[Mkguild] Invigorating Faith (1/8)

[C. Matthias]

My next story for Metamor Keep.  This story 
concludes a few days before the main action in 
Raven's "A Presence of Thieves" 
(http://metamorkeep.com/story/A_Presence_of_Thieves1.php) commences.

It will be very helpful for this story to have 
read "Last Tale of Yajakali" 
(http://metamorkeep.com/story/ltoy/cover.php) 
especially the bits of intrigue in the Midlands 
as there is a ton of follow up on this.

Also, there'll be some juicy revelations about Metamor's past.

Without further ado, enjoy!

Metamor Keep: Invigorating Faith
By Charles Matthias

February 23, 708 CR

         Alberta had promised Thomas an evening 
ride now that the snows from two weeks ago had 
mostly melted.  A week of warm southerly winds 
and clear skies had reduced Metamor’s supply to 
small piles clustering in the shade of high walls 
and dark alleys.  The grounds were muddy and wet 
but another few days of sun would cure that in 
the city.  The river would run high for a few 
more months and the lowlands would suffer from 
mud flats sucking wheels, boots, paws, and 
hooves.  But everyone in the city was ready for 
the coming Spring, each and everyone hoping that 
winter had played it’s last trick on them.
         Thomas just hoped he wouldn’t be 
scraping mud off his legs for hours after the 
ride.  Still, it would be the first time they had 
ridden together in anything resembling warm 
weather since their wedding two months ago.  He 
had already changed into his riding gear which 
was modest but far more formal than the first 
sort of riding gear Alberta had ever bade him 
wear.  He chuckled lightly as he thought on 
it.  He sincerely hoped the meeting his daughter 
had asked him to attend would not take long.
         With a quartet of guards flanking him, 
Thomas descended the still cool halls of Metamor 
until they reached his private audience 
chamber.  The guards took up their posts on 
either side of the door after the bull Andhun 
opened the door and cast a quick glance 
inside.  Two people waited within, his adopted 
daughter Malisa who served as his Prime Minister 
and chief advisor in all matters and the young Follower priest Father Hough.
         Both stood at Thomas’s entrance but he 
waved them back to their seats.  His private 
audience chamber was where he typically held his 
meetings with his closest advisors.  A table big 
enough for not quite a dozen men occupied the 
centre of the room lit by high windows facing 
south and lanterns hanging from the ceiling.  A 
sealed bookshelf containing maps and important 
documents bearing laws and treaties was under 
lock and key against one wall.  Matching 
cabinetry holding wines and other libations 
mirrored it.  A door in the rear wall near the 
windows led to his private study now shut and 
also under lock and key.  The grey stone walls 
were coloured by tapestries and a painting of 
Thomas made four years ago that he wasn’t 
terribly embarrassed by.  Carpets were arrayed 
beneath their feet in a modest display.
         “Good evening, Father Hough,” Thomas 
said as he threaded his long tail through his 
high-backed upholstered chair. “Please forgive my 
appearance but I am going riding with my wife 
after we speak.  What may we do for you?”
         Father Hough offered a kind greeting and 
then withdrew an opened letter from his collared 
tunic. “I received this letter today, your 
grace.  It is from the newly appointed Bishop for 
my diocese.  He is coming to Metamor in a few 
days to inspect the faithful.  He asked me to 
inform you of his coming.  He has no needs from 
you other than safe passage; he and his entourage 
will stay at the Cathedral while he is here”
         Thomas glanced to Malisa who kept her 
face perfectly still. “I heard not long ago that 
there was to be a new Bishop.  I’m surprised to 
hear that his first official visit will be to 
Metamor.” He glanced at the letter.  There was 
nothing beyond what Hough had described except 
for the Bishop’s identity.  Thomas saw the name 
and felt every muscle in his body tighten.  He 
looked at Malisa again, his dark eyes hard.  His 
daughter nodded ever so faintly.
         The horse lord turned on the boy priest. 
“The new Bishop is Tyrion Verdane?  The son of 
Duke Titian Verdane of Kelewair?  The son of the 
man who has tried to buy off many of my southern 
vassals in the last ten years?  Let us not forget 
that our last war to the south was with the new 
Bishop’s grandfather!  That Tyrion Verdane?”
         Father Hough swallowed and nodded, 
looking like a child who’d been caught sneaking 
pastries from the kitchens. “I’m afraid so, your 
grace.  In his defence, I have always heard that 
he is a very devout man who believes in the 
honour of the Ecclesia above the affairs of kings 
and princes.” Hough paused, but the silence that 
followed was so weighty he added in a somewhat 
stronger voice, “He will only be here for a few 
days.  As the Bishop, it is his right and duty to 
inspect those under his pastoral care.”
         This last was met with icy stares from 
both Thomas and Malisa.  The boy priest did not 
wilt but instead sat a little taller in his 
chair.  After a few moments, Thomas nodded and 
waved one hand toward the door. “Thank you for 
bringing this to our attention, Father.  I assure 
you the Bishop will be protected all the while he 
is in Metamor and that none will interfere with 
his ecclesiastical mission.  There are matters my 
daughter and I must discuss so please excuse us.”
         “Thank you, your grace,” Hough rose, 
bowed, and then left by the way Thomas had 
entered only moments before.  He took the letter with him.
         “As soon as he showed me the letter I 
knew you’d want to know,” Malisa said after the priest had gone.
         “Thank you.  I cannot believe that 
Titian’s whelp would be coming here just to 
inspect the faithful.  He may be pious as Father 
Hough says but he is still Titian Verdane’s 
son.  I doubt he would have come here so soon 
after his installation if not at the behest of his father.  But why?”
         Malisa tapped her thumbs together and 
stared into space as much as into her mind.  Her 
words were slow and deliberate when they came. 
“Duke Verdane has been dealt a serious blow by 
the loss of Bozojo.  With Lord Jaran Calephas 
financially and militarily tied to you, he has no 
feasible designs on Giftum anymore.  He has to be 
clawing for some opportunity to regain what he’s lost in the last year.”
         “I agree,” Thomas said with a curt nod. “But what?”
         “He’ll never gain a foothold in 
Metamor.  Not anymore, not with the Curses.  His 
eldest son is a prisoner in Salinon, and the 
father of his new heir is your subject now.  His 
hold on the Southern Midlands is weak. Perhaps 
Tyrion isn’t meant to spy on you or Metamor.  What could he gain by it?”
         Thomas’s tail flicked back and forth as 
he considered the mutli-faceted 
possibilities.  Politics was dizzying at the best 
of times.  Guessing the motivation of a rival was 
a game he’d played nearly all of his adult 
life.  He needed to first know Verdane’s motives 
and then he could guess what he might be trying to accomplish.
         The former was simple enough. “The 
Verdane family has always wanted to unite the 
Midlands under Kelewair and claim the title of 
King of all the Midlands.  What his father 
attempted briefly by war this one has attempted 
through alliance and trade.  He married his 
eldest son to Otakar’s niece a decade back but 
she died shortly thereafter.  Had their marriage 
prospered, he probably would have had enough 
influence to win all of our southern fiefs 
leaving us only with those under the Curse.”
         Malisa nodded quietly as her adoptive 
father took a breath and continued marshalling 
his thoughts aloud. “But with her death, Otakar 
and Verdane have become rivals.  Otakar’s envoy 
tricked us into signing an agreement honouring 
each other’s territory while Otakar seized Bozojo 
for himself.  Verdane’s people are tired from the 
civil war he put down last year and now he’s lost 
his other great asset, revenue from the trade on 
the Marchbourne.  His desire to advance his 
family is in shambles.  He wants nothing more 
than to find some way to reverse his fortune.”
         “But,” Malisa interjected, “what does he gain by sending Tyrion here?”
         Thomas grunted under his breath and 
tapped one hoof on the carpet. “I don’t 
know.  And that worries me.  There has to be 
reason other than seeing to the Follower 
population.  I wish we could prevent him from 
coming under some pretext, but Father Hough is 
right.  If we tried, we’d alienate our own countrymen.”
         Malisa folded her hands tightly and 
pressed them into the table. “Past visits from 
members of the Ecclesia have ended far 
differently than we expected.  The Patriarch’s 
visit ended in disaster, but the Questioners 
exonerated us.  Perhaps his grace truly only 
wishes to see to his flock?  We need to keep an 
eye on him.  And we should probably prevent Sir 
Dupré from knowing he is here.  There’s no 
telling what the ram will do to him.”
         “Ugh, aye.” Thomas shook his head, ears 
lowered and eyes closed as if fruitlessly willing 
away a headache. “I will send Nestorius a message 
to keep Dupré in the dark regarding Bishop 
Tyrion’s visit.  Let us hope the lion 
succeeds.  Dupré has proven as good as his word 
so far but it is far too early to start trusting 
him.” The horse lord opened his eyes and tapped 
one hoof-like nail on the table. “Where is Andwyn 
anyway?  I’m surprised he didn’t warn us of the 
Bishop’s coming.  He must already be in my 
southern lands by now if he’s to arrive in three days’s time.”
         “Andwyn is up north personally seeing to 
some manner of intelligence.  He should return 
tomorrow.  I will brief him on what he will need 
to do.” Malisa offered the last with a faint 
smile. “I’ll talk to George and Misha about 
shifting the patrols.  The valley has been pretty 
quiet lately, but we’ll want to be sure.”
         “Make sure Father Hough tells them the 
Bishop’s plans too.” Thomas sighed and shook his 
head. “I don’t like this, Mal.  I don’t like it at all.”
         “Neither do I, Father.  But if he is up 
to anything suspicious, we’ll learn soon enough.”
         Thomas stood on his hooves, stretching 
his long legs a moment as he did so. “Very 
well.  Thank you, Malisa.  Keep me informed.  I 
want to know as soon as somebody sees the Bishop in the valley.”
         Malisa rose, a professional smile 
crossing her lips. “I will.” She bowed her head 
ever so slightly. “And you enjoy your ride, 
Father.  I don’t want to keep you from your wife any longer.”
         They shared a knowing smile, Thomas’s 
contentment returning to him just as quickly as 
it had left. “Thank you, Mal.  Until tomorrow 
then.  Good night.”  Malisa’s smile remained as 
she left.  Thomas followed her a moment later, 
the smell of wet grass, mud, horseflesh, and his 
earthy wife already filling his mind with allure.

----------

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

Charles Matthias


!DSPAM:4c0e07db181201345131859!