[Mkguild] Gazing Through a Barred Window (2/4)

[C. Matthias]

Part 2!  Can you guess what Thomas is drinking?

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Metamor Keep: Gazing Through a Barred Window
by Charles Matthias


April 19, 708 CR


Duke Otakar liked to feast. Anyone meeting the 
corpulent noble would learn that much by the mere 
sight of him. This meant that the sovereign of 
the Outer Midlands would take every opportunity 
that presented itself to him as an excuse for 
declaring a banquet and inviting various 
prominent citizens or visiting dignitaries to his 
table. And like a dog on a chain so too would 
Jaime Verdane be brought down and sat in the 
midst of Otakar's family so that all of Otakar's 
guests could note him and appraise him. He 
almost, while in an especially snappish mood, 
asked a visiting baron who would not stop staring 
at him if he wished to inspect his teeth.

Still furious at the humiliation he'd had to 
endure the previous evening, Jaime stalked back 
and forth in his donjon chambers. He started at 
the corner of his bed, crossed all the way to the 
wall next to his writing desk, and then would 
return the way he'd come. And when he reached the 
bed he'd start right on back toward the desk. 
Seven paces one way and seven paces back. Seven 
paces one way and seven paces back. On and on he 
stalked, his lips curling in indignation and his 
heart racing almost as fast as his mind.

Some of Otakar's cousins from Marigund had come 
to visit the night before, one of which was an 
older lady who couldn't see very well and so she 
often used the wrong names when speaking to 
people and also had a bad habit of accidentally 
knocking goblets over which she treated as no 
more notable than a distant crackle of the fire 
despite the repeated need of the servants to 
clean the mess – but ware her ire if they did not 
first refill her goblet. To make up for her poor 
sight she also feigned a bad ear professing 
ignorance of most of what was said to her but 
developing perfect acuity whenever gossip was to 
be shared, some notable who'd earned her disgust 
was the recipient of calumnies, or when she 
herself was spoken of in terms less than 
resplendently dignified and fawning. As if these 
two habits were not bad enough, she dressed in 
the most garishly opulent clothing which 
constantly needed to be attended to by the trio 
of young girls who followed her around and 
endured her near constant abuse, and she drenched 
herself in a hideous perfume that made Jaime wish 
he were eating with the Duke's geldings instead of his gentry.

And naturally, his grace Duke Krisztov Otakar XII 
had seen fit to seat this unbearably disgusting 
example of the old matriarch next to Jaime. She 
spent the evening, when not engaging in her usual 
litany of vituperative and vexation, 
condescending to Jaime by asking him what it was 
like to be a hostage and then complaining how it 
would not suit with her ill health and that she 
hoped she didn't catch some bad airs from an 
obvious miscreant such as him. She also spilled her goblet on him three times.

The only satisfaction he had that evening was 
that Ladislav sat on the other side of the 
hideous woman and had to endure the abuse in 
those short interludes when Jaime briefly bored 
her. The head of the Marigund delegation, Sir 
Brian Brightleaf – who was also regrettably her 
grand nephew, a choice of words that had been 
whispered – felt so bad about it that he 
apologized to Jaime after the banquet had ended, 
and only after the woman had left because she 
could not, as she put it, abide the foolish 
prattle of the men over their wine and meat.

But Otakar had said nothing, only smiled and 
acted the gracious host, praising the old crone 
for her beauty and wit before gasping in relief 
after she'd gone. Jaime had been dismissed like 
that dog on a chain shortly thereafter, the wine 
still soaking and probably permanently staining 
his satin britches. He'd spent the rest of his 
evening jabbing at the mortar with his stone 
until one of his blisters began to bleed.

Now, nursing the wound, he paced in a fresh pair 
of britches, hoping against hope that the old 
woman had accidentally fallen over the lake wall 
and died, and that she'd taken Otakar with her 
when she'd gone. Only yesterday morning he'd been 
congratulating himself with how well he was 
tolerating his imprisonment. Eli had seen fit to 
remind him of the folly of pride and it was only 
a matter of time before He saw fit to remind him of the folly of anger too.

Although he hadn't expected his anger to be 
interrupted by a bird cawing at him in some 
indignation. It had to caw three times before he 
even realized what it was he was hearing. Turning 
his head he saw perched on the northern sill the 
gray and black-feathered jackdaw that he'd been 
coaxing with his bread crumbs along with some 
other birds over the last few days. The bird was 
staring at him with pale blue eyes that almost seemed irritated.

Jaime did have some bread left over waiting for 
him on the desk, but he was in no mood to feed 
birds. He stomped toward the jackdaw, waving his 
arms and yelling something incoherent. The bird 
flew away before he could take more than two 
steps. Still, he finished going to the window, 
planted his palms on the sill, and leaned his 
head out to glare at the rest of the world.

Before he could do anything more than note the 
city spreading out with its towers and tight 
roads along the steep hill, the bird cawed at him 
again. Jaime looked over his right shoulder and 
saw that the bird had alighted on the eastern 
facing window sill to regard him with the same demanding expression.

“Just go away and leave me be!” Jaime snapped, 
walking to the other window to smack the creature 
from his sill. The offending avian was quick to 
jump back into the air, but to Jaime's dismay he 
flew directly to the northern window and resumed his cawing there.

Jaime ground his teeth in frustration and beat 
his fist against the stone sill until it felt 
sore. He lifted his hand and sucked on the 
blister as he glared at the jackdaw. The corvid 
leaned forward a bit to point his beak at the 
ground before leaning back and returning the 
jailed aristocrat's gaze. “Do you want more 
bread, is that it?” Jaime asked with a heavy 
sigh. He could always just close the shutters of 
course, but for some reason the pestering of this 
bird was a welcome relief to the constant rage he felt.

“Fine, fine. Bread it is.” Jaime crossed to his 
desk, took the loaf while still standing and 
began tearing off little chunks and throwing them 
on the ground beneath the sill. The jackdaw was 
quick to jump down and snatch up each little 
peace. He then beat his wings back up to the sill 
to wait for the next morsel. He kept this up for 
a few minutes before some of the other birds 
began to gather and ask for bread too.

Jaime watched the smaller birds fight over each 
bread crumb, gulping them down so quickly that he 
was sure they couldn't possibly have tasted them. 
The jackdaw didn't bother trying for any of the 
pieces he threw to the other birds; rather, he 
hoped down into the room and waited for his next 
piece as he stood beneath the sill. Jaime tried 
throwing the bread crumbs closer to himself, and 
this time the jackdaw at least came nearly 
halfway into the room before becoming too nervous and flying back to the wall.

The bread however could not last forever, and 
soon he was splitting his last piece into as tiny 
of fragments as he could so that all of the birds 
who'd come to visit him might get a piece. He 
tossed the crumbs to the smaller birds before 
gently depositing the last morsel in the center 
of the room. The jackdaw was quick to hop in, 
snatch it up, and then hop back toward the 
window. He turned back and tilted his head to one 
side as he gazed at Jaime, as if he were asking a question.

“I'm sorry, but I'm out of bread.”

The jackdaw cawed at him one more time, and so 
Jaime repeated his apology. The smaller birds 
also chirped, but the jackdaw seemed to 
understand that nothing more was forthcoming. The 
black-feathered bird flew back to the window 
sill, cawed again, and then jumped out into the 
air and was gone. The other smaller birds joined him a moment later.

Jaime sighed as his little friends left. He could 
still hear their song somewhere nearby, possibly 
the roof of the donjon tower, but he couldn't see 
them anymore. But one thing he didn't feel 
anymore was his anger. He cocked a glance at his 
writing desk and the small number of books 
brought to him by the poor priest Otakar had 
obtained for him. He took the prayer book from 
its spot on the shelf, a spot it had inhabited 
nearly since he'd first placed it there, and began flipping through the pages.

And eventually he even began to see the words and offer them up in prayer.

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Duke Thomas eyed the yellow, creamy drink as 
rivulets of vapor rose from it surface to 
tantalize his nostrils with a muscular blend of 
nutmeg and cinnamon. His wife Alberta had made it 
for him only a short time ago, but, as he was 
meeting with his advisers, trusted that he would 
drink it all and lather her ears with his delight 
later. All she had said was that it was a 
delicacy on the Steppe and drunk only on the greatest of feast days.

“Are you waiting for it to cool down?” Malisa, 
his adopted daughter and Prime Minister asked. 
She was garbed in her usual blue attire, loose 
fitting tunic, vest and trousers of a masculine 
cut with only the medallion of her office to add glitter to her appearance.

“No,” Thomas replied as he reached one hand for 
the clay goblet holding the mysterious brew; the 
goblet rim was decorated with a ring of horses 
all standing nose to tail. Thomas didn't recognize it.

“What then? It smells very good.”

Thomas took a deep breath and turned the goblet 
around in his large fingers, watching the yellow 
surface ripple and reveal little dark bits of 
spice in the blend. “It does indeed,” the horse 
lord agreed. “And I have no doubt that its taste 
is hearty and agreeable. But... she said it was a delicacy of the Steppe.”

“So?” George asked. The jackal always hated the 
bookkeeping aspect that came with being an 
adviser to the Duke but he did his duty and 
prepared reports for him even if he did not 
report as often as the rest of his staff. “What's wrong with that?”

Thomas tapped one hoof against the chair leg and 
folded back his ears against his coiffured mane. 
“It means that she probably used horse milk. 
There's just something... unsettling about that idea.”

George laughed and leaned back in his chair; he 
nearly slapped the table with his paw. “Oh, go on 
and drink it. It's probably not your wife's.”

Thomas tensed and glared at the head of his 
patrols. “You should be a little more careful and 
polite in your choice of words where my wife, Dame Alberta, is concerned.”

The jackal grunted but nodded. “Of course. I 
meant her grace no insult. But just drink it 
already! The smell is making my nose itch. I don't like nutmeg!”

“True enough, and my Alberta did make this 
especially for me.” Thomas lifted the goblet, 
tipped it across his supple lips, and felt the 
thick, creamy texture run across his tongue. It 
had at the same time a sweet taste, but also a 
heavy weight to it, the mix of spices giving it a 
strength and a savor quite unlike anything else 
he'd ever had, and certainly more appealing than 
any milk he'd drunk, no matter its source! He 
lowered the goblet, a good bit of the brew left, 
and he licked it from his lips and nodded in 
approval. “That is very good!” A smile broke out 
on his equine snout. “A delicacy indeed! What 
other wonders do they hide on the Steppe?”

George's grin spread to encompass his jowls. “I 
have heard that they enjoy searing mushrooms, 
peppers, and horse-flesh in a rather tart but 
peckish sauce; never tried it myself. I don't 
think you'd be interested in that.”

“No, no, I would not.” Thomas turned the goblet 
in his fingers and sighed in contentment. 
“George, since you are smiling so broadly, would 
you care to report on the condition of our 
military and what goes on in our lands?”

“The usual Lutin raids are tapering off as the 
tribes head north for the Summer. But the human 
raiders coming in from the south are becoming 
more aggressive. Mostly they stay at the southern 
end of the valley to keep clear of the Curse, but 
we just rousted a dozen brigands who'd been 
traveling as far north as Ellingham to harass the 
farmers and merchants there. They managed to 
steal a large number of furs as well as cattle 
and more salted meats than I care to admit and 
ship them south before we were able to find them. 
That's the worst of them, but there are others 
picking up the slack as we speak.”

“Why so many brigands?” Malisa asked, tapping her 
fingers together beneath her chin. “They've 
always been a problem as many unwilling Keepers 
can attest, but from what you've said and what 
I've heard, we've never had so many.”

“I suspect that some are refugees from Bradanes 
who haven't been able to make new lives even if 
they were healed. But the real problem was the 
plague. While we were stuck here, all of the 
barons were left to themselves to organize their 
defenses and coordinate patrols. We did what we 
could but we were mostly cut off from the rest of 
the valley. The brigands knew it and moved in. 
Now we have to convince them to move back out again.”

Thomas took another sip of his wife's delicious 
and unusual brew and glanced at the bat Andwyn 
who perched at the other end of the table by 
himself. “Are there any rumors of dangers to the north?”

“There are rumors of something strange happening 
in the Murk; I have a few of my men watching it 
very closely. If you are thinking of shifting our 
northern defenses to the south, I would do so 
very judiciously. There may not be a force 
amassing in the Murk, but there may be. Lik has 
become very, very dangerous of late; there are 
monsters there that should not be in any city. I 
have heard whispers of night-creatures who drink 
blood and cannot die, but I have nothing certain.”

“Vampires? Lothanasa Raven will wish to know of 
that if it is true,” Malisa pointed out.

“Sadly, her thoughts are to the south as well 
these days, but I can tell her what I know,” 
Andwyn offered as he shifted on his perch. “I do 
not believe we are in immediate danger from the 
north, but I think something is trying to at 
least gain control of our northern frontier now 
that Nasoj has lost those lands.”

Thomas nodded and rubbed his chin with his free 
hand. “We'll want to keep a very close eye on the 
Murk. Has Nasoj stirred from his fortress?”

“Rumor suggests that he has, but that he has gone 
to the east to keep Lom Shi'un from taking any 
more of his territory. We have nothing solid.”

“And what of Arabarb? Has there been any news of Lindsey or Pharcellus?”

“Nothing,” Andwyn said with a marked sigh. “But 
it is still early yet. News will come soon.”

Thomas took another sip of the brew and was 
disappointed to discover that he had almost 
finished it. “I think it is best that we move 
more patrols south of the Keep for now to fight 
back these brigands. But we will need to keep our 
northern border defended. Speaking of which, how 
is our new commander at Hareford doing?”

“Sir Dupré is living up to my expectations,” 
George said with a snort and a chuckle. “That is, 
he is exceeding them. He has spent the last month 
surveying the tracks north from Hareford to Eagle 
Tower and to the Dike. I was up there last week 
and he's already begun clearing out the wood 
nearest Hareford to build a fortified road to the 
tower. He's also surveyed the western edge of the 
Giant's Dike and is drawing up plans for a small 
fortress next to the mountain that can be used to 
extend the reach of our soldiers.”

“They won't be able to stop an army there,” 
Malisa noted with a moue darkening her face. 
“Especially a Lutin army. A small force could 
keep the defenders holed up in any garrison at 
the mountains while the rest march on past.

“I told him the same and he already knew it,” 
George agreed with a quick nod. His ears folded 
back and his eyes narrowed. “He is a bit more 
far-sighted and definitely more ambitious than I 
suspected. He wants to reclaim the entire northern mouth of the Valley.”

Thomas lifted his ears and flicked his tail as if 
swatting a fly. “Why? The Haunted Forest prevents 
anyone from coming down the eastern half.”

George chuckled and shook his head. “He seems to 
think that Nestorius, Edmund and Stealth will 
free the spirits there one day. And then he 
muttered something about Ecclesia priests doing 
their job, but otherwise he is very confidant 
that the thousand-year old restless spirits are just about to start resting.”

“Have there been any more incidents? With Sir Dupré that is?”

“Nestorius says he's been a perfect soldier 
since. If he has any rage left, it's taken out with his drills.”

“That is also what my men have seen,” Andwyn added quietly.

Thomas raised the goblet to his lips, but only 
let the creamy froth touch his lips; enough to 
get a taste but not enough to finish his drink. 
“Very well then. Continue observing him but let 
him do as he wishes. George, I want you, Misha, 
and Jack to look over whatever plans he has drawn 
up for this garrison. If it does not meet with 
your approval, then we will rein him in. Is there anything else to report?”

“Not from me, your grace,” the jackal said.

“I have one item,” Malisa said as she folded her 
hands on the table. “I received word that 
Ambassador Tarkas and his entourage are only a 
few days from Salinon. They have met with no 
trouble in their journey and report that the 
skies look fair. I will know how well they are 
received in a few days; I'm sure it will be an 
eye-opening surprise for Duke Otakar and his court at the very least.”

“When they meet Sir Kardair and his wife I'm sure 
it will be,” Thomas said with a chuckle. “Are 
there any other animal Keepers amongst Tarkas's entourage?”

Malisa frowned. “No. The rest of the entourage 
are human; half the soldiers are former women, 
and the other half have never been Cursed. The 
servants are also former men and women and a few 
newly made children. I carefully selected them so 
that they would not draw undue attention to 
themselves. There wouldn't have been any animal 
Keepers at all if Sir Kardair had not insisted on 
going to protect his brother.”

But George shrugged his shoulders and scratched 
at the yellow fur on his elbow. “I wouldn't worry 
about Sir Kardair. He served with distinction at 
both Three Gates and Winter Assault, and he has 
been an able commander in the Red Stallion for 
years. I even had the pleasure of serving 
alongside him on a sortie near Politzen four 
years ago. Good, solid warrior.” The jackal 
laughed and a crooked smile teased his jowls. 
“And he can jump higher than any man I know, at 
least any man who isn't a frog.”

“Perhaps it's better that he and his wife Deya do 
draw attention,” Andwyn suggested. “If everyone 
watches him, and if he conducts himself as 
honorably as we both know he is, that alone may 
offer more protection for our people in that 
land. And,” the bat added with a helpless grin, 
“it will provide more opportunities for our 
alternate purpose in sending a delegation.”

“Jaime Verdane,” Malisa nodded and sucked in her 
breath. “Do you really think you can help him, 
Father? He's being held in their highest donjon; 
not even the sturdiest rope could see him safely 
outside the castle grounds. And we certainly cannot rescue him by force.”

Thomas frowned as he thought on the man his own 
age trapped in a prison far from his home. The 
Verdane family had long shown themselves to be 
enemies to the House Hassan and the imprisonment 
did not change this. But it has been his house, 
his very family, that was responsible for the 
murder of Jaime's wife. He would not sit idle 
while a man who's life he destroyed rotted away 
in a donjon no matter how commodious.

He tipped back his head and the goblet, finishing 
off the last of the creamy brew, licking his 
thick lips as he set the wooden goblet back down. 
“That was very good. As for Jaime Verdane... I 
don't know. But we are going to try. Keep me informed of any developments.”

With that he rose from his seat, still clutching 
the goblet in his right hoof-like hand. The trio 
all rose as well, each trying to be quicker than 
their liege. He smiled to them and nodded his 
large head. “Thank you all. You are dismissed. I 
am going to find my wife and congratulate her on a wonderful delicacy.”

And at that they all shared a warm laugh.


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

Charles Matthias