so she could have something to bring home to the communal cook-pot - if she didn't bring anything back to the village, she wouldn't get to eat. Even so, she knew watching her hunt unnerved Tinker badly - asking him to help was out of the question. Sweet berries were edible to musties, and they liked the taste, but they primarily ate meat. Berries were more a snack-food that you gathered while hunting to keep yourself going. Merle shrugged. "I can't think of anything, Tinker," she replied.

Tinker's sharp eyes lit on her fingering the thongs to her sling as they hung out of her pocket. "I know. I have just the thing," he said, and fished about one of the many pockets in his leather vest for a moment, producing a small steel ring.

"What is it?" Merle asked in curiosity.

"Well, it's something I intended to give to you at your Coming of Age ceremony next week, but I can give it to you now. It's a ring for your sling," he explained, holding it out to her.

"Oh, Tinker! You were going to come!" Merle squealed, and hugged him suddenly. Tinker squeaked in fear for a moment, his pale, hairless tail lashing, but he calmed down quickly as Merle cooed into his pink, hairless ears and nuzzled him. Merle realized her mistake at moving suddenly, but had simply forgotten how instinctive her little mouse-friend's fear of carnivores was. She spent the next few minutes grooming behind his ears gently, nibbling and lapping at his fur with her tongue, until he was churring quietly with pleasure and nuzzling her neck.

"My mother is going to kill me, you know," he said, grinning.

"Huh? Why is that?" Merle asked, letting him go gently.

"She thinks I spend too much time with you - like I want to be mated to you or something - and now I'm going to come home smelling of you. She's going to throw a fit," Tinker replied, and chuckled.

Merle giggled. "I think we are too young to be mated. I haven't even had my first heat yet, I'm only fourteen summers. But if I were going to pick a mate, I would pick someone like you, Tinker. You're smart and sweet and good with your paws, and I like you very much."

Tinker hugged Merle quietly for a moment before speaking again. "I like you, too, Merle. A whole lot. Even though sometimes you scare the tail off of me," he said, and they shared a giggle.

Merle glanced about on the ground for the forgotten ring Tinker had tried to give her, and her sharp eyes soon spotted it in the grass. She picked it up and examined it. It was easily large enough to slip over her thumb. "I don't think this would make a good stone," she commented.

"No, you tie one of the thongs to it instead of wrapping the thong around your finger before you load the sling. Then, when you use the sling, you just slip your middle finger through it. That way, you can ready the sling faster," Tinker explained.

Merle nodded, and pulled her sling from her pocket. Taking the first few finger-widths of the broader thong she usually wrapped around her finger, she tied it to the ring. Reaching into the stone-pouch at her left side, she pulled out the first missile that came to paw. "Ah. Seeker," she said, grinning. After making sure Stonecatcher was still firmly set into Old Gnarly's hollow, Merle stood to walk back a few yards. Tinker hopped to his feet and followed.

Merle tucked the sling back into her pocket, leaving only the ends of the thongs hanging out. "Okay, let's try it," she said. Tinker stepped back to give her room.

Merle's right paw flashed down to her side, her middle finger easily slipping into the ring as she gripped the other thong between thumb and forefinger. Jerking the sling from her pocket, she brought her paws together, holding the stone between the two dangling thongs and drawing her paws apart until the stone met the pouch a moment later. Releasing the loaded pouch, she flicked her right wrist, spinning the sling above her head for a few moments, then snapping down her arm as she released the thong held between thumb and forefinger. Seeker flew straight and true again, and Stonecatcher rewarded Merle with a happy thunk-rattle of success.

Merle clapped for a moment. "You were right, Tinker, it is a little faster! Thank you so much for this!"

"Y-you're welcome," he replied, pasting a smile on his face and trying to conceal his nervousness at the deadly accuracy of Merle's sling. He had to repress a shudder when Merle grinned at him, her razor-sharp teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun.

Merle quickly covered her mouth, as was the custom of the musties around the mice, but she could see it was too late. She kicked herself mentally for the slip as she put Stonecatcher back into her pack and shouldered it. All musties covered their smiles when around the mice - to do otherwise made them very nervous. "Come, Tinker - let's go find some gooseberries," she said with a sigh. Tinker nodded, then smiled weakly, holding out his paw. Merle took it, smiling with her other paw over her mouth politely, and they walked off together into the shade of the nearby trees.

Two.

Two hours later, the sun was approaching late afternoon, and Tinker held up a paw to call a halt to the proceedings. Merle's sharp nose had ferreted out many berries for Tinker to take home. There were none to spare, however, for Merle had been right - it was early in the season for gooseberries. Merle sat down and sipped quietly at the waterskin she kept in her pack, hoping to quiet her tummy's rumblings with some water, at least.

"We make a great team for berry-hunting, don't we, Merle?" Tinker asked, a big mousie-grin on his face.

Merle nodded, smiling behind a paw. "Yep! And with both of us keeping a watch out for bears, it's much safer."

Tinker nodded, glancing about nervously even at the mention of bears. The mice and musties only had one major enemy in the Wild Woods - bears. They weren't intelligent, but then again, they didn't need to be. Most of them were black or dark brown in color, stood about twice as tall as a mustie, and weighed many, many times more. The mice relied on the musties for protection against bears. When the musties spotted one in the vicinity, they hunted it down and killed it, in accordance with their ancient treaty with the mice. The musties would stalk a bear for days, then leap on it from ambush, overwhelming them with numbers. Seven or eight male musties ripping with their fangs and the sharp, wickedly curved knives the mice made for them usually made short work of even the largest adult bear. However, a lone mustie like Merle, even paired with a timid little mouse like Tinker, was no match for even a young bear. So, Merle and Tinker had been very careful while searching for gooseberries.

Merle's tummy growled loudly, and she spoke up again. "I'm sorry, Tinker, but I have to go. I'm starving. I have to hunt before it gets dark, or I won't get to eat tonight," she said, a small frown on her face.

Tinker nodded, struggling to keep his distaste off his face. A hunting mustie was a fearful sight to a mouse, and the thought of eating the flesh of a dumb rabbit was very disgusting to them. "Here, Merle - mom won't miss one gooseberry. You can have it. That'll at least be something to keep your tummy from growling while you..." he said, and found he couldn't finish.

"Thanks, Tinker," Merle replied, trying to control the look on her face and take the gooseberry demurely from Tinker's outstretched paw. True to its name, it was a berry about the size of a goose egg. Merle popped it into her mouth and bit down deep, swallowing the sweet juices. "Mmm... Delicious," she murmured, her mouth mostly full of the delicious fruit. She chewed for a few moments, then swallowed the gooseberry.

"Well, I have to be heading back," Tinker commented, glancing at the sun.

"Shall I walk you back home?" Merle asked, enjoying the thought of seeing the mouse village again, if even only from a distance. The various contraptions mice built were immensely fascinating to her. Tinker's house in particular she found very fascinating. Smith, Tinker's father, had made a huge thing he called a 'Steam Engine'. When it was running, it not only could warm the house in the winter, but it also turned a large wheel attached to a series of belts and axles that ran throughout the family workshop. More belts came off each axle, and through a complicated series of universal joints and spinning armatures they provided power to the various devices that Tinker's family had in their house. This let Tinker's dad use something he called a 'Power Drill' and a 'Power Sander', and Tinker's mother had a strange device she called a 'Sewing Machine' hooked up to it that allowed her to do lighting fast needlework. Other mice had made similar inventions that fascinated Merle greatly.

"What, after the last time? I don't think so. My mother would throw a fit. She probably already will, since I'll come home with your scent on me so strongly," Tinker replied, frowning.

Merle nodded sadly. It was true - the last time she had visited the village of the mice, things hadn't gone well. Merle had been so fascinated by all the interesting gadgets and inventions, she'd run around the village trying to get a close look at each, grinning broadly. This scared all the mice very badly, and she was almost asked to leave by the Village Mayor. If it hadn't been for the fact that Merle had been invited to Tinker's house for dinner, she might have been politely but firmly shown the way out of the village. Of course, the dinner itself was also a disaster. Even though the musties and the mice had been allies and friends since time immemorial, Tinker's whole family been visibly nervous at having a carnivore visit them. Worse, the only thing Tinker's mom served that Merle could really eat was berries.

Merle sighed. "You're right, Tinker. I'll see you later. Tell your momma I said hello," she replied.

Tinker started to turn, then stopped. Carefully putting the basket down and kneeling, he reached out to Merle and hugged her carefully. "I'm sorry, Merle. Sometimes I think you should have been born a mouse, too. You're more like us than you are like the musties."

Merle hugged back and sighed. "Sometimes I agree with you, Tinker," she replied quietly. Then she giggled, and covered her smile as Tinker let her go. "But I think if I was a mousie, your momma would spank me for having a messy room."

Tinker grinned in reply, and shook his head at Merle's ability to make a joke and laugh when he knew she must be terribly sad and very hungry. 'I guess she really is a mustie after all.' Tinker thought with a smile. "No, momma would take one look at your messy room and just faint," he replied, and they shared a laugh.

Suddenly, Merle's expression shifted - she looked startled. "What is that?" she yelped.

Tinker spun, his tail lashing in fear, his eyes darting about. "What is what?!" he asked fearfully, worried that the answer might involve bears.

"Listen!" Merle replied, shushing Tinker.

Tinker listened, his pink ears twitching nervously. At first, all he could hear was the whispering of the breeze between the trees. Then, after a moment, the errant breeze brought the sound to his ears. A sound unlike anything he'd heard before. It was strange - like thunder, and yet not. "What is that?" he asked, frightened.

Merle giggled. "That's what I asked you, silly!" Merle hopped to her feet and tugged at Tinker's paw. "Come on! Let's go investigate!"

Tinker shook his head firmly. "No. I have to get these gooseberries home to mom. Besides, that sounds too much like an adventure. Nasty, scary, uncomfortable things, adventures. Make you late for dinner - maybe make you never come home at all. I can't imagine what you musties see in them," Tinker replied with an air that Merle easily recognized - it was the same one she'd seen when she met Tinker's dad.

'That's probably exactly what his father would say if he was standing here.' Merle thought to herself. Merle suppressed a sigh. When all was said and done, her friend was still a mouse - and mice were industrious and inventive and very bright, but they were not brave, playful or adventurous. "Alright, Tinker. You go on home to your momma and daddy, then. I'm going to go find something for dinner," she said, then stood, brushed off her dress, turned and walked away without another word. She could hear Tinker shuffling his feet behind her, probably struggling with finding something to say, but she didn't look back. She didn't want him to see her tears.

Three.

Merle sat back down beneath Old Gnarly's branches again, her stomach growling. It had been a miserable hunt, and she had come up empty-pawed. By the ways of the musties, that meant she didn't get anything to eat. She didn't have a mother and father to provide for her, so she ate from the communal cookpot with the other unmated adults. Unfortunately, that meant she also had to accept the same responsibilities as the other adults, and bring something home to the village to toss into the pot. It wasn't that her hunting skills were lacking, or that the game wasn't there - she'd seen three rabbits that would have been just fine for dinner. Unfortunately, the breeze shifted as she was closing the range, and each of the three rabbits caught a whiff of her scent and ran for their lives. If she'd had a little more time before the hours of darkness, she might have resumed the hunt and been able to bring something back. Unfortunately, the sun was now well hidden behind the trees, and the sky was growing red as sunset approached.

Merle sniffled for a moment, a deep sense of loss aching in her chest. She missed her parents deeply. The other musties sympathized, but by their own rough code, Merle was nearly an adult. If her parents had done a good job of raising her, then she should be able to make it without them. Had Merle been a few years younger, one of the other mustie couples might have taken her in, but she wasn't. Even if she was, Merle probably wouldn't have accepted. No, all the musties, Merle included, felt that Merle should be able to make it on her own. That's what the Coming of Age ceremony was about for Musties - an acknowledgment that the parents had done a good job, and the child was ready to become an adult. And Merle felt that she was ready. But, she was still sad. When her parent's were alive, she had never gone hungry. Now, she sometimes did go hungry when the hunting was bad, and the hunger always brought the pain of her loss to the forefront of her mind, fresh and sharp. Merle was thinking of her friend Tinker, who was probably sitting down to a dinner with his family right now, filling his tummy with delicious gooseberry pie.

"And probably some of that icky acorn-bread and a salad or something like that," Merle said aloud, making a face to no one in particular, then giggling. 'When trouble stares you in the face, smile,' her daddy always used to say. Merle plastered a grin on her face, chuckling to herself. That was the mustie way - face adversity with a smile.

Merle's thoughts wandered to the strange noise that she and Tinker had heard in the forest earlier. She still had no idea what it could be - but her curiosity was piqued. 'I do believe I shall go and find out what that was,' she thought, and stood, shouldering her pack.

An hour later, Merle was standing at the spot she and Tinker had parted company. Merle's eyes, like that of all musties, were quite sharp and she could see fairly well at night - unless it was pitch black with no moon. Tonight, however, a full moon hung high in the sky, lighting the forest clearly enough for her to spot her and Tinker's footprints in the soft soil. Orienting herself carefully, she quietly proceeded in the direction the sound had come from.

After a long while, Merle began to worry this would be a fool's errand. After all, the sound she and Tinker had heard was hours ago - the forest was filled only with night sounds, now. A moment later, just as she drew near the northern edge of the Wild Wood, the shifting night breezes brought a strange scent to her nose, and she gasped in surprise.

"Blood. A lot of blood," she muttered to herself, and followed the scent carefully. Whatever had spilled that much blood probably was very dangerous, and might still be in the vicinity. Whatever it was, though, it now was her duty to investigate. If something dangerous had come to the Wild Woods, it would be the duty of all musties to try to deal with it before any harm befell their friends and allies, the mice.

The moon's shift in the sky told her that several hours had passed since she first began searching for the source of the sound. She was quite near the edge of the Wild Woods - beyond were the unexplored plains that the mice and musties just called "The Unknown Lands." All sorts of legends were passed down about these lands. There were stories of great birds that could snatch up a mustie and gobble them at a single gulp, stories of giant, intelligent cats twice the height of a mustie that would sneak in and steal naughty mousie-children at night and eat them, and other terrible, horrible stories that made all the mice and musties avoid the Unknown Lands like the plague. Merle paused as she neared the edge of the forest. Her nose was filled with the scent of blood and slaughter, and she felt herself tremble in fear, wondering if the legends were true.

Great events in history often turn on the smallest moments, and those moments usually go unnoticed by the chroniclers and sages who try to record such things. For the Little People of the Wild Wood, the course of history had been changed for them over eight centuries before by the caw of a raven, and the leaders of their two tribes meeting in peace instead of in enmity. Now, the fate of two mighty empires hung in the balance, and the future of Oerth rested on the unknowing shoulders of a trembling little mustie, alone in the dark. The world would have held its breath, if it had breath to hold.

After awhile, Merle mastered her fear. She could see nothing moving in the darkness, nor hear anything dangerous. She reasoned that someone had to look, and that someone may as well be her.

Stealthily creeping the last few hundred paces, Merle looked about in the moonlight that bathed the vast plains of the Unknown Lands in amazement. There were bodies laying scattered about hither and yon. About a dozen, in all. Each was far larger than a mustie - as big as a bear, in fact. Her keen eyes easily spotted the tracks by the moonlight. They told the tale that some of the corpses had been gnawed at by ravens during the daylight - though with the fall of night, the feathered scavengers had apparently wandered off, their bellies full of meat. Other creatures had been here, though - there were enormous, bird-like tracks of a kind Merle had never seen before, and she shuddered at the thought of the legends coming to life. Still, there were no great birds around here now, she noticed.

Merle crept up, her curiosity finally getting the better of her, and examined the scene. The bodies of the fallen were those of creatures unlike any she had seen in her life. Some had large plates of metal that covered parts of their bodies, but the rest did not. Merle had never seen armor before, and had no clue that was what she was looking at. Weapons were scattered about, and many of the corpses had little sticks thrust into them, with feathers tipping the ends. Merle had never seen an arrow, a sword or a spear before, and had no idea what they might be. The knives she recognized, however, and the rest she could deduce quite readily. What had happened was obvious - a great battle had been fought here between those who lay on the ground and another group. The tracks on the ground told the tale that the winners had apparently taken their own dead and wounded away with them, leaving only their enemies behind. In curiosity, she examined the corpses more closely, and was surprised and amazed at what she saw.

Whoever these people were, they were large. Their legs were as thick as Merle's waist and their arms almost as thick as their legs. The fingers of their paws were tipped in small, sharp claws. They looked powerful and dangerous, even in death. Most surprising, however, was their teeth. Though they had the canine fangs of a carnivore, they also had large, rodentine incisors. Their ears were pale and hairless, and when Merle rolled a mostly-intact corpse over using a broken spear as a lever, she was shocked to see a long, pale, almost hairless tail.

"Mice!" Merle exclaimed in surprise - though not like the mice of the Wild Wood. These were enormous - and judging by their teeth, either omnivorous, or carnivorous. They also had fur of several different colors - two were brown, two were gray, and one was a dark black. Merle found that very unusual - all the mice of the Wild Wood were of the same color - gray, with black eyes. The musties, likewise, were all colored very similarly. They all had brown eyes and brown fur, though unlike the mice there were more variations in fur shading. The musties' fur ranged from a golden brown to a warm, dark brown, and the fur of the throat, chest and tummy almost always was lighter than that of the head and back.

Merle looked around at these strange beings, trying to imagine what creatures could possibly have killed them, and shuddered in fear. These beings who lay dead before her looked mighty enough to kill a bear empty-pawed - whatever had slain them must have been dangerous, indeed.

Merle nearly leapt out of her fur at a sudden sound, and looked around. It was several moments before she realized that one of the "corpses" wasn't a corpse at all. The sound had been a groan of pain - though the sound had been lower-pitched than any voice of any mustie. Trembling, she approached the lone survivor.

The enormous creature fumbled for a bit with a strap below its chin, pulling off its helmet using only its left paw, then letting the helmet fall. The helmet had been dented by a mighty blow from a mace, though Merle didn't know that. Matted blood covered the gray fur of the creature's face, and its eyes were yellow and wild. It spotted Merle and snarled, reaching to its armor-covered side and drawing a knife. The creature fumbled for a bit, trying to lever itself up with its other arm, but this only brought a renewed groan of pain and a snarl.

Merle held up both her paws, showing they were empty, and smiled in what she hoped was a disarming manner. "It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you," she said. 'Oops!' She thought, too late. 'This is a mouse - a big, mean mouse, but still a mouse. What if my smiling scares him?'

The creature before her lowered his knife, and raised a tuft of fur above its left eye that was its eyebrow. It then spoke, its speech harsh and growling. Merle shook her head, not understanding a word. 'Well, apparently smiling was the right thing to do.' she thought. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

The creature growled out a short reply, then gestured for her to come closer, sheathing the knife. Merle edged a bit closer, and the creature struggled to right itself. Merle nervously reached over to it, grabbing its left arm and pulling to help, and finally it was sitting on its haunches. It groaned again, and reached over to prod its right upper arm. It grunted, then spat out a single word.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Merle said in reply.

The creature nodded, then picked up one of the arrows that lay on the ground nearby, holding it up against its upper arm. It then snapped the arrow in its powerful fingers, and repeated the word.

"Ah! Broken! You're trying to say your arm is broken!" Merle exclaimed.

The creature nodded again, and proceeded to stretch its legs. After a moment, it put its good paw on the ground, and levered itself to its feet. It stood there for a moment, swaying. Merle nearly leapt away in fear when the creature reached for her, but it only placed a callused paw on her shoulder to steady itself.

Merle looked up at it in a mixture of awe and fear. It was over twice as tall as she was - the top of her head only came up to the sash it wore around its waist, over its armor. Its armor covered its shoulders, torso, forearms, wrists and the backs of its paws, and also draped down over its hips in a skirt-like arrangement. Its legs were arranged normally, Merle observed. It walked on its toes, like the musties and mice did, but its feet were covered in hard leather boots of a type Merle had never seen before - they went up past the ankle and up to the knee, covering the achilles tendon, and had a metal plate along the back side that covered the tendon. They were also laced up along their L-shaped side, and the toe was covered in a steel cap. Merle looked to the creature's face, but it wasn't looking at her. Instead, its yellow-gold eyes were glancing about the ground in the moonlight, looking for something. As it stood there, its paw on her shoulder, Merle got a deep whiff of its scent. 'Well, whatever it is, it's a carnivore, and it's a male,' she thought.

The creature released her, then stepped behind her, stooping to pick up two sticks from the ground and tuck them into his sash. Merle realized they were made in the same fashion as the knife and the scabbard that he wore, and that they must be longer knives of some sort, in their scabbards. She'd never seen swords before, and certainly nothing like these. The scabbards were lacquered wood, not leather, and the crossguard was a circle of metal, not a simple flat metal bar.

Stooping to one of the dead, the creature tugged loose the bloody sash about the corpse's middle and began fumbling with it one-pawed. After a moment, Merle realized he was trying to make a sling for his arm. "Wait - let me do that," she said, and reached for the sash. The creature raised an eyebrow at her again, but gave her the sash when she smiled and repeated what she'd said. "Come - sit," she said, gesturing.

He nodded, then knelt before her. Merle quickly measured about his torso, then tied a simple knot in the sash and draped it over his neck. "You'll have to set that break, you know," Merle said, wondering if he understood her at all.

He nodded, then rose again, and let his broken arm hang. Leaning over to one of the other corpses, he wrapped its sash about his wrist several times, then straightened up, pulling his arm straight. He snarled in pain for a moment as the bones shifted back into their proper position, then leaned forward, relaxing. Merle hunted about until she found the broken haft of a spear that was about the right size, then pulled the sash off one of the corpses and neatly tied the stick to the side of the creature's arm in three separate spots to keep the bone from shifting. She had to lift the armor plate that protected his shoulder to get it right, and she could hear the creature breathing heavily in pain as she worked. Finally, she gently lifted his wrist and placed it into the loop that hung from his neck, then stepped back. When she was finished, he gently probed his arm for a few moments, then nodded in satisfaction. Standing, he said a single word, then bowed, holding his injured arm to his torso with his other arm.

"Well, if that means 'thanks', then you're welcome," Merle giggled, and bowed back.

He looked about for awhile longer, stooping to pick up arrows and gather them into a bundle in his fist. Finally, his eyes lit on a long wooden case, and he set the arrows aside, sitting on the ground beside it. Merle followed along with interest.

He opened the top end of the case, then smiled, slipping the arrows inside it. He then closed the case, and shouldered it with a leather strap attached to it, and stood. Bowing again, he turned and began to limp away.

"Hey! Wait! Where are you going?" Merle yelped.

The enormous mouse turned, his tail lashing in what looked like irritation. He spoke at length in his guttural, growling language, but Merle still didn't understand him. He pointed off in the direction he was going several times during this, then finally fell silent. Merle just shook her head.

"Uh-uh. You've got a broken arm! Broken!" she said, pointing. "Whoever or whatever killed all your friends," she said, sweeping a paw to encompass all the still forms around her, "might find you out there, alone, with a broken arm, and finish you off." Merle then crossed her arms firmly.

The mouse looked at her, looked at the bodies strewn about them, growled for a moment, then nodded.

"Besides, you haven't even told me your name. I think that it would at least be polite to introduce yourself, don't you? My name is Merle. What's yours?" she asked.

He grunted something in reply that Merle guessed (quite correctly) meant "I don't understand."

Merle thought for a moment, then pointed to herself. "Merle," she said, then bowed.

The mouse's eyes lit up in comprehension. He pointed to himself, and said "Xaa." Then he bowed in return.

Merle reached out and took Xaa's enormous, callused paw in her own tiny one. "Come on, Xaa - you'll need time to rest and recover, and to let your arm heal. You can stay at my house until you recover."

Xaa hesitated, and for a moment, it was as though Merle was trying to tug a tree along behind her - he simply didn't budge. Then, he seemed to come to a decision, and limped along behind her. Merle led him quietly into the gloomy forest, wondering just what the response of the village would be upon seeing him.

Excerpt from the Second Book,

Legacy of the Last God

One.

"Mrowr... With humility, my lord, it is true. The mus are driving us back," General R'Narr replied. "On the southeastern flank, Lady T'Mrr reports she has lost half the lands she had gained from our initial push six years ago, and Lord T'Chang has been slain, his warriors scattered to the four winds. Others under our banner are experiencing the same. The situation is a bit better on our northeastern flank, but as the mus spread their new guns and their airships, the situation grows progressively worse."

Shazad D'Zhin, Lord and Emperor of all the cat-clans, leaned back on his throne, looking down at R'Narr as he knelt on the carpet before him. The orange tabby's armor and the light clothing beneath it were filthy from two weeks of hard riding to get here, but his report had been too important to wait for the niceties of hygiene. R'Narr didn't tremble as he knelt, his forehead pressed to the carpet, and though the grime and dust ground into his fur was obviously incredibly distracting to him, he controlled himself well. This was good - weakness was something D'Zhin couldn't abide in any of his underlings.

D'Zhin considered his words carefully, smoothing a wrinkle from his soft, purple silk robe to give himself a moment to think. As emperor, his greatest tools and most powerful weapons were not his claws or his sword, driven by the lean muscles that lay beneath his ebon fur, but rather his tongue, driven by the keen wit behind it. His first instinct was to simply tear R'Narr's tabby-hued throat out for being a bungler and a fool. He controlled this instinct with an iron will. Dead, R'Narr was merely another cooling corpse. Alive, he could still be useful. "Mrr... You have annoyed me, R'Narr. This campaign should have ended a year ago," he rumbled, his deep voice echoing in the quiet throneroom.

"Mrowl... Forgive me, my lord, but even I cannot control the weather. Early snows prevented us from sending reinforcements or supplies for months. By the time the weather cleared between the capital and our eastern front, the mus had already begun their counter-assault with their new weapons. We've simply been struggling to hold them back, at this point."

D'Zhin was silent again, thinking. The flintlock rifles of the mus had significantly greater range than the simpler, smooth-bored flintlock muskets of the cats - and as the mus continued making them, it was inevitable that they would slowly improve their range and accuracy. The cats had yet to capture any of the guns of the mus, and had no idea how or why their weapons were superior - they only knew they were.

"Mrr... And our poisons are useless..." D'Zhin said. It was not a question, but rather a rumble of disgust.

"Miao... Yes, my lord. They have discovered an anti-toxin of some sort."

"Mrr... R'Narr, you are a fool. Your delay in launching our final assault gave time for the weather to move in, and this gave them the additional few months they needed to develop their new guns and their anti-toxin. Had you moved earlier, the mus would now all be under our claw, or under the ground."

R'Narr said nothing at the insult, and D'Zhin eyed him quietly. 'You still have good control over your emotions, R'Narr, just as my father noticed in you. Perhaps there still are a few useful years left in you, after all,' D'Zhin thought silently. "Mrr... Sit up, R'Narr. I would show you something," D'Zhin rumbled.

R'Narr did as he was bidden, sitting back on his heels. D'Zhin snapped his fingers, pointing to one of his many advisors who knelt quietly along the walls of the throneroom. The jellicle she-cat rose, padded over to the throne, then knelt, holding a scroll above her head. R'Narr's tail twitched slightly as he gazed at her, but he controlled himself otherwise. She was spectacularly beautiful, and clad in a garment that consisted of three triangles of cloth, one over each nipple and another over her sex - and nothing more. D'Zhin chuckled. "Mrr... I see you like L'Sala, R'Narr."

'Damn, his eyes are keen,' R'Narr thought to himself, keeping his face smooth and expressionless as he could. "Mrow... She has a passing beauty, my lord, and is pleasing to the eye," he replied, politely.

"Mrr... And what is your assessment of her?"

"Mrowl? I am afraid I don't understand, my lord."

"Mrr... Look at her, and tell me what you see. Exactly, and in detail."

R'Narr gazed at the she-cat as she knelt, still holding out the scroll to the Shazad. After a moment, he shrugged. "Miao... A serving-wench, my lord, of perhaps eighteen summers. She is quite attractive, but that is all."

"Mrr... Very good. That is exactly what I want others to see when they look at her. Her body, and nothing more," D'Zhin replied, taking the scroll from L'Sala's outstretched paws. "Mrr... Rise, L'Sala. Come sit by me," he purred. The jellicle cat smoothly rose to her feet with feline grace, stepped demurely to the right of the throne, and knelt again, sitting on her heels. R'Narr looked into her green eyes - she was powerfully attractive. D'Zhin smiled. "Mrr... Now tell me, L'Sala - what is your assessment of R'Narr?"

L'Sala paused for a moment, looking R'Narr over. Her expression was cool, distant. R'Narr wasn't exactly certain he liked that expression on any female, much less one that had just taken a seat to the right of his emperor. "Miao... My lord, I see before me a warrior. I would guess his age at about fifty, give or take five years. His armor bears the sign of Clan V'Nass, his speech carries the twang of the eastern hinterlands, so I would guess that his identity is as was announced - Lord R'Narr, of Clan V'Nass. I see no less than nine scars visible in his fur, and when he walked in he carried himself with an easy, light-footed stride. I would guess he is a highly skilled warrior, with many years of battle-experience. He appears to be right-pawed, and the sword he bears is a rapier with a rather well-worn hilt, so I would be wary of standing anywhere but to his left. Judging by his bearing and other small signs, I believe he would fight in the style of the D'Lass-school of fencing, and I would say he either trained at that school or was trained by a master of that school. He limps ever so slightly, and seems to have some small discomfort in his right leg as he kneels there - I would imagine his armor is hiding a rather large scar over his upper right thigh across his quadriceps. This would make him vulnerable to any sword-technique that would force him to shift rearward and to his right. His paws are large and his forearms well-muscled, so I would imagine that taking him bare-pawed would be somewhat difficult, as he appears to be experienced at grappling - I would recommend in a bare-pawed encounter that he be kept at no less than arm's reach, and that one use low kicks and other extended-range claw maneuvers against him to play on the slight weakness he has in his right leg. In personality, he strikes me as being a loyal servant who enjoys serving you with honor, and is deeply shamed that he has to report his failure to you now, even though he feels that this failure was no fault of his own, but a simple quirk of fate and weather," L'Sala replied, then bowed her head. "That is my assessment, my lord."

R'Narr simply stared.

D'Zhin chuckled at the old general's expression. "Mrr... As you can see, R'Narr, things are not always as they appear. L'Sala is no mere female, useful perhaps for her skills in the Art of Manipulation passed down from mother to daughter, or perhaps her skills in the Art of Love. No, she was specifically trained at my request by the Nuns of T'Masa Keep as a Mentalt. I have half a dozen like her, but she is perhaps the best," he said, and opened the scroll, skimming it briefly with his emerald-green eyes.

R'Narr looked at L'Sala with renewed respect - a true Mentalt was a rare and precious thing, to be cherished and protected more than a mountain of gold. 'And D'Zhin has six? By the gods...' R'Narr thought to himself. For her part, L'Sala continued to gaze at R'Narr with the same cool, distant expression, and he felt a chill pass through his spine. He wondered if the legends were true, and they could really see into the soul of another being just by gazing at them. Judging by what she'd said about himself, all of which was absolutely correct, R'Narr realized she just might be able to, at that.

"Mrr... And this, in fact, is part of your problem with the mus, R'Narr. Your eyes saw only the surface. There was something small you missed - yet it was of critical importance," he said, then gave the scroll to L'Sala again. "Mrr... Give that to the general."

L'Sala took the scroll again, rising to her feet smoothly and stepping over to R'Narr. When he had taken it, she resumed her seat beside D'Zhin while R'Narr unrolled the scroll and skimmed through it.

"Mrow? It's a summary of two different reports from the late D'Larith T'Chang, my lord - one a weekly report, and one a monthly report, both dated last fall. I'm afraid I don't see their significance," he said, his expression confused.

D'Zhin controlled his annoyance with an effort. "Mrr... L'Sala, explain to our old friend the significance of these reports, and why you brought them to my attention."

"Miao... Yes, my lord. The first report summarized is a weekly report. Please note that it mentions the return of a scouting party which followed a group of twelve mus far past the peak they call Grah'nahdo Mountain, into the southern plains and to the edge of a large, untamed wood, where they met them in combat and defeated them, then returned. However, only nine of the party were warriors - the other three were, apparently, servant-caste mus, unarmed and unarmored. First Question: What were they doing there? Second Question: Why did they have servant-caste mus with them? Next is a summary of a monthly report, which mentions that the depredations of the mus called 'The Slayer', Xaa'ap'Gasha of the Clan Xaa, had been noticeable for the last several months by their total absence. It was concluded that perhaps he had been wounded in the last encounter with him early in the previous summer, and perhaps he had later died of his wounds. Please note that we know for a fact he is not dead, so this conclusion by the late D'Larith T'Chang was false. Third question: If he was not dead, then where was he?" L'Sala explained, her face cold and expressionless. R'Narr silently cursed himself for an old fool - but then again, there were so many reports that passed by his eyes, it was easily understandable how he might miss these two incidents as being significant. If L'Sala noticed R'Narr's thoughts on this face, she made no sign, however - she simply continued her explanation.

"Mrowr... It occurred to me that the reason The Slayer's activities might have been curtailed for so long was that he was in the southlands, with that party. It is conceivable, given that the scouts that had tracked them were desperately low on food and eager to return, that he was with the party they attacked, but was not killed - only wounded - and was left for dead with the others. Please note that the scouts did not bother to verify the clan affiliations of the mus they killed - it is highly likely they didn't bother to verify they were all dead, either. Several months later, The Slayer reappeared, and killed D'Larith T'Chang with some new gun with a phenomenal range, which the mus have apparently been reproducing since then. A few months after that, their forces began to use airships, which allow them to attack us from the air with near impunity, so long as the weather is clear, and allow them to traverse long distances quite rapidly. Thus, I brought this to my lord's attention because I believe these events are related. I believe that Xaa found the secret to the gun and the airship by traveling to this distant forest. I do not know how, but..." L'Sala said, then paused.

"Mrr... Tell the general what is on your mind, L'Sala," D'Zhin purred.

L'Sala bowed her head. "Miao... I beg your pardon, my lord, as it is still quite unbelievable to me, yet it is the only explanation that fits. I believe that the mus went south, and met with the Little Ones of our ancient legends. These same legends say that the Little Ones once built a mighty empire with the mus as their servants, once the mus had freed the Little Ones from our bondage. The legends clearly describe effects that can only be attributed to them having the technologies the mus have suddenly discovered, and far more. Perhaps the mus made a deal with them, or perhaps they simply kidnapped one of their number, and forced them to work for them. Knowing the mus, I suspect the former rather than the latter. Either way, it is my belief that these untamed woods the scouts mentioned in their report contain the answer - and should be investigated. Preferably with a skilled party of warriors, accompanied by a linguist or scholar familiar with the ancient language the Little Ones once spoke."

D'Zhin's eyes flashed as he gazed at the old general before him. "Mrr... And that, R'Narr, is exactly what you shall do. I have already ordered D'Vring and D'Lahst from our western borders to march with their armies to reinforce your troops. Combined with the troops you already have there under the command of your son, they should be able to hold back the mus until winter comes, and they withdraw. In the meantime, you will go to the southlands and explore this forest mentioned in this report, and see what there is to see. If there are some of the Little Ones remaining there, then it is your duty to bring them back, that we may harness their skills against the mus. If they exist, I want them all to be taken alive, R'Narr - even a single one of them dead or escaped may be a catastrophic loss, for we know not which mind among them contains the knowledge we may need to defeat the mus. Afterwards, you will go back to the eastern front, take command of the armies, and drive the mus back. If the Little Ones exist, their knowledge shall help - but even without it, you shall be able to defeat them, once you have my sword in your paw."

"Mrowl? Your sword, my lord? I beg your pardon most humbly, but I fail to see how a single sword may win a war."

D'Zhin smiled, and stroked the back of L'Sala's neck with an idle paw. L'Sala purred quietly, her eyes closed. "Mrr... This sword, R'Narr. I give you L'Sala. Have a care that you bring her back to me unharmed when you are finished using her skills. If even a single tuft of fur is harmed, it shall be your life. She is no mere female - she is a Mentalt, and you and your warriors will treat her as such."

R'Narr bowed again, placing his forehead on the floor, grinning broadly. "Mrowr! It shall be as you command, Shazad D'Zhin!"

Excerpt from the Third Book,

Ayre of the Last God

One.

"Fsst! Out, wench!" the innkeeper shouted. With a shove, he sent the tan, seal-pointed she-cat sprawling in the mud of the filthy, rain-soaked alley.

"Mrrroooowwwwrrrr..." the she-cat replied groggily, her stained garments now smeared with mud. She blinked for several seconds through the light drizzle that fell from the overcast skies, staring at the innkeeper with bleary, sapphire eyes. "Mew... Do not cast me out, innkeeper... I have no money, but... Perhaps I can pay, in other coin..." the she-cat whimpered, clumsily pawing at her dress to bare a scarred leg in a pathetic attempt at seduction.

The innkeeper, a smoke-gray tom, snorted in disgust. Once, perhaps, she might have been beautiful - but no more. The creature that lay sprawled in the mud before him was a pathetic wreck. Her lavender robe may once have been fine and expensive, but was now little more than rags. She was utterly filthy, and stank. She had the vacant, vapid gaze of a catnip addict, and above the stench of her filthy fur, he could easily smell the cloying scent of catnip smoke. More, nearly every inch of her fur that the rags of her dress concealed was speckled with small burn scars, making her filthy pelt even more repulsive. Where she had come from, no-one knew - though her accent marked her as being from the west. When she had first come to his inn three months ago, she had quickly established herself as a cheap whore, and at least managed to pay her rent that way. Now, her addiction had taken it's toll, and only the lowest, most desperate of toms bothered to come up with the small pittance it took to hire her 'services.' The innkeeper hawked and spat. "Fsst! I'd sooner couple with a pig!" he replied, and stepped back inside the inn, slamming the door.

The she-cat hung her head for a moment, and simply lay there in the mud. It was a moment for tears, perhaps - but she was long past tears. No, all her tears had been wept months ago, in the throne room of the Shazad. She had none left. Yes, the sad, pathetic creature that lay in the filth and mud, the slow drizzle from the skies above the city of Raldad soaking her to her scarred skin, the creature who had once been known as L'Valin T'Masa, found that her soul was hollow and empty. She had no tears left.

L'Valin's eyes widened, and she clapped her paw to her side reflexively. "Mrowrrrr... Gone!" Frantically, she searched about in the mud. After a moment, she found it. With a sigh of relief, she lifted her catnip-bag from the mud by it's slender thongs. Heedless of the mud dripping from it, she held it to her muzzle, her nose tucked into the opening, and sniffed gently. Slowly, she began to smile again.

The finely shredded weed could be sniffed, eaten, or (as many users preferred), smoked. To the other races of Oerth, it was nothing - merely a weed. Yet, to a cat, it was a powerful drug. It's weakest form, the form preferred by 'responsible' users who did not wish to become addicted, was when smoked. It's most powerful form was to simply sniff the shredded weed, letting the tiny flakes line the mucous membranes of the nose.

L'Valin lowered the muddy bag, blinking against the drizzle as she clutched it tight to her chest. She sneezed, the tiny flakes of catnip tickling her nose, then again, and again. Slowly, her smile broadened as the drug filled her soul, blocking out the pain, blocking out the memories...

Heedless of the mud that dripped from it, L'Valin tied the thongs behind her neck and slipped the filthy little bag beneath her dress, between her breasts.

L'Valin slowly pushed herself to her feet, then staggered to the nearby wall of the alley, and leaned against it for a moment. She had sold her pipe and tinderbox the other month, as she had slowly sold everything she owned. She no longer needed it, anyway - catnip lasted longer when sniffed, and it's effects were stronger. And it was the strongest effects that she craved - the blotting out of memories, and the gentle way it filled her empty soul. As the drug's effects took hold, she felt her thoughts sharpen. "Mrr... So, you would toss me out into the street, would you?" she muttered at the closed door. "Fsst! Well, good riddance, then! I was once someone great... You should be honored I even walked past your dingy little place!" she hissed, and spat. Yet, there was no real emotion behind her words. Inside, she felt hollow and empty. Her words were merely words.

L'Valin pushed herself away from the wall, the mud of the alley squishing between the clawed toes of her bare feet. She flicked her muddy tail out, and tried to walk off with her head held high. After a few weaving steps, she found she couldn't, and looked down to the ground to make sure she wouldn't trip.

L'Valin staggered out of the alley, nearly bumping into a snarling constable. She recoiled in fear, her eyes widening as she stepped back and leaned against a nearby wall. Had she done something wrong? If she was arrested, they would surely take away her catnip - the drug was not permitted to prisoners, though it was not illegal. It was with some relief that L'Valin finally realized the constable wasn't snarling at her.

"Mrowrrr! But, constable! I need this horse! My djuducu-bird took ill and died! I need to earn the money to buy another! Besides - he's a runaway slave, what does it matter?!" the cab-driver protested.

L'Valin looked, blinking her eyes into focus. Before her, a local cab driver stood, arguing with the constable. His cab, a two-wheeled cart with a shade to protect against sun and rain, stood nearby. Harnessed to it was a black stallion, shivering slightly in the rain.

He was, in a word, huge. Over eight feet tall and weighing nearly six hundred pounds, the harmless giant towered over the cabbie and the constable like a quiet, black mountain. Massive muscles rippled across the stallion's enormous frame as he shivered in the rain, his black mane plastered to his forehead and neck. He was dressed only in the simple garment of his people, wrapped about his waist and between the twin tree-trunks that were his legs, the ends dangling in front in a manner similar to a loincloth. His tail, pulled through a small hole in the back of his garment, hung low and sopping wet, dripping rainwater from the slow but steady drizzle. A hard, wooden yoke attached him to the cab, and he wore the yoke about his neck and shoulders with the resigned air of one who had been yoked before - perhaps all his life. In his left ear, a silver ring with a small tag proclaimed his original owners - one of the larger clans in the southwest, though L'Valin couldn't remember the name at the moment. All she could recall through her mental haze was that their main source of revenue came from logging. He held the poles of the cart up with his fore-hooves curled beneath them, and his heavily-muscled arms did so with an ease that showed L'Valin he probably was once a logging-horse, his vast strength and bulk built through years of being harnessed to harvest lumber.

"Fsst! For the last time, cabbie! Lord R'Narr rules these lands, and his edict is that all escaped horse-slaves from the west be sheltered, then sent on to the lands of the mus! Now, un-hitch him and let him go, or I'll arrest you for breaking the edict," the constable snarled, crossing his arms beneath the maroon oilskin cloak that both marked his office as a city constable and protected him from the chill drizzle.

For a moment, L'Valin felt fear. 'The secret!' she thought, trembling. 'They can read minds, but none know save we Mentalts! I must protect my secrets!' L'Valin struggled to fill her mind with rage and anger, attempting to block the stallion's abilities, but found she couldn't. Her soul was empty, her mind hazed. She simply stared numbly at the horse while the constable snarled at the cabbie. She was, in truth, no longer a Mentalt - her will had been shattered and destroyed six months before, in the Shazad's throne room, at the paw of the Royal Torturer. L'Valin had nothing left, anymore. She was, in the end, a mere shadow of the person she once had been - less, really.

Slowly, the stallion turned it's head, and gazed back at her. Their eyes met.

L'Valin had never seen such sadness in her life as she saw in the stallion's gaze. His dark eyes seemed to contain all the sorrows and pains of the universe - even hers.

L'Valin, for the first time in months, felt real emotion. She was deeply moved by his gaze, and for a moment, was lost in his eyes. The chill rain fell, yet L'Valin could hardly feel it anymore, so powerfully was she moved by the sight of his eyes.

'It's the catnip...' L'Valin thought, struggling to tear her gaze from his. 'That's all it is... It's the catnip... Nothing more...' Perhaps it was, yet L'Valin still could not tear her gaze from his.

"Mrowrrr... Alright, Constable. I'll do as you say." the cabbie replied, bowing his head and turning to loosen the straps of the harness. "Mrow... But who will shelter it?" he asked, and at the constable's gaze, he blanched. "Fsst! Not me! I've already fed it for three days, that's enough for me! If I'm ever going to get another bird, I'll need to save every penny - and he eats an enormous amount!"

"Mrr... I will..."

The constable stopped in mid-snarl, and turned to look. The words had come from L'Valin's muzzle almost without her consciously knowing. The constable looked her over. "Fsst! You?! How could street-trash like you shelter this thing?"

L'Valin continued to gaze into the stallion's eyes. "Mrr... I shall, somehow, constable..."

"Mrowl... Well, he also needs to head east. His kind aren't permitted in these lands - the edict says we shelter them, and keep them moving. Can you do that?"

"Mrr... I will take him there myself..."

"Mrow? You?" the constable replied, and chuckled. "Mrr... It's hundreds of leagues! How is a little bit of street-trash like you going to make it?"

"Mrr... I will, somehow..." L'Valin replied, her gaze still lost in the stallion's eyes.

The cabbie waved a paw, and the stallion bent down, breaking eye contact with L'Valin. The cabbie reached up, and slipped off the yoke. He was free again. L'Valin blinked, and paused a moment. 'Did I really say that? I will help him? How?' she wondered.

The constable looked the black stallion over, and shook his tawny head. "Mrr... As for you... You're the second horse-slave I've seen make it this far. The word's gotten out about Lord R'Narr's decree, I take it."

The stallion nodded quietly. Like all his people, he was mute.

L'Valin leaned against the wall behind her and looked down at her muddy foot-paws. In a sudden rush of thought, she realized what she had just agreed to. She had nothing - no money, no place to stay, nothing. And she had agreed to help this stallion, to care for him, shelter him, and see him on his way to the lands of the mus. 'I... I can't! It's too far... What was I thinking? It must have been the catnip...'

"Mrr... Well, perhaps if Lord R'Narr succeeds in this campaign and manages to seize the throne, even more of you shall be freed. For now, keep moving east. We don't want you here."

The stallion nodded again, and L'Valin lifted her eyes to look at him. He was huge - intimidatingly so. Yet, she knew he was harmless. The horse-slaves simply couldn't injure anyone. Then, as she gazed at him, the same feeling overcame her again. He wasn't looking at her, but instead was stretching, massaging his forearms with his fore-hooves, and tipping his head to work the kinks out of his neck brought on by the yoke. As she watched the massive muscles beneath his ebon pelt ripple, a thought crystallized in L'Valin's mind. 'He needs me... Someone needs me...' The black stallion turned his head, and gazed at her again. As she looked into his eyes, L'Valin again felt that his dark eyes seemed to contain all the sorrows and pains of the universe - even hers. 'And somehow... Somehow, I think I need him, as well...' she thought.

The stallion took a step towards her, and held out a fore-hoof. L'Valin took it in her trembling paws, and the stallion drew her close. L'Valin gripped his thick forearm, and used it to support her unsteady steps as they walked away. Whether he was leading her, or she was leading him, L'Valin could not say.

Excerpt from the Fourth Book,

Children of the Last God

One.

And because in all the world there was not and never would be another for him, Pup-Chup began to weep.

He did not weep openly, but wept silently as did all the other musties, for there may still be danger near. The Snap-Snap that had leaped from the water, tearing Mishi in half and gobbling her down like so much fresh meat, might still be around. With an effort, Pup-Chup stilled his tears. Pup-Chup knew he had to remain strong, and lead the others safely away. Pup-Chup looked to the others, his gaze as firm as he could make it.

Quietly, Pup-Chup raised a paw to the rest of the silently weeping musties, and made an ancient mustie-sign. The others nodded, their eyes filled with tears, and faded back into the forest.

Pup-Chup listened carefully, but he could hear only the sounds of the jungle birds. Pup-Chup sniffed, but could only smell the smells of the forest, and the nearby swamp-waters. Pup-Chup looked carefully, but he could only see the slowly moving surface of the waters. The Snap-Snap was, apparently, gone.

With a movement so subtle as to be invisible, Pup-Chup carefully withdrew a stone from the pouch at his side. With a practiced flick of the thumb, he sent the stone flying twenty yards, to splash into the waters of the swamp with a little plop, like that a fish might make snatching at an insect on the surface of the water. With a lightning move, Pup-Chup leaped forward, grabbing the large basket of fish and the fishing pole that Mishi had been using, then leaped away, running back into the protection of the jungle. He did not know if the stone had distracted the Snap-Snap. It was likely it already was gone, having eaten it's fill on Pup-Chup's mate.

Safely among the trees again, Pup-Chup sat, quietly panting from his run. Slowly, from the trees around him, the other musties appeared.

"So sorry am I, Chief... Watch carefully did we all, but see nothing did any..." Chi-Chi said, sniffling as she wiped her nose with a paw. And, indeed, they all had been watching the surface of the waters carefully, ever-alert for the twin bumps on the surface of the waters that were the eyes of the Snap-Snaps, or the shadowy movements beneath the waters that heralded their attacks. There was no truly safe place, now. Years ago, when Pup-Chup was young, the Snap-Snaps were rare, and only hunted in the waters of the swamps. Now, they grew bolder, and hunted the jungle itself. Fishing was no more or less dangerous than hunting, or any other activity, now - and with the fish in the swamp so plentiful and easy to catch, it was usually worth the risk.

Until today.

Pup-Chup hugged Chi-Chi, and sighed. "Angry at Chi-Chi am I not. Angry at any mustie am I not. Watch carefully did we all, even me - still nothing did we see. Blame any mustie do I not. Blame the Snap-Snap I do," he replied, and burst into tears for many long moments.

The other musties gathered about all hugged and stroked Pup-Chup, comforting him in his hour of grief. Finally, Pup-Chup shook his head. Though his heart was breaking, he was still chief - the safety of the other musties was more important than his own grief. "Go we must. Thinking more musties are nearby, they will be. Bringing friends, torches, they will be. Then starting night-hunt for furs, they will do. Go we must. To our lodges we must return. Come. Cry later, in our lodges, we shall. Come."

The other musties nodded, and silently, they all faded into the trees.

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Excerpt from the Fith Book,

Paradox of the Last God

Sixteen.

The wind howled in the rigging of the ship, the blinding ocean spray chilling. The ship heaved in the wind-tossed waves as Captain N'grash roared his orders, only the bellowing power of a mus allowing him to be heard over the sounds of the storm. The captain's gaze was locked firmly ahead, and he manned the wheel himself. Ahead, the flash of lightning revealed a seaside town, and a lighthouse - though the light was dark, and there was no sign of life in the town. The captain struggled with the wheel, roaring his orders, but he knew his options were limited. He could not avoid being blown ashore, the only question was where they would beach. A darkened lighthouse... Perhaps abandoned by the canids as the plague took it's toll and they fled the cities? He did not know. Did the lighthouse mark safe harbor, or did it warn of rocks? With the storm-tossed sea and the blinding spray, he could not tell. Only the improved design Lady Merle had created had allowed the ship to survive the storm this long, but it could not survive running aground on rocks.

Below on the main deck, he could see his first mate and three of his crew working to save their passengers. The captain's orders had been clear - they could not know if there were rocks ahead, and whether they would beach safely or wreck and sink. The passengers had to be put into the lifeboat, and sent ashore. Even if there were rocks beneath the waves Captain N'grash could not see, they could not be too near the surface, or he would see the waves break atop them at this distance. Though the ship might run aground, a life-boat had a shallower draught, and might skim over submerged rocks safely. And with a skilled hand at the tiller, they might manage to beach safely, as well. That left it to his first mate, who was the best the captain could send. Vital supplies and the passengers themselves now loaded, the first mate and the three other crew pulled on the ropes, swinging the lifeboat on the davits, then lowering it over the side. The first mate then dashed to the side, and made ready to leap down into the lifeboat.

A sudden flash and a blast of thunder blinded the captain for a moment - when he blinked the spots away from his eyes, he could see that lightning had struck the ship. A large chunk of the deck near the lifeboat davits was simply gone, blasted away, and the crew nearby lay stunned atop the deck - a moment later, a wave smashed the ship, and they were gone, washed overboard. They had removed their life-lines, the safety ropes they wore about their waist, to set the lifeboat into the sea - and now, that had cost them their lives. N'grash could see the lifeboat bobbing helplessly in the waves, none at the tiller, slowly slipping before the ship. If the ship continued on it's current course, it would over-run the lifeboat, likely ramming it and sinking it.

Without hesitation, N'grash roared out his orders. The sailors strained at the lines and N'grash leaned on the wheel, turning the ship directly towards the darkened lighthouse, away from the lifeboat. 'This land is cursed,' N'grash thought, roaring orders to his crew. 'Plague, storms... And that lighthouse likely signals rocks, not safe harbor.' Seconds slowly turned to minutes, and N'grash could see the lifeboat was nearing the shore. Little Lord Tinker was at the tiller. N'grash nodded. With luck, they would survive.

Another flash of lightning, and N'grash could see by the foam atop the raging sea that there were rocks ahead, likely about a fathom deep. Easily safe enough for a lifeboat, but this ship had a draught of nearly two fathoms. 'I knew it,' he thought, then shook his head. 'Fate.' There was nothing he could do, now. They were doomed.

"Abandon ship! All hands, abandon ship!" he roared, snatching the knife from his side and cutting his own life-line. "The bow points to the shore! Swim for your lives!"

A heartbeat later, the ship ran aground on the rocks with a roaring crash.

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