[Mkguild] Invigorating Faith (7/8)

[C. Matthias]

And Part 7.

Metamor Keep: Invigorating Faith
By Charles Matthias

February 30, 708 CR

         It was midday by the time that the 
Bishop’s carriage passed through the gates of 
Metamor again.  This time it was flanked by only 
four horses, those of Sir Egland, Sir Saulius, 
and their dutiful squires.  They were welcomed by 
an eager crowd of Followers who waited anxiously 
for word of the Bishop’s decision.  Would they 
receive more priests?  Would they receive their 
own diocese?  And what of the rumours that the 
Bishop’s soldiers had been spies sent to learn 
Metamor’s secrets?  Just what had become of them?
         Neither knights nor squires spoke of 
those affairs having been enjoined by Andwyn to 
silence for the time being.  Further, they 
believed in the Bishop’s mission and did not wish 
to cause it any ore harm than had already been 
done.  Not one of the four was wearied from the 
long days of journeying across the Valley, but 
they were looking forward to the day they bid the 
Bishop farewell and returned to their homes.
         Neither Tyrion nor his priests uttered a 
word or hint to those gathered to welcome him 
back to the fabled castle and its peacock 
city.  Instead they hurried through to the 
Cathedral the crowd following them with hopeful 
faces and eager eyes, noses, and ears.
         Bishop Tyrion led them in a prayer 
service — Father Hough had already offered Mass 
that morning — and during his short remarks, he 
pronounced his decision.  He was met with joyous 
approval tempered by an uncertain 
disquiet.  Father Hough, who’d been holding his 
breath for well on nigh four days, almost sagged 
with relief at the news.  When the service 
concluded the Keepers thronged all of the priests and thanked them profusely.
         The clubfooted Bishop wished he could 
stay among them and celebrate, but he was met 
with a summons from the Duke that he knew would 
come.  He blessed all those in attendance one 
last time and followed the detachment of guards 
led by the massive bull Andhun down the halls of Metamor.
         Tyrion had been waiting for this moment 
with almost as much worry as he’d been the 
announcement of his decision.  Now that it came 
to it, he had to suppress a desire to curse 
Nikolai and his father’s animosity.  They had 
made what was to come all the harder.
         They came to a large doorway both wide 
and tall fashioned from stoat oak and bearing the 
horsehead Ducal crest of the Hassan 
family.  Already four other guards flanked the 
door with ceremonial halberds in hand and 
paw.  Andhun opened the door onto a room of warm 
mahogany tables, bookcases, and timepieces, along 
with alabaster carafes and crystal decanters, 
exquisite chalcedony inlay, red carpets over 
stone, and a vista looking south across the city 
and the Valley through wide windows.  Roaring hearths kept the room warm.
         “His grace, Bishop Tyrion Verdane,” 
Andhun announced in an almost conversational tone.
         An unseen voice echoed back. “See him in and shut the door, Andhun.”
         The bull gestured with a massive arm 
that was wider than many trees and Tyrion stepped 
through.  He favoured his good leg but otherwise 
gave no indication that he was intimidated by the 
modest opulence of the Duke’s private meeting 
chambers.  From an unseen door emerged a tall 
chestnut-brown stallion in regal blue doublet and 
hose.  One thick-fingered hand rested upon the 
pommel of a ceremonial sabre, while the other was 
braced in a fist before his chest.  His hooves 
were covered in soft leather and made only the 
faintest of noises as they trod upon stone and 
carpet.  His bearing was proud and 
dignified.  The form of a stallion suited him well.
         “Bishop Tyrion Verdane.” Dark eyes 
surveyed him and despite his growing familiarity 
with beastly eyes, he could discern no motive in 
them.  The voice was polite to the point of being 
strained. “Thank you for taking the time to reply 
to my summons.  Please sit.  I would like to 
discuss with you your time here in my land.”
         Tyrion inclined his head respectfully, 
but only a short distance as if it were no more 
than a nod.  He spoke as he slid into a cushioned 
seat with straight back and arm rests carved like 
the backs of horses grazing. “Thank you, your 
grace.  I am very grateful for your 
hospitality.  I have enjoyed seeing your 
land.  It has opened my eyes to many things I had 
never before considered.  I am blessed by this 
visit and I only wish that it could have been longer and less... eventful.”
         Thomas took the great seat opposite him, 
and ever so slightly twisted his supple lips at 
Tyrion’s choice of words. “You have been very 
busy these past few days.  I have already heard 
word of your ecclesiastical decision but neither 
the details nor the reasons for them.”
         “The reasons are simple.  I choose to 
bring Father Malvin and Father Purvis with me 
here to Metamor originally because they both have 
family within the Valley.  Neither man comes from 
the Southern Midlands; both were born in lands 
swearing fealty to you.  Both are willing to face 
what the Curses will do to them.  I have 
contingency plans in case either becomes a woman 
and is no longer able to serve.”
         Thomas’s expression remained firm but 
his ears did flick at the news. “And where do you intend to station them?”
         “Father Malvin will serve in Lake 
Barnhardt.  The community there is strong and he 
is an intellectual sort.  His temperament is 
well-suited to the people there and he will find 
an able patron in Lord Barnhardt to help him 
continue his scholarly interests.  Both people 
and priest will lift each other up closer to Eli as it should be.”
         The horses nodded ever so slightly. “The 
news undoubtedly pleased Robern.  What of Father Purvis?”
         “I am assigning him to Lorland.  The 
community there is growing and growing strong 
with the many refugees from Bradanes.  His simple 
manner and strong faith will be an antidote to 
the poison the late Lord Loriod filled those people with.”
         Thomas grunted and almost smiled. 
“Good.  Those sound like wise choices to me.  I 
have long pondered how better to help the people 
Altera ground to dust, but your suggestion seems 
the best of any I’ve heard.  A priest of their 
own will be of inestimable help.”
         Tyrion felt some transitory 
relief.  Those had been the easy choices.  His 
heart clenched tighter as his opened his lips for 
his next declaration. “I am also assigning Father 
Felsah to Metamor to be both assistant and 
resident Questioner for when one is needed.”
         Thomas eyes narrowed and he chuffed, 
nostrils flaring. “Metamor does not need any Questioners.”
         Tyrion shifted his bad leg to cover his 
wince. “He has been here before, twice in 
fact.  And it is only because of this I am 
assigning him here.  Of any Questioner that is 
alive, he is perhaps the only one suited to this task and to this land.”
         “That may be, but I am not going to 
allow you or anyone else to start a religious war in Metamor.”
         “That is not his purpose,” Tyrion 
replied as evenly as he could.  He didn’t want to 
have to remind Thomas that when it came to 
matters of the Ecclesia, this consultation with 
Thomas was purely polite and completely 
unnecessary. “I have tasked him with spending a 
month or two learning the needs of the Followers 
in the Metamor Valley as prelude to my nascent 
request to Yesulam to create a new diocese for 
Metamor itself.  After, he would remain in 
Metamor as an aid and would serve in his capacity 
as Questioner only when ordered to do so.”
         Thomas leaned forward, nostrils still 
flaring. “The Questioners are an arm of 
Yesulam.  I would be justified in suspecting you 
of an attempt to shift the allegiance of my 
people to Yesulam instead of Metamor.”
         “Forgive me your grace, but that is 
ridiculous.” Tyrion gestured with one hand at the 
horse lord and shook his head. “Yesulam is where 
the Patriarch resides and as such is the head of 
their faith.  But their homes are here in 
Metamor.  You may as well cast out the Lothanasi; 
are they not subject to the head of their order in Elvquelin?”
         “I do not want a holy war in my land!”
         “And you will not have one,” Tyrion 
replied, doing everything he could to keep from 
snapping at the obstinate horse. “Although I only 
met him briefly, I am told that all hold Madog in 
high regard here.  Madog considers Father Felsah 
one of his friends.  I am sure you heard what 
happened when we arrived four days ago.”
         Thomas paused, his eyes still fixed on 
the priest, and kept his lips still.  He leaned 
back slowly, the tension between them dwindling 
ever so slightly.  A gust of cool air made the 
fires dance.  The horse’s ears twitched to the 
side and then returned upright. “The concordant 
that we signed with Yesulam expressly forbid 
certain activities on the part of your 
priests.  You may not proselytize the Lothanasi 
or cause discord amongst the Rebuilders.  I will 
hold Father Felsah accountable for any such trespasses that occur in my lands.”
         Tyrion hated that such a concordant had 
been signed but that had been done by his 
predecessor Ammodus.  Still, it had saved that 
fool Nikolai. “And any that convert of their own free will?”
         “Well that’s their choice,” Thomas replied coolly.
         “Of course.” Tyrion took a deep breath 
and smiled at the edges of his lips. “That is the 
extent of my decisions for this land at this 
time.  I will offering a Mass of Installation in 
Lake Barnhardt this evening for Father 
Malvin.  Tomorrow on my way out of the valley I 
shall do the same for Father Purvis in 
Lorland.  Father Felsah will leave me in Jetta 
from whence he will begin his tasks.”
         “And then you will return to Kelewair,” 
Thomas finished for him. “And there I hope you 
shall stay.  I do not wish to see any Verdane in my lands ever again.”
         Tyrion sighed and lowered his eyes. 
“Please forgive me for what happened with my 
men.  I did not know what they were doing.  I am ashamed of it.”
         “Then why protect them?” Thomas’s voice 
was hard and chuffing, like a warhorse champing before battle.
         Tyrion shrugged his shoulders and 
sighed, no longer the Bishop weighed down with 
responsibility but the son wearied by events 
beyond his control. “Because my father needs all 
the good soldiers he can if he is to keep Salinon 
from eating all our northern holdings.  I do not 
know why they were making drawings of your 
castles.  All I can figure is that my father 
wanted you as weak as he is that you might 
consent to be an ally on equal terms instead of a 
suzerainty.  We Verdanes have always been proud.” 
He shook his head and looked away.
         Duke Thomas crossed his arms and leaned 
further back in his seat.  He now spoke as a 
ruler to a subject. “If he thinks I have any 
desire to aid him now, then he is an even greater 
fool than I thought.  And your actions do not 
make me trust you.  I do not care how much 
humility you show me now.  You hide behind your 
concordant to protect spies.  Do not think to 
tell me they will be punished for their 
acts.  Your father will reward them for every detail they can remember.”
         He reached into his robes and drew out a 
small unsealed roll of parchment.  He laid it on 
the table before the horse lord.  Thomas narrowed his eyes. “What is this?”
         “Read it.”
         Thomas uncurled the scroll and scanned 
the freshly written text and noted Tyrion’s 
clerical seal at the bottom.  His eye ridges 
lifted in surprise.  When he was finished, he 
gazed at the bishop with curious regard, the 
stare of one who hopes that they have misjudged 
but are not yet sure. “Excommunication?  You have 
written a bull of excommunication for them?”
         “It will be undone after a certain 
length of penance, but not even my father can 
challenge this.  Until they have served 
sufficient penance, they will not be able to 
communicate anything they learned here at 
Metamor.  My hope is that by the time they will 
have finished their penance, they will remember 
nothing more than what any traveller to your lands might learn.”
         Thomas took a deep breath, stared at the 
scroll for several long moments, took another 
deep breath, flecked his lips, and then rolled 
the parchment back up and handed it to Tyrion. 
“You have surprised me, your grace.  You are 
acting more honourably than I thought any Verdane capable of.”
         “My family may be proud and sometimes we 
may have put our own ambition ahead of common 
sense, but we are honourable,” Tyrion replied. 
“And that includes matters of treachery.  You 
signed an agreement with Duke Otakar to honour 
each other’s territory, and now Otakar has seized 
lands belonging to my father.”
         The horse lord’s lips tightened but he 
did not give any other indication of the 
irritation this reminder might have caused. “Aye, 
that I did.  It seemed reasonable enough at the 
time, but I was not aware of what he intended.”
         “And he has taken hostage my brother and 
the heir to the throne of Kelewair.”
         “You have my sympathies.”
         Tyrion shook his head. “I did not come 
here for your sympathies.  I came here for your help.”
         Thomas blinked, ears lowering along the side of his head. “My help?”
         “Aye, your help.” Tyrion swallowed and 
looked the horse straight in the eye. “My father 
will never ask it, and he will be furious with me 
if he finds out I asked, but I am asking.  Please 
do whatever you can to free my brother from 
Salinon.  Even if only you can provide a way for 
a message to reach him that does not pass through 
Otakar’s hands, it will be enough.  I fear that 
this as long as Jaime is held hostage, it will 
make war in the Midlands inevitable.
         “I do not have any ability to offer you 
reward.  I am merely asking for help for my brother’s sake.”
         Thomas asked in a rather quiet voice. 
“If we free Jaime, then will not your father 
storm Bozojo and reclaim it?  Will that not lead to war?”
         “Bozojo is going to be stormed one way 
or another.  Either when Jaime is freed or when 
he dies.  Kelewair cannot retain control over its 
northern fiefs without at least some control over 
the Marchbourne.  War is inevitable.  It will 
either be for desperation or for parity.  I have 
seen some of your own citizens that have been 
held hostage by cruel men in my last few days 
here.  When I see them all I could think of was 
my own brother locked in a cage, a jester for the 
japes of men who’d once been his family.  Metamor 
has resources I do not.  I am only asking your 
help.  Nothing I have offered to do for you is 
conditional on you giving that help.
         “Aye, I have spoken of the stability 
between our countries.  But I ask you help as a 
man seeking to aid his brother.  I do not care 
whether my father’s dreams of uniting the 
Midlands under the rule of Kelewair ever come to 
fruition.  I just want my brother home and safe.”
         Thomas took a long moment to consider 
those words.  His eyes were dark and unreadable; 
his poise fixed and noble.  He spoke, when he 
did, slowly and with great precision. “You are 
right, Tyrion, that war is inevitable.  That has 
been the way of things in the Midlands for as 
long as history has been written.  You are trying 
to lay a burden at my feet that does not belong 
here.  Your family has never been anything but an 
enemy to my own.  You provide no reason for me to 
aid you but a personal plea.  There are many who, 
in such a situation, would welcome the 
instability that the lack of heir in Kelewair 
will cause.  I could use this opportunity to 
extend my own holdings further south if I so choose.”
         Tyrion did his best not to betray any 
fear at these suggestions, suggestions he knew 
and had considered at length before deciding he 
needed to make this request.  But Thomas wasn’t 
finished. “You are not a fool, your grace.  Your 
actions these last few days demonstrate that.  So 
you did not come to me to ask for my help unless 
you thought there was a chance I might give 
it.  And in giving my help I can expect no 
return.  Thus, you think I am willing to be both 
magnanimous and generous of my self and my 
people.  But your own house has given us no 
reason to be so generous.  I can promise you 
nothing.  Nothing except that I am unsure whether 
you think me gullible or chivalrous.
         “Either way, I am chivalrous and I will 
not forget your request.  I may do nothing, but I 
will not forget it or your brother.  But whatever 
help I may give if I decide to give it, will be 
on my terms.  Do you understand?”
         Tyrion lowered his head in a grateful 
bow.  It was not quite what he’d hoped for, but 
it would have to do. “Thank you, your grace.  I do understand.”
         “Good.  I believe you have an installation Mass to perform.”
         Tyrion chuckled lightly to himself. “I 
believe that I do.  Thank you for your time, your 
grace.  My Eli bless your land for ages to 
come.”  With that they both rose, nodded to each 
other, and Tyrion walked back out the door.  As 
the bull Andhun escorted him back to the 
Cathedral, Tyrion did his best to keep himself 
from kicking the wall with his clubfoot.

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

Charles Matthias


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