[Mkguild] Designing a New Valley

[C. Matthias]

Here's a new tale for Metamor Keep.  If you do 
not recall these characters, I recommend reading 
"Landing in a New Age", "New Home, New Beginnings", and "Invigorating Faith".

Part 1 of 1

Designing a New Valley
By Charles Matthias

June 7, 708 CR

Summer was on the way but mornings in Eagle Tower 
were still cold. An occasional breeze brought 
warm southern air, but mostly the wind descended 
the mountain slopes on which the northernmost 
watchtower of Metamor perched bringing the bite 
of Winter even on the hottest days. Sir William 
Dupré could not see his breath but he was 
grateful for the thick wool he now grew.

The Eyrie cupola at the top of Eagle Tower was 
warmed by the cast iron furnace in the center. 
Alexander, the soldier who’d brought him from 
Mallow Horn and become a dog, added another log 
and then retreated to huddle beneath a blanket on 
the other side. Samantha, the raven haired 
soldier of Hareford who had first shown them the 
tower, was the third scout enduring a morning 
watch; she leaned across the eastern belvedere 
with her cloak about her shoulders, hands clasping a cup of once hot tea.

It had been over three months since William lost 
his temper and assaulted Nestorius. Most of the 
first two months he’d spent on patrol, drilling 
troops, surveying the Dike and the rugged trails 
from Hareford, or sequestered within Eagle Tower 
so their paths did not cross. In the last month 
he’d made an effort to befriend the lion mage and 
earn his trust anew. Their shared past in being 
exiles helped as the anger and pain the ram 
suffered were ones Nestorius knew well.

It would still take many more months to recover the goodwill he’d squandered.

And so William took every excuse to stay out of 
Hareford. After a week of running drills in the 
countryside and clearing trees along the main 
road south he needed rest. He’d arrived yesterday 
with his men and some servants, enjoyed a welcome 
meal and a few hours of sleep, and then began a 
shift in the Eyrie. Already he regretted it; his 
eyes watched the Giantdowns in the north, but his 
heart turned south to Mallow Horn.

The letter his eldest son – the son Verdane had 
stolen – was treasured in his quarters. He’d read 
and reread the letter more times than he could 
count. Jory loved him and knew he was a Dupré 
first and a Verdane second. His younger children 
– daughters Sasha and Lydia, and son Timas – 
remained in Mallow Horn with a mother but no 
father; a mother who sought an annulment to deny 
them even an exiled father. It had been more than 
a year since he’d held Jory in his arms; the 
terrible campaign the thrice damned Marquis 
enslaved him to had kept him from the others for 
months before his sentence of exile. Nine months now perhaps?

He ground his flat teeth and flexed his nostrils, 
angry at himself for woolgathering. He tapped the 
edge of his curled horn against the belvedere’s 
wooden supports. He was a Keeper in body but not 
yet in spirit. The ram was the sigil of his house 
but he never imagined becoming one himself. After 
six months with wool, horns, hooves, and 
two-fingered hands he had trouble remembering 
what his human flesh felt like. He’d been hairy 
of chest, arms, and legs, but how did they feel 
beneath four slender fingers? The thick heaviness 
of wool was all he knew. He hated the Marquis and 
Verdane for stealing those memories too.

But the Marquis was dead and Verdane’s eldest was 
a prisoner in Salinon. Vengeance belonged to Eli, 
or so the priests always reminded him; perhaps it had already been carried out.

The soft clop of hooves on the steps turned both 
ears and thoughts. William and Alexander glanced 
at the trap door as Blanche climbed through with 
a bundle in her arms. The lady ewe had been 
assigned by Nestorius to care for his quarters, 
clothes, and meals, and this she did quietly and 
dependably. Born in Hareford, she had never 
traveled farther than the nearby villages until 
Sir Dupré began bringing her on his patrols to 
better see to his needs and the needs of the men under his command.

“Good morning, sirs,” she said as she set the 
bundle on the ledge. William caught the scent of 
fresh bread, butter, and preserves, as well as a 
tamer but more interesting scent. It surrounded 
her and made the dull off-white of her wool 
fuller and appealing. Some days it was stronger 
than others and on those days his nostrils would 
flare, his chest swell, and he could not stop the 
scraping of his hooves against the ground.

Though many nobles kept mistresses, and lechery 
was hardly uncommon among any class of men, 
William had avoided dalliances after marrying 
Anya Verdane. He had already won the most prized 
hand in all of the Midlands; what need had he to 
further prove his manhood? And it kept the 
priests happier; always wise for this life and 
the next. But the real reason was his children; 
he loved them too dearly to sully their line with bastards.

Alexander began panting and wagging when he 
smelled the food. Samantha smiled at the ewe 
before returning her gaze to the still, 
fog-filled horizon. William shifted against the 
belvedere and stepped toward his servant. “Good 
morning, Blanche. What have you for us?”

The ewe carefully unwrapped the bundle as her 
left eye found the ram. The pupil was slit 
side-to-side like his making it difficult to know 
where they focused. But he knew; doubtless she 
was enticed both by his scent and by his sturdy 
and handsome build. They were both black-faced sheep and this was Metamor.

There was little chance of muddying the lines of 
succession for his children here in Hareford. 
Perhaps she might consent to being mistress as well as servant.

Of course, she was probably a spy for Andwyn. He 
would not trust her until he knew for sure.

His nostrils swelled and he scraped a hoof. Not 
that he needed to trust her for...

Blanche's unassuming voice felt even quieter in 
the tower cupola. “I baked bread for you, sirs, 
and brought some of the raspberry preserves from 
last Summer's harvest. And a block of fresh 
butter from Truskmore. Oh, would you like more hot tea, Lieutenant?”

Samantha smiled and handed her cup to the ewe. 
“Thank you, Blanche. I'll have my bread with butter and jam.”

Alexander noticed his drool and wiped his jowls 
with one arm. “The same for me.”

William deliberately gazed toward the Dike and 
waved an arm. “I will also have some, thank you, 
Blanche. And bring hot tea when you return. Then 
see to the rest of the men. Let Captain Becket 
know we'll stay here today and return to Hareford 
tomorrow; he'll see to the duty rotation.”

Blanche nodded and offered a shy smile. “Of 
course, sirs. I will see to it.” She divided the 
loaf of bread into three chunks, lathered each 
with butter and preserves, then handed one to 
Samantha, to Alexander, and to William. He waited 
a few seconds while she offered it before turning 
to her, staring with both eyes. The tips of his 
hoof-like fingers brushed against hers as he took 
the bread. Her ears tipped back in a caprine blush.

He took one bite of the bread and nodded. “Very 
good, thank you, Blanche.” And it was. The jam 
had more tart than he preferred but the butter 
was richer than any in his homeland. Together it 
made a pleasing taste. He scuffed a hoof and 
forced his eyes toward the remnants of the Dike. 
“Do bring some hot tea. The mountain air is especially cold this morning.”

“I will, sirs.”

Her scent lingered after the ewe disappeared. 
William chewed each bite for nearly a minute, 
eyes intent on the horizon. Branches of trees 
stirred, birds flitted about with a morning song 
in their throats, and he'd even seen a pair of 
goats capering about the mountainside, but 
nothing more than they wandered the borderlands 
between a kingdom of beasts and the wild, untamed 
Giantdowns. It took all his composure to watch 
them while his heart thrummed and nostrils grasped at Blanche's fading scent.

He scuffed his cloven hoof on the stone beneath 
him one last time. He could not escape what the 
Curses had done to him, but he would not be 
mastered by them. A moment of pride let the 
Marquis trick him and destroy his life. A moment 
of anger broke his friendship with Nestorius. 
What could a moment of lust cost him?

He'd chewed four bites before Blanche returned 
with a pot of tea. She refilled Samantha's cup 
and poured some for both Alexander and William. 
Though he held the cup still while she poured, he did not touch her.

“Thank you, Blanche,” he said when she had 
finished. “Tell Captain Becket I want him to send 
two men of the Hareford troop here to the Eyrie. 
I want to take him and my men out along the Dike before the day grows old.”

He breath a silent prayer of thanks when the ewe left.

Samantha turned in surprise. “Do you wish an escort?”

“Thank you, but nae, we'll be fine. You'll 
probably be able to watch us from here.” And 
Andwyn was sure to have a spy or two among the birds in the trees anyway.

----------

It was warmer in the forest than in the tower and 
so William and his men only wore the leather mail 
common to patrols. Two freckle-faced boys, Martin 
and Robert, led them amid the trees and the 
tumbled, moldering stones they'd shoved aside 
where the Giant's Dike once stood. The boar 
Becket walked at William's side, small eyes wary 
and alert, while his snout turned at every new 
scent. Behind them followed Alexander and the 
red-haired boy Anthony who still rubbed sleep from his eyes.

They were the soldiers who came to Metamor with 
him from Mallow Horn. Once assigned the task of 
enforcing his exile, they chose to join him 
instead. There was no others in all of Metamor he could trust without reserve.

At least not yet.

For a stretch of thirty paces the ground was more 
stone than dirt. Centuries of neglect allowed 
tree roots to shatter the Dike's foundation into 
a jagged landscape of moss-covered points. Some 
of the ancient stonework remained above the soil; 
lonely sentinels creeping with vines and filled 
with cracks in which flowers and birds made their 
home – pitiful reminders of the glory once 
attained by the Suielman. They had tamed 
Galendor, but now they were a story to haunt the 
dreams of Dukes and their monuments ruins for beasts.

He turned toward the nearest of these sentinels; 
his men hastened to follow him.

The sentinel was a stack of four squat stones 
each as long and wide as a man was tall. They'd 
been positioned like bricks and now each cavity 
was filled with ivy and brush. William traced 
palm across the old stone but felt only moss, 
lichen, and vines with broad spade-shaped petals. 
He ground his cud between his teeth and flicked 
his ears against his horns. He wrapped both hands 
around the nearest vine and yanked.

It had dug deep roots in the old stone but with a 
little persuasion it came free. The ram followed 
every curve and fork, tugging and scraping until 
he'd removed all of it. A pile of discarded 
vegetation littered the ground between his 
confused men. With the vine gone they could see 
patches of the granite. One finger traced gently across it.

William swallowed the cud and snorted. “These 
walls were proud. Men made them to show his 
might. He made them to protect his people. But 
then lesser men rule to satisfy themselves and 
damn everyone else; folly rules and empires fall. 
Walls tumble down. Who can we protect, Becket?”

“Sir?” Becket asked, stepping to his side. The 
boar rested a hand against the stone, small eyes 
even smaller as they squinted, trying to see 
whatever it was his commander saw in the moldy sentinel.

William turned and gestured at the forest with 
arms outstretched. “This was the Giant's Dike. A 
wall stretching from one end of the valley mouth 
to the other. It kept the Lutin hordes, the 
giants, and all terrors of the north out of the 
Empire. Until fools neglected them and they were 
overrun. You see what remains. Nothing.”

Becket and the others glanced about. The boar 
nodded and scuffed a hoof. “It must have been 
massive. Metamor would never have been Cursed if this wall stood.”

“Or attacked again last Winter,” William agreed. 
He kicked the pile of vines. “How long before 
they... before we are attacked again?”

Becket shrugged. “It could be many years. Nasoj's 
hold on the Lutin tribes was broken. Metamor is 
probably the safest it has been in generations.”

“Nasoj's hold was broken. But who else might 
leash them? No, as long as our northern borders 
look like this,” he gestured at the broken 
sentinel and shook his head. “We will not be safe.”

“But who will rebuild the wall? It has taken them 
a decade to rebuild Hareford.”

William snorted. “It will take a generation or 
more to build a wall like the Suielman's. But 
stone we have aplenty. And I wager there are many 
from Bradanes who have no place to call home and 
no work to busy their healed hands. The men and 
resource are here, it is only the will we lack.”

“And the money,” Anthony interjected.

“And authority,” Martin added.

William waved them both to silence. “Aye, aye. 
And I'm sure Nestorius will bring up the Haunted 
wood again.” He glared to the southeast. 
Somewhere beyond the trees was a huge swath of 
the valley's north haunted by spirits and 
abandoned by men. Nestorius and Sir Edmund 
explored the area from time to time, but all 
others were forbidden to enter. They thought it a 
buffer; one day an enemy of Metamor would not be 
daunted by it and reach their heart. And one day 
those woods would no longer be haunted and there 
would be nothing but fading memory and superstition to deter raiders.

“So what can we do?” Becket asked.

William took a deep breath and snorted. “Continue 
our patrol. When we return I will suggest it. And 
I will work to make it happen. There will be a 
wall on this spot again one day. There will be.” 
He felt another lump of cud rising in his throat 
and so waved his men along. They walked beneath 
the forest trees where his wall would be.

It would be a fight, but it would keep Metamor 
safe from their northern enemies. And all the 
hard labor would take his mind off a certain ewe 
and the southern world and family left behind. 
Grim in thought and intent, Sir William Dupré 
chewed his cud and kept a wary eye on the woods.

----------

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

Charles Matthias
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