[Mkguild] Landing in a New Age (2/5)

[C. Matthias]

And here's the next day! :-)

Metamor Keep: Landing in a New Age
By Charles Matthias

Day 2 - December 28, 707 CR

         Duke Thomas leaned forward in his throne 
as he did his best to listen to the elderly woman 
who’d once been a tanner before the curses had 
made her a grandmother instead.  As she carefully 
described her problem, Thomas found his mind 
slipping between the cracks in her narrative to a 
certain lovely Assingh now his wife.  They’d been 
married for two days, yet he hadn’t spent more 
than two hours wife her outside the ducal 
chambers.  Which meant his thoughts were on what 
they’d done in those bedchambers, which made it 
very difficult to concentrate on the mundane problems of his subjects.
         Ever since the announcement had gone out 
that he would be in audience for his people for a 
few hours each day until the new year came, 
Keepers had lined up to be able to speak with 
him, something they had not been able to do in 
some time.  Most, as he’d thought, came to 
congratulate him on his marriage.  He received 
quite a few makeshift charms and tokens meant to 
aid them in conceiving a child, all of which 
would be quietly stored away or disposed.  And a 
handful, such as this old woman, sought his personal aid.
         He sometimes wished that there was some 
higher temporal authority to which he could turn 
for his grievances.  But he was forced to trust 
the counsel of his advisors and make those 
decisions himself.  He still wasn’t happy with 
the disposition of the guards, nor the 
arrangement of Metamor’s finances, but at least 
they were making some progress addressing those 
problems.  The guard issue he knew would work 
itself out in the coming days and weeks.  But the 
finances would prey on his mind for months, perhaps even years.
         But at least now he had someone who 
could help make all those burdens seem as 
nothing.  He smiled as he dwelt on Alberta, who 
even now saw to their horses that they might ride 
together later.  And then he scolded himself when 
he realized that the woman wasn’t talking anymore.
         “Forgive me,” Thomas said, with a warm 
smile, “but my mind has been wandering these last few days.”
         The woman smiled knowingly, grey hair 
framing a face that would have been lovely if not 
for the wrinkles in her cheeks. “I remember when 
I first married, your grace.  I understand.  May 
the gods bless you both with long life and many children.”
         “Thank you,” he smiled as broadly as his 
equine lips would allow. “Now tell me again what you wish of me.”
         This time he was able to listen to her 
tale, and when she finished, promised her that he 
would have her son brought home from his scouting 
duty in the north before the new year that he 
could be with family again after so many months 
in the field.  A scribe noted his name and his 
company, and he bid her good day.  She left with 
a grateful smile, bow, and she nearly kissed his hooves so great was her joy.
         Thomas’s soldiers shifted a little 
closer when the next petitioner stepped 
forward.  Six men draped in dun-coloured woolen 
cloaks approached, each bearing chain mail 
beneath their cloaks.  Their weapons would have 
been confiscated before they could enter the 
audience chamber, but their hands still hovered 
near the empty scabbards from habit.  The lead 
man was broad of shoulder, stocky, with a light 
complexion and somewhat youthful face.  His mail 
was lined with gold, though he could see no sign of heraldry on any of them.
         “And who might you be, noble sir?” 
Thomas asked, sharing the unease of his soldiers.
         The lead man threw back the hood of his 
cloak and stared up at the horse lord with 
impetuous dignity. “I am Lord William 
Dupré.  Once the Baron of Mallow Horn, I have 
been exiled from my home and my family and warned 
under pain of death never to return.  I and my 
men come before you, Duke of the Northern 
Midlands, to swear our fealty to you and to pledge to you our very lives.”
         And then as one, Lord Dupré and his five 
men all fell to one knee, fists upon their chests 
in a knightly salute.  Thomas blinked, long tail 
shifting uncertainly in the confines of the 
throne.  His lips moved silently, stunned and 
incoherent.  Neither Dupré nor his men looked up 
at him to see his confusion.  The scribe 
completely dropped her quill and stared gape 
mouthed at the men.  Whispers ricocheted through 
the line of Keepers waiting to see Thomas.
         Thomas’s ears folded back a moment, and 
then he said the only thing he could. “I accept 
your pledge to me, Lord Dupré, but I must know 
why you have come to me to make this pledge, and 
why I should trust a man who has been exiled.”
         William Dupré did not move, but his 
words carried a martial clarity that kept 
Thomas’s tail in agitation. “My former liege, 
Duke Titian Verdane, cast me from his land and 
from his house after I sowed discord in his lands 
under the orders of an evil man.  This evil man 
controlled me with a magical deck of cards.”
         “Deck of cards?” Thomas was very glad he 
was sitting, because if he hadn’t, he would have 
toppled onto his side. “The Marquis du Tournemire?”
         “Aye, your grace.  He controlled my 
actions and took everything from me.  Verdane 
ordered that I be subjected to the curse of 
Metamor as part of my exile.  But three days ago 
the Marquis’s hold over me was broken, and my 
mind was restored to me.  I know you are an 
honourable man, your grace.  I cannot return to 
my home, and so my men and I will make our new 
home here.  It is my hope that I can be of 
service to you, your grace, if you will have me.”
         Thomas took a deep breath, heart 
trembling.  He’d seen what Marzac’s power had 
done to Kyia, but he also knew that the Marquis 
was dead and Marzac gone from this 
world.  Whatever evil this man had done at the 
Marquis’s behest could not truly be laid at his 
feet.  Still, what was he to do with this man who 
clearly meant to stay and suffer the Curses?
         “I will need to time to consider your 
offer, Lord Dupré.  For the time being, I order 
you to remain in the city.  How long have you been in the Valley?”
         “Three days now, your grace.”
         Thomas lowered his equine brow and 
squinted at the men.  In a much quieter voice he 
asked, “Did you see a flash of light three nights past?”
         Dupré nodded. “For a moment I was a ram, your grace.”
         “Do not speak of it to anyone, either 
you or your men.  Where are you staying?” He made 
a note to ask Andwyn why the bat hadn’t warned 
him of Dupré’s arrival.  A worse thought struck 
him — what if the bat hadn’t known at all?  How 
could an exiled Midlander noble travel through 
his lands without the bat knowing?  As much as it 
pained him, he was going to have to end his audience early today.
         “The Shoeshine Inn,” William replied in 
a whisper, a small grin spreading over his 
weathered lips. “We will not venture out again 
until we have heard word from you, your grace.”
         “See to it that you don’t, Lord 
Dupré.  Now you and your men be off.  Come when I call you without delay.”
         “I am yours to command, my liege.” Dupré 
lowered his head further, then as one, all six 
men rose and walked from the audience chamber 
like a string of monks heading to cloister.  All 
eyes followed them, voices dropping to whispers as they passed.
         Thomas waited until they had departed 
before rising from his throne and shaking his 
head to the next petitioner. “You shall be first 
tomorrow.  I must go.”  The disappointed groans 
followed him and his guards as they left through a rear door.

----------

         Dressed in black habits from head to 
toe, the half dozen women of varying ages could 
not help but be conspicuous as they climbed 
through the rubble and half-standing buildings in 
one of the few areas of Metamor not repaired 
since last winter’s assault by the armies of 
Nasoj.  They were made even more noticeable by 
the one woman confined to a chair with wheels 
attached that one of the other sisters would push 
about.  This wheeled chair was often blocked by 
uncleared rubble, but the sisters managed.
         “Here,” the eldest of them said as she 
laid weathered fingers against a wall that 
climbed from the ground at a diagonal to a height 
of six feet before disappearing back to the 
ground.  The wall was good solid stone, perhaps 
were a chimney once stood. “We could have an altar placed against this wall.”
         “Is it facing east?” the one pushing 
Tugal’s chair asked in a very quiet voice.
         “Oh yes,” the reverend mother replied, 
her voice so rich and kind that it warmed the 
wintry air. “We can have a small chapel here for 
the Breaking of the Bread.”  She turned around 
and gingerly walked the six feet to the remnants 
of another wall. “And here we can have the 
cloister wall.  We’ll need to tear up the stones 
over there so we can make a garden.”
         Tugal smiled a little as she watched the 
reverend mother let her imagination sweep her 
away with plans to turn this abandoned section of 
the city into something vibrant with life 
again.  They hadn’t even been given permission 
yet, but that didn’t seem to dampen the 
enthusiasm of any of the sisters.  And their 
enthusiasm helped her.  Kurt’s caravan had left 
early that morning, and already she could feel his absence.
         But it would do her no good dwelling on 
that.  She looked to the leaden sky and offered a 
prayer to Eli that Kurt would be safe.  Her heart 
warmed with her A-men.  She smiled to the other 
nuns and listened attentively to their plans.

----------

         Thomas paced back and forth in his 
private chambers even after Thalberg and Malisa 
arrived.  His hooves were wearing a path through 
the decorative Kelewairan rug, an irony that he 
couldn’t bring himself to appreciate.  But apart 
from asking his friends to sit, he didn’t say 
more until the bat Andwyn hobbled in through the 
door.  Turning his long equine head on the bat, 
he frothed, “Why didn’t you tell me that an 
exiled South Midlander noble was moving through 
my lands and intended to swear fealty to me?”
         Andwyn’s red eyes stared in surprise at 
Thomas, his fox-like ears turned to catch every 
sound.  He pulled his wings around his chest as 
if to ward off the chill. “Your grace, I had only 
just learned of their presence in the city a few 
hours ago.  I only learned of their intent when 
you did.  They have moved very quietly and unobtrusively through your lands.”
         Thomas stomped to the table, ignoring 
the alarmed wide-eyed stares of Malisa and 
Thalberg to keep his ire on the bat. “You’re my 
spymaster, Andwyn.  You know what everyone has to 
break their fast before they do.  How can you not 
have known that William Dupré was coming here?”
         Andwyn lowered his head, his voice 
unsettled. “I did know that he had been exiled, 
but my spies were not able to learn where he was 
exiled to.  Poor weather and a broken axle 
delayed my spy, and when he was able to get 
moving again, the trail had been 
obliterated.  Whoever these men are, they are 
very good at concealing their tracks.”
         “Surely they would have learned of them 
in Metamor.  And why didn’t you warn me that he 
was in the city once you learned of it?”
         The bat’s head lowered even further, his 
toe claws digging at the carpeting in 
frustration. “I thought it best to learn why they 
were in Metamor first.  And as you would be in 
audience, I did not wish to distract you with 
such news.  It never occurred to me that they might go to your audience!”
         Thomas felt the heat in his chest begin 
to cool.  Still, he glared down at his spymaster. 
“So why is it that it took you so long to come here?”
         “I took a few minutes to move some of my 
spies about to keep a closer watch on Lord Dupré 
and his men, your grace.  I will not lose him 
again!” This last was said with such fierce 
conviction that Thomas realized that Andwyn was 
as much angry with himself for missing this as he was.
         “See that you don’t.” Thomas took a deep 
breath and then looked to Malisa and Thalberg. 
“Forgive me, but this has taken me by 
surprise.  You recall the civil war in the 
Southern Midlands that came to an end a short 
time ago.  Lord William Dupré was one of its 
antagonists.  But it seems he was not wholly to 
blame.  He had the misfortune of crossing the 
Marquis du Tournemire and was under his control.”
         Malisa blanched. “The Marquis 
again!  How much suffering has he caused?”
         “Apparently the civil war was his 
doing.  For some reason, it seems Verdane decided 
to exile Dupré to our lands so that he would 
suffer the curse.  Dupré has taken it upon 
himself to swear fealty to me now.  I am very 
wary about allowing the man who married Verdane’s 
daughter into my service, but I cannot very well 
refuse his fealty if he is so willing to offer it.”
         “Thomas,” Thalberg said, yellow eyes 
intent. “I don’t know who this Dupré is or what 
he intends.  But if he was once an intimate of 
Verdane, then he could provide valuable 
information to you.  He could become a strong 
ally.  But you should not keep him close or 
invite him into your inner circle. He should be 
kept somewhere where he can do no harm.”
         “I agree,” Malisa added, her face 
regaining some of its colour. “But I think we 
should examine him magically to see what 
lingering effects the Marquis’s control has had 
over him.  This is the first chance we’ve ever 
had to do that.  Everyone else the Marquis has had collared is dead.”
         “Sorry we’re late,” another voice 
announced as two figures came through the 
door.  The pair, a jackal and a fox, both 
possessed the lingering scent of grime, though 
both had also donned fresh clothes to hide 
it.  The jackal grinned wickedly. “We just had a 
little bit of trouble with a debriefing.”
         Thomas frowned at the Patrolmaster. “Is 
it something we should know about?”
         “Nothing important but I’ll put it into 
my next report.” George looked at the assembled 
advisors and stretched one arm behind his back. “So, what’s the occasion?”
         “George, Misha, please sit,” Thomas 
suggested. “We’re discussing the arrival of a 
Southern Midlands noble who as exiled and sent 
here.  He caught me by surprise in my audience an 
hour ago and tried to swear fealty to me.”
         George snorted derisively, while Misha’s 
one ear folded back like a beast who’d smelled 
something they didn’t like. “What was he exiled for?” Misha asked.
         “He was involved with the civil war,” 
Thomas replied. “He claims it was under the Marquis’s control.”
         Misha jumped to his feet, fire in his 
eyes. “The Marquis!  But he’s dead!”
         “And why he says he’s no longer under his control.”
         George tapped one claw to his chin and 
asked, “What young hothead is this who got 
himself exiled?  And why in the world would he come here?”
         Thomas ground his teeth together and 
said, “William Dupré, Baron of Mallow Horn.  Or 
was at any rate.  And he came here because he 
says being cursed is part of his punishment.  Now 
he wants to serve me doing the gods know what.”
         George’s ears perked and he sat up 
straight. “William Dupré?  Dupré is here and swearing loyalty to you?”
         Thomas nodded, eyes narrowing. “Yes.  Do you know him?”
         The jackal, upon whom all eyes had 
turned, laughed and slapped his thigh with one 
paw. “You should have accepted him right then and 
there!  That man couldn’t tell a lie if he 
tried.  Oh, he doesn’t always say the truth, but 
darn it if he doesn’t believe it’s the truth with 
all his heart.  If he wanted to swear allegiance 
to you, then he meant it with all his 
heart.  There’s not a deceptive bone in that 
man’s body.  But don’t try to out flank him. He’s a devil on the battlefield.”
         “You’ve fought at his side?” Misha asked 
in that curious surprise that a boy has on 
learning his father might have a new adventure story to tell.
         “Against him.  And lost.” George 
scratched at one arm as if the tale behind his 
words were nothing important. “Before his brother 
died and he inherited his title and lands, he 
lead that prick Verdane’s elite troops, the Wolf’s Claw.”
         “The Wolf’s Claw?” Thalberg asked 
curiously. “An apt name for the House Verdane.”
         “You’d say the same if you ever saw them 
in battle.  They’re a cross between Misha’s Long 
Scouts and DeLaroque’s Knights of the Red 
Stallion.  I made the mistake of thinking they 
were like any other troops.  I had them 
surrounded, but my employer wanted Dupré alive, 
so I gave them a chance to surrender.  Dupré, 
that brazen whelp, told me exactly how he was 
going to defeat my men.  I laughed at him, and 
then he proceeded to do exactly what he said.” 
George shook his head. “I escaped, but only 
just.  I had the scars from the four arrows he 
stuck in me until Metamor did this to me.” He 
gestured as his dusty coat of fur and then 
shrugged. “He then proceeded to slaughter my 
employer and chased what was left of my men almost to Marigund.”
         Misha blinked and then let out the 
breath he’d been holding. “I didn’t know you’d ever lost a fight.”
         “Everyone who’s fought as much as I have 
has lost a few.  But only a few.” George turned 
his eyes to the Duke and narrowed them. “Pardon 
me for saying it, your grace, but you’d be a fool to turn this man away.”
         “We don’t know whether we can trust 
him,” Thomas replied. “Apart from what you’ve 
told us, we do not know him that well.”
         “Then the bat here isn’t doing his job,” 
George snapped, gesturing at Andwyn.
         Andwyn narrowed his red eyes. “The 
battle George is referring to had as its genesis 
an unscrupulous merchant in Mitok who was making 
a fortune illegally transporting various magical 
artifacts.  One of these ended up being used to 
assassinate one of Titian Verdane’s cousins.  The 
merchant hired George and his band of mercenaries to protect his interests.”
         George’s eyes raised a bit. “Okay, you 
have been doing your job.  So why don’t you know enough about Dupré?”
         “It isn’t his past that I do not know 
of.  I met him myself when I served our 
ambassador in Kelewair,” Andwyn replied rather 
testily. “It is his part in the recent civil war 
that is shrouded in mystery.  And why Verdane would exile him here.”
         “I admit,” Misha said with a moue, “that 
has me suspicious.  I trust your judgement 
George, but you have to admit this is pretty odd.”
         “Why?  This is the perfect place to 
exile somebody.  They’ll never be able to leave.”
         “Not if they become a woman like me,” 
Malisa pointed out. “Or a child.”
         George growled under his breath. “Fine!  I’ll go talk to him.”
         “Talk to him?” Thomas asked, ears lifted and tail still.
         “Aye, talk to him face to face.  I’ll 
find out from his own mouth what in all the hells he’s doing here.”
         Thomas nodded and breathed a sigh of 
relief.  This was exactly the sort of thing he 
wanted.  George could talk to Dupré as a fellow 
soldier.  And George was, if anything, 
blunt.  And if he was right about Dupré, so was 
his newest subject. “Thank you, George.  We’ll 
hold off any further discussions about what to do 
about William Dupré until you’ve had a chance to speak with him.”
         George leaned back in his seat and 
appeared satisfied. “It’ll have to be 
tomorrow.  I’ve got too any patrols to reorganize 
today to do anything else.  Where’s he staying?”
         “The Shoeshine Inn,” Andwyn replied. “He has five men with him.”
         “That’s fine.  I’ll go by myself.”
         “You sure?” Misha asked, putting a paw on his friend’s shoulder.
         “Yeah.  Dupré will appreciate the ballsy approach.”
         Thomas tried not to laugh, and failed. 
“Thank you, George.  Let us know what you 
learn.  Until then, I suggest we return to our 
many duties.” Misha and George were the first out 
the door, pausing only long enough to bow their heads to their liege.

----------

         Sir Egland’s breath misted in the air as 
he sat astride Galadan watching Alberta run 
Povunoth in circles around the empty field 
between the castle and the northern bailey walls 
of Metamor.  He was used to her grace in the 
saddle, but he wasn’t used to the quartet of 
guards who stood by uneasily keeping a watchful 
eye on her and him and his squire.  Intoran was 
noticeably uncomfortable, pacing back and forth looking for something to do.
         As much as they unsettled him, the elk 
knight was more bothered by the lack of antlers 
on his head.  They’d fallen off last night, and 
even though he’d hoped that their weight would 
leave his head and poor strained neck, the abrupt 
lightness made him feel dizzy.  Not to mention 
somewhat less of a man, something that he had a 
hard time explaining even to himself.
         He lifted one hoof-like hand and rubbed 
it over his empty head and sighed, sending 
another gust of mist into the air.  One of the 
guards, a large bull named Andhun, glanced at him 
and asked, “Is something wrong, Sir Egland?”
         Egland lowered his arm and turned his 
head to the bull and quickly regretted the sudden 
flash of vertigo. “I just lost my antlers last 
night.  Still not used to the way my head feels. Oooh.”
         “Not sure what I’d do without my horns,” 
Andhun replied, and the woman next to him 
chuckled. “It’s true!  I just feel stronger with my horns.”
         Egland and Intoran both nodded in 
understanding, while the woman continued to 
chuckle. “And run into doors and walls too.”  The 
other two guards, a teenager and a warthog, both 
guffawed.  Egland and Intoran nodded at that comment too.
         All their heads turned as Alberta rode 
up alongside.  Povunoth stamped his hooves and 
snorted with the desire to gallop 
again.  Alberta’s equine brow was bright with 
long ears upraised. “Wilt thee sit there watching 
me or shalt thee join me in a run, T’samut?”
         Egland gestured with one hand at the 
castle. “I thought you wanted to wait for your husband, Yisaada.”
         Alberta shook her head, long tail 
flicking from one flank of Povunoth to the other. 
“Thomas hast been detained.  Some southern 
noble.  ‘Tis a matter of state, but he didst 
promise to come later.” There was disappointment 
in her voice, but she could not help but glow 
when she spoke her husband’s name.  She took a 
long breath, her deep brown eyes studying the 
castle with afternoon sun in the distance. “He 
wilt need to come soon, but he wilt come.”
         “Then let us ride together for a bit, 
until he comes,” Egland agreed, though hoping his 
antler-less head wouldn’t betray him.
         The ground was level at this end of the 
ridge, though beyond the curtain wall it sloped 
precipitously.  Egland well recalled the night 
one year ago that he had navigated that incline 
in his beastly form with Sir Saulius strapped to 
his back.  That night he’d been chasing Alberta, 
then still his brother in knightly arms, Albert, 
who had kidnapped the Duke and rode him like a 
common beast to the south.  An evil wizard had 
fixated him on the idea of making Thomas a 
breeding stallion of the Steppe, and an enchanted 
halter had given him the chance to make it so.
         But Egland had helped stop him and 
ultimately break the halter’s hold over 
Thomas.  And yet, despite the evil that had 
brought them together, a true love had developed 
between Thomas and Alberta.  What could never 
have been conceived elsewhere, in what must 
surely have been the most bizarre of courtships 
in all of history, had finally led to a Ducal 
wedding in Metamor with the former Steppelands knight.
         The elk snorted in amusement when he 
realized that Alberta would be using Thomas for 
breeding, but not quite in the way originally intended.
         The pair of them galloped at a decent 
enough pace to drive the biting air through their 
furry hides.  Alberta’s long tail was drawn 
straight behind her, while the thick fur around 
Egland’s neck hunched back to his shoulders.  He 
could smell the threat of snow in the air, but 
with a body suited to the north, the thought of 
more winter weather rarely bothered 
him.  Galadan, his steed, wasn’t as keen on it, 
and he could feel his horse’s irritation at 
galloping through the white froth vibrating up through the saddle.
         But he still loved to run.  Both he and 
Povunoth demonstrated their knightly training 
with verve, and by the time they’d made three 
circuits of the field, they were snorting and 
champing for more.  Egland bleated his delight 
and Alberta brayed as they rounded one last 
time.  And that’s when they noticed that there 
were several more faces on the field than had been there a moment before.
         “Thomas!” Albeta cried, turning Povunoth 
back toward where Intoran, the guards, and now 
her husband waited.  The Duke of Metamor was 
perched on a stately black steed who stomped his 
hooves with regal indignation.  Thomas lifted the 
reins to turn the stallion, but Alberta was upon 
him.  She wrapped and arm around his shoulders as 
Povunoth clattered to a stop, and yanked him half 
out of the saddle and hugged him as equines do with their necks.
         “Alberta!  You looked beautiful out 
there!” Thomas said with an exasperated 
laugh.  His guards had as one moved toward them, 
before remembering that this was his wife and not 
a would be attacker.  They backed off, smiling to each other and watched.
         “‘Tis a lovely afternoon for a ride.  Didst thy affairs tax thee?”
         Thomas shook his head. “No more than 
usual.  I will speak of them later.  Right now, I 
just want to enjoy this evening with you.”
         Egland rode up behind them, but then 
pulled Galadan to a halt.  He patted the steed on 
the neck as he watched Alberta and Thomas lead 
their horses in a steady trot through the 
snow.  The guards all watched them go 
too.  Egland wasn’t quite sure what to feel 
himself, when he felt the strong grip of 
Intoran’s hands holding Galadan’s reins steady. 
“They do look lovely together,” the oryx said softly.
         “Aye, they do indeed,” Egland 
agreed.  He turned his head smoothly, missed the 
familiar whistle of his antlers, and smiled at 
his squire as best his cervine snout would allow. 
“They do indeed.” Intoran returned the warmth 
with a gentle parting of his muzzle, and then the 
two of them joined the guards in watching the 
Duke and Duchess ride hand in hand.

----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias


!DSPAM:4aa4713072051804284693!