[Mkguild] Landing in a New Age (3/5)

[C. Matthias]

And another day down!

Metamor Keep: Landing in a New Age
By Charles Matthias

Day 3 - December 29, 707 CR

         Thalberg’s morning had been consumed by 
preparations for the new year’s feast.  He’d 
spent three hours alone in the kitchens making 
sure that they had sufficient supplies for the 
bevy of courses that would be served.  The next 
hour had been dedicated to reviewing places at 
the banquet for the gentry and other 
distinguished guests.  With the Ducal wedding 
only a week past, few of the valley nobles would 
be in attendance, which meant the feast would 
feature many of the wealthier merchants and a 
large contingent of Metamor’s knights, soldiers, 
and scouts, as well as a few mages.  But that was 
good too.  Thomas needed to maintain strong ties to all the leaders of Metamor.
         But after a brief midday meal, Thalberg 
finally cleared enough of his workload away that 
he was able to fulfill his promise to the white 
skunk.  Kozaithy had spoken of a refuge who had 
become an alligator like himself, one who might 
be a valuable addition to his staff.  He hoped he 
would be able to help her with both.
         The Ecclesia Cathedral nestled in one 
corner of the Keep, hidden away until revealed by 
Madog a year and a half ago.  Sunlight streamed 
through the tall stained-glass windows, though 
none of them were visible from outside the 
castle.  Thalberg had only been in the Cathedral 
a few times, being Lothanasi himself, but he 
instinctively knew that he trod upon holy ground 
each time he set foot beneath its arched doorway.
         In the early afternoon the sanctuary was 
mostly empty.  Father Hough held the Breaking of 
the Bread each morning and then left the 
consecrated bread in a monstrance for the 
faithful to adore.  That still stood on the 
altar, resplendent in gold with the multi-hued 
light glinting like a the Ducal gardens in full 
bloom along its polished surface.  The monstrance 
held in a central receptacle one piece of the 
consecrated bread, while around it radiating like 
rays of light were the arms of the yew upon which 
their deity had been sacrificed.  Thalberg 
narrowed his yellow eyes as he gazed at the sight 
which rapt the half-dozen Keepers kneeling in 
prayer.  He did not know if he understood it or not, but it was true devotion.
         Thalberg stared for a full minute before 
he could tear his eyes away and look for somebody 
not in prayer.  He saw a young man dressed in a 
white smock.  Too old to not have been cursed; he 
must have been a girl a year or two 
back.  Thalberg knew he should know his name, but 
it escaped him just then.  The young man was busy 
adding fresh candles to a side altar festooned 
with mosaics of angels surrounding a woman of immaculate beauty and simplicity.
         He looked up when the alligator 
approached on heavy feet. “Master Steward,” the 
man said in a polite but not servile manner, “what may we do for you?”
         Thalberg cracked his jaw and placed his 
hands together, “I’m looking for Father Hough...”
         “Ramad,” the youth supplied.
         “Raman,” Thalberg repeated, recalling 
now that this young man was studying to be an 
Ecclesia priest. “I’m looking for Father Hough, where is he?”
         “He’s hearing Confessions right 
now.  And for the next few hours.  I could tell him you’re in need of him.”
         Thalberg shook his head, and then 
lowered his voice. “I don’t truly need to see 
him.  I’m here to see somebody in his care.  One 
of the refugees of Bradanes.  Miriam by name.”
         Ramad smiled, his handsome countenance 
brightening with a cursed-begot charm. “Ah, I 
see.  I will show you where she 
is.  Come.”  Thalberg followed him toward the 
front of the sanctuary, and through a door set 
just out of view along one side.  This led to a 
small hallway lit only by braziers at both ends 
and several small south-facing windows.  Doors 
led off to either side.  Ramad took the third, 
and Thalberg immediately felt a wall of warmth strike him.
         The room was modest with a single cot 
and a meagre table on which Miriam could lay her 
things.  Most of one wall was dominated by a 
hearth which was kept ablaze.  A stack of wood 
occupied what little space remained.  Wrapped in 
heavy, grey woolen blankets was another 
alligator.  Her snout was slender and green, with 
familiar yellow eyes perched atop the wide end, 
and bright white fangs descending across her 
lower jaw.  She kept her body covered in the 
blankets, but he could still see the scaled hands 
ending in black claws, and the tip of the broad 
and lengthy tail poking out the back like a rat 
testing the air for cats.  Even through the 
pleasing aroma of woodsmoke, he could smell on 
her the same sort of dry musk that clung to his chambers.
         Though he’d never seen a woman become an 
alligator, there was still something distinctly 
feminine in her shape, despite the fact that like 
all reptiles, her chest bore no mammalian 
characteristics.  He couldn’t quite decide why, 
but there was no doubt in his mind that this was a woman.
         “Oh,” she said, turning to stare at 
him.  She climbed to her feet, the cot springing 
back up behind her.  Her long tail rested on its 
edge, but he could see its contour beneath the 
blankets. “You must be the Steward 
Thalberg.”  Her voice was slurred, but not as bad as he’d feared.
         “That I am,” he replied.  He turned to 
Ramad and said, “Thank you for bringing me here.”
         Ramad immediately understood. “If you 
have need of anything, I’ll be in the sanctuary.” 
With that he left and Thalberg gently closed the door behind him.
         “I’m told that you only finished changing a few days ago, Miriam.”
         She nodded, an awkward thing for an 
alligator as the end of her jaw swung nearly a 
foot up and down. “Aye.  I’m so cold.”
         Thalberg gestured to the fire. “You’re 
doing the right thing.  But you are always going 
to be a little cold here at Metamor.  Our species 
dwells in the rivers and swamps far to the 
south.  You’ll learn to live with it and do what 
you can to keep warm.  You won’t be able to go 
outside for a few months, but it can be quite pleasant in the Summer here.”
         Miriam turned her snout toward the fire, 
her yellow eyes reflecting the flames. “I’ve never seen an al... al...”
         “Alligator,” Thalberg finished. “And 
neither had I.  Being Steward to Duke Thomas 
means that I am very busy, but I will set aside 
what time I can to help you adjust.  First, 
you’ll need good thick clothes and a more 
permanent place to stay.  You should also spend 
time talking with others, it will help you learn 
to use your tongue as I have.  And then you’ll 
need to find a way to support yourself.” Thalberg 
paused and inhaled deeply. “I’m told that your 
father was the Steward of Bradanes.  Did he have you do anything for him?”
         “Oh aye,” Miriam replied earnestly.  She 
turned to face him more fully, long tail sliding 
off the cot with a whump. “I helped in the 
kitchens, learned how to attend to milady 
Bradanes, and even got to pick out a guard or two 
for milord from time to time.” The words were 
slurred, and she stumbled over a few of them, but 
Thalberg understood well enough.
         “You picked guards for Lord Bradanes?”
         She lowered her snout, paws tightening 
around her middle, the scales on her palms 
rasping against each other. “There was one, 
Desmond.  I fancied him as a girl.  He used to 
bring me treats from the village.”
         Thalberg surprised himself when he 
laughed, a loud boisterous sound that bellowed 
from his gut.  It took Miriam by surprise who 
flinched back a step.  The crocodilian Steward 
held out his hand to steady her, and did his best 
to smile. “Forgive me, you took me by surprise.  How old are you, Miriam?”
         She did not lift her eyes to him, but 
she did appear to relax. “I am just shy of my twenty-fourth year.”
         “You never married?”
         “My father had trouble finding a husband 
for my older sister.  She was betrothed only a 
month before the sickness came.” Miriam sat back 
on the cot, fidgeting to shift her heavy tail aside. “My tongue hurts.”
         “You’ll get used to it.  I wish I could 
stay longer, Miriam, but I have many duties that 
need my attention.  Do not fear.  I will help 
you.  I will have something sent for you to eat 
that you will find more to your taste.  Practice 
speaking as much as you can.  I know it 
hurts.  Our tongues move differently than they 
did when we were human.  And our lips do not move 
much at all.  Speak with the back of your throat and you’ll find it easier.”
         Miriam sat patiently, nodding less 
vigorously, and looked up at him. “Thank you, good sir.”
         Thalberg took a deep breath and added, 
“I will also do what I can to find a place for 
you on my staff if you wish.  It’ll keep you in 
the castle where you can be warm, doing things you will know how to do.”
         Her whole body quivered, and she looked 
as if she wanted to bound off the cot and hug him 
about his waist.  She started forward, then 
paused and leaned back on the cot.  Her yellow 
eyes gazed down her snout and into her pebbly hands. “Thank you.”
         Thalberg saw the consideration in her 
gaze, and rumbled deep in his chest. “You will 
learn to accept it in time, Miriam.  I did.  So 
can you.  Now I must go, but I will send for you when I can.”
         She looked up at him, as if really 
seeing him for the first time.  Her yellow eyes 
went from his booted feet and long green tail, to 
his red robes which concealed everything, up to 
his yellow and green jaws and his pockmarked 
leathery hide.  Lastly she settled on his slit 
eyes perched on either side of his head. “Do I look as you do?”
         “Better,” Thalberg replied.  He 
immediately felt embarrassed, and his chest 
fuming, he excused himself and gently shut the 
door.  He stomped away growling at himself.

----------

         The Shoeshine Inn was not very busy in 
the early afternoon, and after greeting the 
Pavliks, George inquired where their special 
guests were staying and was told they were in the 
room with the ram’s head figurine.  Apparently, 
Lord Dupré had requested that room despite being 
only modestly appointed.  But for six men, it was 
close quarters indeed, and George could smell it 
from the top of the stairs.  And yet he still had 
to walk nearly to the end of the hall before he found the ram-head room.
         It had taken longer than he’d hoped to 
sort through the mess of reorganizing 
patrols.  It seemed like it had been a dog’s age 
since Thomas’s wedding, but it had only been a 
few days.  And in those few days, the jackal was 
forced to rearrange schedules for his patrols so 
that many could come home and rest before 
returning to the cold forests.  He couldn’t 
really blame Thomas for it, as they would have a 
hellish time securing the forests no matter when 
the horse had decided to get hitched.  But he 
could blame him for doing it so soon after the 
Winter Solstice.  His people were cold and 
miserable.  Only the excitement generated by the wedding brought them comfort.
         Still, in another week things would have 
settled back to normal, and he’d finally be able 
to kick up his legs with Terry and enjoy that 
bottle of wine he’d been saving.  But first he had to handle this odd chore.
         George knocked firmly on the door and 
shouted, “Open up, Willie!  I’m here to talk to you.”
         He heard boots scrape and at least one 
audible gasp.  The door opened to the sight of a 
broad man dressed in chain mail with a cloak 
about his shoulders.  The hard face and clear 
eyes of William Dupré met him.  His dark hair 
clung to his scalp, and he stank of oil and 
sweat.  He glowered at the jackal and said 
through tight teeth, “Only one person has ever 
dared called me that.  And he barely escaped with his life the last time.”
         “Better get used to it, Willie.  I’m you’re only friend here.”
         George saw it coming, but William was 
surprisingly quick even dressed in mail.  His 
left arm shot out and grabbed the jackal by the 
shoulder, while the right drove firmly into his 
stomach.  George gasped in surprise, legs 
buckling beneath him, even though he did manage 
to yank William’s cloak over his head with his 
left paw.  But William kept a firm grip on his 
shoulder and dragged him into the room, kicking 
the door shut with one boot.  He tossed George in 
the middle of the room and then laughed.
         “George.  The self-styled Mercenary 
King!  I recognize you even with all the fur.  When did you come to Metamor?”
         “Many years ago,” George replied after 
catching his breath.  He eyed the five soldiers 
in the room with him and picked out the captain 
easily enough.  He was young with blond hair and 
his eyes never left George, and his hand never 
left his hilt. “Life in the Midlands just wasn’t interesting anymore.”
         William Dupré tossed his cloak back over 
his shoulder and crossed his arms. “They didn’t pay you enough anymore?”
         “I’ve made my own decisions about where 
I live and who I serve,” George replied as he 
stood up.  He brushed the dirt off his tunic and 
grimaced. “That was a pretty good punch, Willie.”
         But Dupré’s eyes darkened. “If you think 
to come as my friend, then you should not insult 
me by calling me something other than my name.”
         George lifted his nose in the air. “What should I call exiles?”
         “You may call me Dupré.  Now what are you doing here?”
         The jackal turned his attention on 
William and decided that he’d probably gained 
about all he could from deliberately antagonizing 
him.  Besides, another punch to the gullet and he 
might have to taste his lunch again, and it 
hadn’t been that appetizing the first time. 
“Funny, that’s what I’m here to ask you.  What are you doing in Metamor?”
         “I’m here because I have been exiled, 
and I wish to swear allegiance to Duke Thomas 
Hassan and serve him in the valley for the 
remainder of my days.” It was said with such 
conviction, that George knew it was either true, 
or Dupré was the best liar he’d ever met.  And he 
already knew Dupré was too much a soldier to lie like that.
         “And what makes you think you’re welcome here?”
         “Metamor will accept any who are willing 
to risk the curse for a second start on life.  Or 
so I’ve been told.” Dupré’s demeanour, while 
still combative, had softened somewhat.  He was 
no longer the coiled viper waiting to strike at 
the slightest provocation.  Now he was the 
mountain lion contentedly watching his prey. “And 
once I have suffered the curse, there can be no 
doubt that I will remain loyal.  Where else could I go?”
         “We’ve had our share of beastly 
traitors,” George said with a bit of acid. 
“Sprouting fur or feathers doesn’t mean we’ll trust you, Dupré.”
         William shrugged. “Nor do I expect 
it.  I will earn that trust by my loyal obedience 
to your liege.” The other soldiers in the room 
nodded their heads.  George felt a bit of 
surprise at that.  Not only was William set on 
this, but his men seemed equally committed.  Such 
intense loyalty was good, but it was placed first 
on Dupré.  Whatever he decided, his men would follow.
         George decided to test that.  He glanced 
at the guards nearest Dupré and asked, “What of 
you men?  Do you seek to become Metamorians as well?”
         “We have pledged to do so,” the captain 
said in crisp tones. “We are ready to give our 
lives for a man who will not betray us.”
         Dupré’s eyes narrowed. “That wouldn’t be 
something you would know about.  Mercenaries only 
ever work for money, never loyalty.”
         “Then you don’t know me at all,” George 
replied, feeling his hackles press against his tunic.
         “Even before I drove you out of the 
Southern Midlands, you had sold yourself to many 
a different man.  Why should I believe you are no different now?”
         “I am the Duke’s Patrolmaster.  I have 
earned his trust over the years because I am 
competent and reliable.  And where else will I go looking as I do?”
         Dupré smiled in triumph. 
“Precisely!  And that is how you know that I can 
be trusted.  Soon I will look as you do, and 
through the years of my service to your liege, he 
will learn to trust me as well.  Wherever he asks 
of me, I will serve.  And so long as he uses me 
wisely, he will see that I am competent as well 
as loyal.”  His grin took on a lop-sided 
appearance. “Did you think you were the only one 
who could use anger as a weapon?”
         The jackal blinked in surprise, and then 
laughed.  William was as brutally honest as he 
remembered him. “Then I shall tell the Duke that 
you are genuine.  He will summon you so they can 
examine you and your men magically.  Your 
association with the Marquis makes it 
necessary.  And perhaps one day you will be trusted.”
         William nodded, crossed his arms, and 
stepped aside from the door. “Then you should go 
and tell his grace, we are willing to suffer any 
examination he deems necessary to prove the merit of our intent.”
         “I will pass that along.” George walked 
to the door, opened it, and then paused, turning 
back his head. “Oh, I owe you for the punch to 
the gut.  You may regret it.  Tomorrow, you may be under my command.”
         William shrugged. “There is but one 
thing I truly regret in this life, and that was 
agreeing to play cards with that blackguard Marquis.”
         “Not even being made to serve under a mercenary like me?”
         But William only chortled. “You aren’t 
really a mercenary any more now are you?”
         George smiled, tail wagging once. “Very 
true.” He liked Dupré.  Arrogant perhaps, but he 
could back it up.  He shut the door behind him, 
then cradled his bruised belly all the way down the stairs.

----------

         Hough glanced up from his studies when 
the middle aged nun entered and begged his 
pardon. “Mother Wilfrida.  Please, come and 
sit.  How did your search for a suitable site for the convent go this day?”
         The boy priest rose and invited her to 
sit in the cushioned chair he kept by his 
hearth.  She thanked him, and was nearly 
enveloped by the cushions when she sat down. “It 
went very well, thank you.  Sister Celicia drew a 
map of the buildings we want, but we do not know 
who owns any of them.  And how was your day, Father?”
         Hough had long since overcome the 
awkwardness of people who looked old enough to be 
his grandparents calling a mere youth 
‘father’.  He smiled to her, settling in the 
opposite chair and resting his hands in his lap. 
“Very well.  I love this time of the year.  But 
with the refugees, I’m beginning to feel 
overwhelmed.  They’ve increased the Follower 
community here a great deal.  I’ve spent most of 
my days hearing confessions this last month.  I 
am grateful I can serve, but I have not had as 
much time as I’d like for teaching Ramad and the 
others.  Your presence here will be a great boon to us all, Mother.”
         She lowered her eyes and smiled faintly. 
“You are kind to say so, Father.”
         “Now, you say that you have a map of the 
buildings you want.” Hough leaned forward some, 
short legs dangling over the edge of his seat. “I 
may not know who they all are myself, but I can certainly find out for you.”
         “Thank you, Father,” Wilfrida said, the 
smile growing at the edges where creases in her 
skin made her cheeks wrinkle.  She handed him an 
old leather scrollcase.  Hough undid the clasp at 
the end and drew out the parchment.  Unfurling it 
in his lap, he admired the steady hand that had 
sketched the makeshift map.  In dark lines were 
the current remains of the buildings that had 
once stood in that section of Metamor.  He’d have 
to speak with one of the city engineers to  learn 
what was what.  Overtop of these was in a lighter 
hand was a suggested outline of the convent they 
wished to build.  Delicate letters identified an 
altar, the cells, a central garden, storage 
chambers adorned with labels like “cheese?”, 
“wine?” and “scriptorium?”, and several halls to 
treat travellers and the sick.  Very ambitious, 
but he could not hide his delight as he saw the extent of their plans.
         Hough rolled up the parchment and 
nodded. “I’ll show this to someone who can tell 
me who owns each building tonight.  But you will 
need many hands and many garretts to build this convent, Mother Wilfrida.”
         Her smile was so sublime that all his 
own doubts were erased one by one with each word 
that spilled from her heart. “Aye, but Eli has 
lots of money, and He has many servants that will answer His call.”
         He felt like he was floating out of his 
chair. “I will make a point of asking all to give 
generously of themselves to help support your 
convent.  It will be built.  But, in the 
meantime, will you not allow me to ask Madog to 
have a place built for you here in the Keep?”
         Wilfrida’s smile remained, but she shook 
her head. “Your friend has already provided more 
than enough for us, Father.  But a visit from him 
would be most welcome.  The younger sisters adore watching him play.”
         Hough almost blushed, because he adored 
playing with Madog.  But he kept his composure 
and carefully slipped the map back in the leather 
scrollcase. “I will tell him next time I see him.”
         “Thank you, Father.” Wilfrida lowered 
her eyes and then rose. “We must take our meal 
before Vespers.  Eli go with you.”
         “And also with you, Mother Wiflrida.” 
Hough rose and bowed his head to the 
nun.  Holding the scrollcase close to his chest, 
he waited for the sister to leave before starting 
on his next task from on high.  And this time, he smiled.

----------

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

Charles Matthias


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