[Mkguild] Invigorating Faith (4/8)

[C. Matthias]

And Part 4

Metamor Keep: Invigorating Faith
By Charles Matthias

         They were an even dozen riding along the 
narrows trails through the wild lands at the 
Dike’s border.  Occasional remnants of stone 
walls would thrust beneath the creeping 
overgrowth like old gravestones in a forgotten 
cemetery, but whatever fortification they had 
been a part of was long since cast down.  Long 
ditches stretching from east to west had once 
been manmade but the years had filled in most and 
now the terrain was thick and lush with all 
variety of tree and full of submerged rock.
         William Dupré rode in the midst of his 
men, a wary eye and a careful ear turned to 
listen to the forest.  Dry branches scraped 
against each other in every breeze, while needles 
from the pines would muffle the tread their 
horses.  Snow littered everything and kept the 
forest in a quiet stupor.  The snow was quite old 
so what few tracks remained were mostly 
indecipherable.  Although winter’s grip had 
lessened, it could return at a moment’s notice, 
and with it, Lutin raiders invariably 
followed.  A dozen armed Metamorians on horseback 
could handle any scouting party and the Lutins 
knew this.  Dupré didn’t worry about stumbling 
across a party.  He worried about stumbling into an ambush.
         They kept to the conifers as much as 
possible to mask their passage but there were 
long stretches of empty branched trees where once 
could see nearly the length of Hareford’s commons 
in any direction.  William frowned as he studied 
the land, glancing into the blue sky overhead as 
the afternoon wore on.  This was Metamor’s 
northern border?  Was it any wonder they suffered 
so many Lutin incursions and twice suffered 
invasion?  Only the wood stood between them and 
their enemy, and that was a poor shield indeed.
         At his side rode one of the boys, 
Anthony.  The red-haired youth had one hand on 
the pommel of his short sword while the other 
held the reins.  His horse was smaller than 
Dupré’s out of simple necessity, so he had to 
look up when he noted William’s gaze.
         Anthony offered his a querulous look and 
the ram gestured at the wood, adding in a silent 
bleat, “What do you make of Metamor’s frontier?”
         The man who looked to be no older than 
twelve though he had twice that many years 
glanced around with a studious gaze and then 
frowned. “I’d expect to see a hunter’s shack or 
two, sir, but I don’t see anything except 
woods.  Nobody lives here but animals.  Real ones that is.”
         William snorted in amusement at 
Anthony’s unconscious correction. “That’s what I 
see too.” He took a quick glance up and down 
there line, five in front and five behind.  They 
rode side by side where they could, but mostly 
they wended along narrow tracks that kept them in 
single-file.  The brief opening between the trees 
was quickly coming to an end.  William readied 
his horse to pull ahead of Anthony. “I will do something about this.”
         “But what?”
         “I don’t know yet,” he admitted with a 
halting bleat. “But I’ll do something.” He gave 
his horse a nudge and rode up along the column, 
ducking and weaving between the trees.  At the 
front of the column was a woman with raven-black 
hair braided halfway down her back and over her 
quiver.  The boar Becket, his onetime Captain, 
was behind her learning the route.  Both turned as he rode up.
         “Samantha, how much longer before we reach the Tower?”
         The woman glanced at the western sky 
which was already being swallowed by the nearest 
peaks.  She pursed her fulsome lips and smiled. 
“Another hour at least, but not two, Sir Dupré.  We’ve made very good time.”
         Dupré turned his steed to avoid an old 
stump and then ducked his head beneath a low 
branch.  His horns slid along its underside.  He 
still wasn’t completely used to them. “How many times have you made this ride?”
         Samantha glanced at her fingers to count 
and then shook her head. “I don’t know.  More than twice ten.”
         “Then you know the land very well.”
         “As well as one can after three rotations at Hareford.”
         And that was why Captain Sobol had 
picked her for this.  He still had much to learn about his men.
         “Why did we have to ride northeast before turning to the west?”
         Samantha frowned at the edge of her 
lips. “The lands directly north of Hareford are 
broken and jagged and make for difficult passage 
for horses.  Scouts can manage but our mounts 
cannot.  Besides, Captain Sobol also told me to 
make sure you have a good view of the Dike before we reached the tower.”
         And it seemed he needed to learn more of 
the land as well. “Continue on then.  When we 
arrive at the Tower I will have many questions 
for you.” He did not wait for her acquiescence 
before turning his horse about and rejoining the 
middle of the column.  Anthony offered him that 
questioning glance but he was too wrapped in his own thoughts to share.
         The forest crawled by, silent but for 
the dry laughter of empty branches and the rustling chortle of the pines.

----------

         Another two hours ride north brought 
Bishop Tyrion and his entourage to the woodland 
village of Glen Avery.  Tyrion did not try to 
hide his gape as they passed through trees wider 
than his carriage.  He had never seen the like 
and was perhaps more impressed by this sight than 
by the splendour of Metamor itself.
         Father Purvis gaped with slack jaw as he 
climbed out of the carriage.  Father Malvin fared 
no better.  The Questioner’s eyes lifted in faint 
delight but he spoke no words.  Tyrion clapped 
his hands together and felt an ache in his 
heart.  The trees and their homes within reminded 
him of the sorts of exotic places Jaime, Anya, 
and he had imagined themselves playing in as 
children.  And in their imagination Tyrion could 
leap and jump with his brother and the other 
boys.  With a jerk on his robes, he pulled his 
clubfoot out of the carriage door.
         Evening was beginning to settle over the 
land and the sky was fading into an orange to the 
south.  But here it was all bright with torches 
and banners to welcome the Bishop.  A small party 
had assembled, headed by a quartet of very large 
squirrels, two of whom looked to be youths 
nearing the growth into manhood.  Archers and 
swordsman flanked them all dressed in winter 
whites and not a one of them human.
         “Bishop Tyrion Verdane,” one of the 
squirrels said, extending his paw in courtly 
fashion, an action that seemed out of place in so 
rustic a hamlet as this collection of boyhood 
treehouses, ropes, and arboreal bridges. “I am 
Lord Brian Avery.  My wife Angela, and boys 
Christopher and Darien.  We welcome you to Glen 
Avery.  If it is your pleasure we have prepared a 
place for you and your men to spend the night.”
         Tyrion took the offered paw with its 
fine fur and short, sharp claws, and the two 
bowed to each other ever so slightly. “Thank you, 
milord Avery, but I intend to push on to Hareford 
if I can.  Sir Egland assures me there is enough 
light left to make the journey.”
         Avery’s cheeks sucked in slightly and 
his short ears danced atop his head.  Dark eyes 
narrowed. “I will send a dozen of my scouts to 
watch over you if that is your choice.  It is a 
dangerous road and the Winter is still on us.  I 
recommend you stay the night here.”
         “I wish that I could,” Tyrion admitted 
with a heavy sigh. “Your beautiful village looks 
like one of my boyhood fancies.  But my time in 
the Valley is limited and I cannot delay.” He 
gestured to the three priests who accompanied 
him. “This is Father Malvin and Father Purvis, 
newly ordained priests.  And Father Felsah of the 
Questioners who has been assigned to my 
hand.  And this is Captain Nikolai.  He has 
protected me on the long journey from 
Kelewair.  Could you have one of your men direct 
him to where he may refresh our mounts?”
         Lord Avery nodded. “Angus, could you see to that?”
         A burly badger dressed in fine woolen 
cloth nodded. “Captain Nikolai, if you and your 
men would follow me.” The badger and a quartet of 
Glen soldiers led the knights toward the northern 
end of the clearing.  The elk and oryx 
accompanied them, but the two rats rode south to one of the larger trees.
         Tyrion smiled to the remaining Glenners 
though was disappointed to see so few.  The two 
younger squirrels were apparently restless though 
doing their best to keep their decorum.  He 
turned to them and smiled. “How old are you two?”
         “We’re seven years old!” one of them, it 
might have been Christopher but he wasn’t sure, 
pipped and stood as tall as he could.  His long 
tail managed to rise higher than his head.
         “And you carry yourselves so well.  So, 
tell me, do you have many Followers here at the Glen?”
         The other shook his head. “Not too many, 
your grace.  The Matthias family are and the old gravedigger, and...”
         The boy stopped at a curt look from his 
father who shook his head. “My son is 
right.  This is not a town where your faith is 
common, your grace.  But we welcome you 
regardless and will take you to those who practice your ways.”
         Tyrion nodded and smiled to the two 
youths. “Thank you.  I would like that.”
         They did not have to go far before the 
squire rat came running toward them with his arms 
full.  Another pair of rats followed them, and a 
slightly taller creature that faintly resembled a 
rat but not quite. “Your grace!” Charles called 
in a high pitched squeak. “Your grace!  I want you to meet my family.”
         Father Malvin actually laughed in 
delight when he saw them.  Father Purvis smiled 
like a man who knew he should but wasn’t quite 
sure he wanted to.  Felsah pet his dog and 
watched with otherwise bland expression.  Tyrion 
noted the bundles in the squire’s arms and 
blinked when he realized that each of them was a 
young child also in the shape of a rat.  They 
stared with wide dark eyes, scalloped ears almost 
as large as their heads, and long tails dangling 
from their father’s arms.  A lady rat who must 
have been his wife dressed in a green working 
outfit carried two more.  All looked to be the same age.
         “My, my!” Tyrion said with a chuckle. 
“Eli has blessed you.  What are their names?”
         Charles hefted his two children and 
nodding first to the left and then to the right. 
“This is little Charles and Erick.  My wife has 
little Bernadette and Baerle.  Would you say a 
special blessing over them, your grace?”
         “You dress funny,” little Bernadette 
squeaked and laughed.  Their mother gasped in horror.
         But this was one thing Tyrion was used 
to and so he laughed and nodded. “Yes I do.  I am your Bishop, little one.”
         “You say your sorry,” their mother scolded gently.
         Bernadette lowered her eyes, putting one 
paw to her muzzle and almost nibbling on their 
claws. “I’m sorry.” And like any child, the 
apology was more for the parents than for him.  But he didn’t mind.
         “I forgive you.  Now stay still so I can 
give each of you a special blessing.”  The 
Glenners gathered in a circle to watch.  Brian 
and Angela stood arm and arm and smiled 
wistfully.  Father Malvin and Purvis flanked 
Tyrion and watched wide-eyed.  Tyrion placed his 
hands on Bernadette’s head between her ears and 
against her long, soft fur.  He spoke the words 
of the blessing for children while she squirmed a 
little in her mother’s arms.  After making the 
sign of the yew he patted her on the head and moved to the next child.
         When he was finished, he looked to 
Charles and his wife and laughed in undeniable 
pleasure. “You have such sweet children.  And so 
many.  I think I’ve seen more wonderful things in 
my two days here than I have in my last two years.  Thank you.”
         Charles stood taller, and nodded, “Thank 
you, your grace.  Children, what do you say?”
         All four of them chorused in their 
high-pitched voices, “Thank you, your grace!”
         And with that, he saw both Malvin and 
Purvis relax and smile.  Tyrion knew he was making the right choice.

----------

         Twilight had settled all across the 
Valley by the time William and his men breached 
the line of trees and started up the long defile 
toward the Tower of the Eagle.  The sun had 
already sunk past the mountains so the ram’s 
first glimpse of the tower was one of a dark 
shape rising up from the steep mountain slope 
like a tall mushroom with a small cap.  The road 
ascended the defile from the south, cutting 
through a narrow cleft in the rocks that kept it 
hidden from northern invaders.  There were many 
rocks but once they were inside the cleft, there 
were none small enough to clatter down the defile 
and betray their position.  No one said a 
word.  A brittle wind tugged at their cloaks.
         When they reached the tower base William 
saw that it was built with solid granite and rose 
to a cupola wider all around than the 
base.  Reinforced oaken doors opened to the 
south, and a wooden staircase wound around the 
western flank just above the rocky slope.  The 
northern hillside disappeared over the edge of a 
cliff, providing a clear view north, east, and 
south from the tower.  Already from its base 
William could see over the tops of the trees into 
the spreading darkness.  And with so narrow a 
path to reach the tower, he could see why nobody 
had bothered to sack it.  It would take too long and would do them no good.
         Samantha dismounted and gave a short 
whistle.  The oaken doors opened from within and 
Samantha lead her horse inside, waving the rest 
to do the same.  One by one William’s men 
followed their guide inside the tower.  It 
smelled of horse and hay and the floor beneath 
them was covered by wooden planks.  The 
stables.  Once all were inside lanterns were 
opened and a warm yellow light filled the chamber.
         “Welcome to the Eagle,” Samantha said, 
her gaze sweeping over William and the five who’d 
come with him from Mallow Horn. “It’s not much 
but with supplies one can live comfortably here 
for months if need be.  Stable your horses and 
grab your gear.  We go the rest of the way on foot.”
         “Back outside?” Anthony asked with an 
unhappy tremble.  The stables were warm and cozy 
and putting in the mind of all images of a nice 
bed to climb into or a bowl of porridge to eat. “Up those stairs in the cold?”
         Samantha shook her head. “The outside 
stairs are a diversion.  They don’t go 
anywhere.  If Lutins ever tried taking the Eagle 
they’d kill themselves on the stairs.  We can 
shoot anyone on those stairs from the Eyrie.” The 
woman handed her reins to one of the soldiers 
who’d been waiting for them and walked to the end 
of the chamber past several thick support 
columns. “The real stairs are over here.” She 
opened a narrow door set in the wall and 
disappeared.  Her head popped back out a moment 
later, brain dangling. “If you’d like to 
accompany me, Sir Dupré, I will show you the Eagle’s secrets.”
         William grunted, dismounted, and caught 
the small eyes of his boar Captain. “Becket, see 
that our horses are tended and our gear stowed 
for the night.  Join us when all is done.”
         Becket’s response was immediate and 
loyal. “It will be done as you wish, Sir Dupré.”
         The stairs were narrow and made from 
solid stone.  The middle of each step was smooth 
and the impression of thousands of boots had worn 
its passage.  The staircase turned back on 
itself, and at each small landing a lantern 
burned bright enough only to guide and not to 
illuminate.  A dozen and a half steps brought 
them to the next floor, only a third again as 
wide as the stables, with lanterns hanging from 
the far wall and on the pair of support columns 
in the middle of the room.  Directly ahead of 
them on the other side of a small wall was 
another set of stairs leading up. A pair of doors lined the far wall.
         “Sleeping quarters for men and women,” 
Samantha explained. “The Eagle can hold as many 
as a hundred and fifty soldiers if need be.”
         William frowned, ears lowering against 
his spiralling horns. “How many do you normally have here?”
         “A dozen, two dozen at the 
most.  There’s rarely a need for many more.”
         The ram nodded and patted the stone wall 
jutting out from the exterior structure between 
the staircases. “And this prevents invaders from rushing from floor to floor.”
         “And allows us to hold them off longer.” 
Samantha stared beyond the cold stone flashing 
with the yellow lantern light. “Of course, if any 
enemy reaches this far, it is only a matter of 
time before they slaughter us to the very last.”
         At that William grinned, feeling a heat 
filling his veins.  His two fingered hands 
tightened their grip on the strong stone. “Then 
we fight all the harder and make them pay for every single scratch they land!”
         The raven-haired woman turned to him and 
a look of admiration crossed her sensual but 
hardened features. “I heard that you were a great 
leader in war; that you even bested George in battle.”
         “Hah!” With the memories of his time 
leading the Wolf’s Claw dancing through his mind 
he also saw his children, young and vulnerable 
and so far away.  He took a deep breath, nostrils 
flaring and tightening. “I was.” The words were 
crisp and final.  He gestured to the stairs 
leading upward. “Show me more, Samantha.”
         The next two floors were similar in 
construction.  The first contained supplies both 
food and weaponry, while the four had more of the 
same as well as sleeping quarters, currently 
untended, for the tower’s more permanent 
commander.  The entrance to the next flight of 
steps was always defensible, and the room’s 
layout always provided ample opportunity to kill 
attackers.  Embrasures in the southern and 
western walls of both floors allowed archers to pelt the enemy.
         The final flight of steps led to the 
Eyrie.  It was the cupola William had seen from 
below and as soon as he stepped within he felt 
immeasurably cold.  Heat radiated from a cast 
iron furnace into which one of the several 
watchmen on duty was shoving freshly cut 
logs.  The ram wanted to move toward the fire, 
but followed Samantha to the edge of the northern 
belvedere.  The windows looking north were open 
and a frigid air flowed through.  He could see his breath.
         Twilight was gone and night had 
arrived.  A half-moon brought a faint silvery 
illumination to the trees which caught on the 
last of the snow.  The sea of trees undulated and 
spread north, broken only in patches until it 
disappeared beyond the dark horizon.  He could 
see that the Dragon range turned to the west less 
than half-a-mile ahead.  They were at the 
northern edge of the Valley, the last gasp of 
land belonging to the Horse Lord.  Everything he 
saw was untamed land populated by hard men who 
would have no Lord over them and the marauding 
tribes of Lutins whose blood he had already shed 
thrice in only two month’s time.
         “Impressive,” William surmised. “I see 
you have views in all directions.  Show me more.”
         Samantha gestured for him to back 
up.  Once he did she lifted a panel in the floor 
allowing them to look straight down.  William 
lowered himself to hands and knees and stared 
down the side of the tower, the wooden staircase 
that seemingly ended in a door inset in the tower 
wall, and beyond to the cliff that dropped 
precipitously to end in a darkness the moonlight 
did not penetrate.  He gestured at the door. “Where does that lead?”
         “Nowhere,” she replied with a faint 
laugh. “If anyone were able to open the door, 
which they cannot, they would find solid stone 
behind it.  But they’d never get that 
far.  Watch.” Samantha took a few steps back and 
pulled a iron level jutting up from the 
floor.  The stairs buckled and bent downward 
until they lay flat against the side of the 
tower.  William bleated in surprise.
         “How did you do that?”
         “I honestly don’t know how it works.  I 
do know that some inventor at Metamor, Bryan I 
think is his name, came up with the design 
several years before Three Gates.  Anyone on 
those stairs will tumble down the cliff when we 
pull this lever.” She pushed it back in place and 
the stairs rose to their deceptively upright position.
         “Impressive,” William nodded and 
stood.  He straightened his tunic and nodded to 
the glass reliquary in the centre of the chamber. 
“I see you have a signal light but I see no brand to burn.”
         “Magical,” Samantha replied. “Nestorius 
put this here shortly after he took over 
Hareford.  We can use it to send messages.  Would you like me to show you?”
         William shook his head. “Later.  For now 
I want to learn more about the Dike.  I saw the 
remnants of old walls there, but all I can see 
from here is forest.  Has there been no effort to 
secure the northern mouth of the valley?”
         The woman shut the trap door and rested 
her elbows on the edge of the north-facing 
window.  William joined her there in the 
belvedere and turned his right ear to listen 
while his eyes scanned the moonlit horizon.  All 
was still and quiet beyond the Eyrie walls. 
“There used to be other towers like this, other 
garrisons and fortifications.  Years of Lutin 
raids made them weak.  When Nasoj eight years ago 
came he cast most of them down.  The forest has grown back since then.”
         “It looks like an old wood,” William observed.
         “In most places it is.  Where the forts 
were you can still see how young the trees are.” 
Samantha pushed her loose hair over her ears with 
one finger. “This end of the valley has never 
really been defended since the fall of the 
Suieleman empire.  You saw the last bits of the 
wall they once built.  I often wonder what it was 
like back in those days.” She leaned her head on her elbows and sighed.
         William pondered what the land would be 
without the forest and with a long wall stretched 
from one end to the other.  Almost an impossible 
sight and it hadn’t been enough, but it had once 
been.  He grunted and pushed away from the 
belvedere. “I am going to see to my men.  Thank 
you for the tour, Scout-leader.  I will return 
once I am content with our arrangements for the night.”
         Samantha bowed lightly while the other 
watchers kept out of the ram’s way.

----------

         It was night by the time Bishop Tyrion’s 
carriage and entourage arrived in Hareford, the 
northernmost settlement in the Metamor 
Valley.  Torches lined the road for a 
quarter-mile in expectation of their arrival, and 
soldiers waited in formation just outside the 
city walls while archers lined those 
walls.  Outside the gatehouse stood a dark figure 
tall and broad of stature who could only be the 
mage Nestorius.  The black lion was surrounded by 
his staff and closest intimates as they waited 
for the carriage to come to a halt.
         Tyrion was grateful for his youth and 
that of his fellow priests.  It had been a very 
long day and those that followed promised to be 
just as long.  But he’d reached his final 
destination for the night and soon they would be 
able to sleep.  But not before he’d had a chance 
to accomplish his purpose here.
         As before Father Malvin and Father 
Purvis exited the carriage first to help him 
hobble to the ground.  The Questioner remained a 
shadow that trailed at his feet.  By now Tyrion 
was used to seeing beasts that walked on two legs 
so he smiled without any trace of nervousness at 
the massive lion covered in black fur that approached him.
         “Welcome to Hareford, your grace.  I am 
Nestorius and I tend this land and its people as 
best I can.  This is my wife Amelia.”
         He gestured to a tall, athletic woman 
with long brown hair tied behind her back.  She 
smiled and lowered her head respectively. “Please 
consider Hareford your home while you’re here, your grace.”
         “Thank you, Lady Amelia,” Tyrion 
replied.  The fact that Amelia must have once 
been a man registered for a moment and then 
settled into the back of his mind as yet one more oddity of Metamor.
         Nestorius commanding gaze fixed on 
Tyrion and he smiled with many fangs. “We are all 
delighted to have you here with us for the night, your grace.”
         “Thank you,” Tyrion replied. “I am 
honoured to pass the evening in your august 
company.  If you can have someone show my Captain 
Nikolai where our horses can rest for the evening, I would be most grateful.”
         Nestorius gestured to a woman of rank 
who nodded.  The lion smiled. “Captain Sobol will 
tend to that.  I have been informed you wish to 
learn of the Follower community here.  Some are 
here along the road waiting for you, and others 
wait inside to greet you.  Come and I will introduce you.”
         Tyrion and his fellow priests followed 
the black lion through the main gates of 
Hareford.  Judging by the armed men, women, and 
children, the red-haired Bishop knew that this 
was a town girded for war and ready to repel 
invaders.  A fact that a quick glance at Captain 
Nikolai proved; the head of the Wolf’s Claw was 
noting the fortifications and regiments with keen 
interest, one that he doubted the Metamorians would fail to notice.
         Beyond the gatehouse was a broad square 
in which not quite for dozen had gathered with 
oil lanterns waiting to welcome him.  Their faces 
were limned in orange light, bright, monstrous, 
and hungry for blessing.  They crowded closer as 
he and the other priests entered.  Nestorius 
opened his muzzle to say something when his 
yellow eyes alighted upon something that made him 
stammer unintelligibly.  Tyrion followed that 
gaze to a man in the guise of a large black dog 
with his arm in a sling.  His fangs bared and he 
pushed toward the front of the crowd. “You!  Verdane whelp!”
         The Followers at the front hadn’t even 
noticed that one of their number was pushing and 
shoving his way forward with bared 
fangs.  Nestorius growled in irritation and 
lifted his paws to trace some heathen sigil in 
the air.  Tyrion grabbed his wrist and tanked it 
down, a move that caught the lion mage by 
surprise. “Not in my presence!” Tyrion boomed to 
the bewildered mage.  Nestorius blinked, eyes flicking back up to the dog.
         Tyrion turned on him and struck his 
crozier on the ground, the crack silencing all 
those who’d come to welcome him. “What is the 
meaning of this insolence?  Do you speak to your 
superiors in this fashion?  Speak your name!”
         The dog growled but stayed behind the 
line of Followers who were now trying to get out 
of his way. “Alexander, your grace!” The last 
said with a disbelief and derision. “I and my 
Lord are here because of your father!”
         Tyrion frowned and then understanding 
dawned on him.  Of course.  He knew he’d 
eventually run across one of those who’d stayed. 
“You are one of Lord Dupré’s men?”
         “That’s right!”
         “Your loyalty to him is commendable,” 
Tyrion replied, mastering his own 
indignation.  He had only ever seen the various 
letters and the disgusting allies that William 
Dupré had made for himself out of the lowliest 
and most degraded of priests.  But this was one 
of his soldiers, a man who’d served with him in 
battle.  That was different. “And I thank you for 
your service to him, to Hareford, and to the Ecclesia.”
         Nestorius looked like he wanted to 
personally grab the dog, hoist him over his 
shoulders, and hurl him over the city wall.  But 
Tyrion still held him back, a grip that the lion 
could have broken easily if he chose to.  And 
Alexander, who only moments before had looked 
ready to leap at Tyrion and rip out his throat, 
now stuttered in misspent anger. “But... but... but you exiled him!”
         “My father did that yes.  But I am a son 
and servant of Yahshua in His Ecclesia.  My 
father’s wishes here are irrelevant.  All that 
matters to me is that each one of you,” he let 
his gaze wander over the many assembled to 
welcome him, “is able to participate in our faith 
and to take their place in the Body of 
Yahshua.  And that wish extends to you and your 
liege, the noble Lord William Dupré.” The words 
felt strange to him and he did not entirely like 
them.  But William had been his brother by 
marriage before his exile and the many times 
they’d talked he’d always seemed a good sort, if 
proud and overly protective.  His father’s 
private revelations to him of the cause of the 
discord in their land fluttered like wasps in his 
heart, but he would not speak of them to any but his superiors.
         Alexander growled a moment more and then 
lowered his eyes. “Forgive me, your grace.  I though you your father.”
         Tyrion stepped toward him and extended 
his hand. “All is forgiven.  Show thy faith and 
all shall be forgotten as well.”
         Clumsily, the dog man lowered to his 
knees and kissed the ring on Tyrion’s 
hand.  Tyrion no longer flinched at the rather 
sloppy manner of kisses he received from 
Metamorians, but his heart did beat easier once 
it was over.  Alexander slunk off into the rest 
of the crowd, and with the tension lightened, the 
rest clustered close to get a good look at their 
Bishop.  Even Nestorius gazed at him with some wonder.

         Two hours later, Bishop Tyrion Verdane, 
exhausted and with heavy eyes and a very weary 
leg, accompanied Nestorius along the inner bailey 
wall one last time before retiring to 
sleep.  Their conversation had covered history 
both Hareford and the mage’s own and now, as it 
inevitably would, it came back to the scene in 
the courtyard. “You are either a brave man or a 
foolish one,” the lion said. “You should not have 
interrupted my spell.  I only intended to cast a 
sleep spell on Alexander.  He wasn’t even 
supposed to be there.  My apologies for the incident.”
         “I’m a cripple,” Tyrion replied with a 
yawn he couldn’t stifle. “I’m probably a fool 
too, but it is my responsibility as Bishop to see 
to these people’s needs.  But as a soldier under 
Lord Dupré, one thing he would have learned was 
that you neither strike a cripple nor a man of 
the cloth.  On his fidelity and loyalty to his mentor, I trusted.”
         Nestorius’s face settled into a faint 
growl. “Then why did your father exile him if you think so highly of him?”
         “Of that I will not say more than this: 
he was an object of discord in our land.  And the 
pain of it is great, especially for my 
father.  You know that he was married to my sister?”
         The lion nodded but slowly. “Aye, I know 
that.  And I know that your father had it 
annulled.  I have not had the heart to tell him yet.”
         This surprised him. “He does not know?”
         “Not unless another has told him.”
         Tyrion sighed and pulled his robes a 
little closer. “You have lived your life in the 
midst of squabbles and shifting alliances.  So it 
is at Kelewair, as I am sure it is here, even if 
the common cause of your enemy to the North masks 
it.  You don’t need to confirm or deny, I am not 
here to pry into the internal affairs of 
Metamor.  I only say that things are difficult 
where the Dupré family is concerned.  But you may 
assure William that his family is well and 
protected. No harm shall come to any of them.”
         “Why should I trust you in this?”
         “You do not need to,” Tyrion replied 
with a long sigh. “His son Jory exacted a promise 
from me before I left.  He asked me to make sure 
that if the opportunity ever arose to give his 
father a letter that he’d written.  I will give 
it to you ere I leave tomorrow.”
         Nestorius stopped walking, heavy brow 
leaning over his eyes and shadowing them in the 
silvery light of the half-moon high in the sky. 
“Why would you do this?  The Verdane family has 
coveted these lands for a century or more.”
         Tyrion lowered his eyes and clunked his 
clubfoot on the stone parapet.  He felt tears in 
his eyes and hoped the lion didn’t see them. 
“Because the son loves the father and the father 
loves the son.  That is all.” He closed his eyes 
and turned aside. “I think I should retire 
now.  Thank you for showing me your lovely city.”
         “I will escort you to your rooms, your grace.”
         No more was said between them.  And when 
Tyrion dragged his misshapen foot into the soft 
feather bed provided him, he thought of a stern 
red-haired green-eyed man looking down at him 
with open arms and loving smile.  He prayed for an hour before falling asleep.

----------

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

Charles Matthias


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