Thomas watched his wife enjoy a bowl of oats and syrup and told his heart to relax for the tenth time since leaving the Follower Cathedral. There was no denying how he felt. It wasn't anything that Bishop Tyrion had said that set him on edge. It was the young man himself. He was not that many years younger than Thomas but he carried an authority that reached into his lands. A cleric or not, Tyrion would never escape his father's shadow. And that made Thomas very, very anxious.
"Thou dost not eat," Alberta observed with a slight tilt to her long ears.
"Nay," he replied and spooned at his oats. "I don't think I'm very hungry."
Alberta's equine brow brightened with her love. A bit of mirth crept into her voice. "I dost remember that once thou wouldst hath been overjoyed at a meal of simple oats."
The reminder of what he'd desired only a year past, the simple life of a horse, made him laugh. A magical spell had compelled him, but the tenderness with which Alberta had fed him, combed him, and even spoke to him, had only contributed to the budding love in his heart. He had no wish to be a beast anymore, nor did Alberta have any desire to make him as one, but they teased each other about it from time to time. Oddly, it helped sooth their nerves.
"It isn't the oats," Thomas replied with a smile he intended to be reassuring. He lowered his snout before she could ask him what it was. "What did you think of his grace, Bishop Tyrion Verdane?"
Alberta nodded gently, eyes straying past Thomas to the open windows and the cool air beyond. A fire crackled in the hearth nearby keeping them warm, while the window brought a breeze and the scents of coming Spring. Only the nearly invisible presence of a young page not yet under the Curse's hold marred their privacy.
"Bishop Tyrion didst seem young but very eager to demonstrate his concern for his flock. 'Tis my hope that he wilt be an able shepherd, kind and compassionate, gentle as a dove, but wise and clever as the serpent. I dost believe he intends to bring more priests to Metamor, he only dost seek to learn how many he should."
"Aye, I agree there." Thomas frowned and tapped his bowl with one hoof-like nail. "But he is still the son of Duke Titian Verdane, and that man has had ambitions on my southern fiefs for years. If not for the Curse he'd have ambitions on this land."
Alberta frowned and swallowed her latest bite. "I thought that the civil war didst weaken him."
"It did. He'd be a fool to try to take my lands by force. But..." Thomas grunted and resisted the urge to smash the table with his fist. "I just worry what he might intend. No scion of the Verdane line has set foot within this Valley in a hundred years. And the last left with his head on a pike. Tyrion may be the Bishop and it may be his right to inspect his flock, but this has me very, very nervous."
Alberta put a hand on his wrist and gently stroked his fetlock. "Hath Andwyn begun spying on him yet?"
"Of course!"
"Then he wilt tell thee, my dear husband, if there aught be any reason to fear."
There was such confidence in her voice and in her eyes that Thomas felt all the twisted angles in his heart line up. He sighed and covered her hand with his. Together, the two leaned their heads together and kissed with supple lips. Thomas caught Alberta's lower lip between his two and pulled playfully. She brayed and drew back, shaking her head. He whickered.
"Oh, thou! Eat thy oats!" Alberta brayed again, long tail lashing back and forth with her delight.
Thomas, heart still tender
but no longer troubled, did as his wife bade him.
Sir William Dupré had settled into life at Hareford as well as could be expected. In the last two months he had familiarized himself with all of Hareford's defences as well as those of the neighbouring villages. The villages were small and would never survive an onslaught, but there was ample space behind Hareford's curtain wall to house them should it come to a siege. The outpost itself was well defended both in arms and in stone. Its weaknesses were its small size and limited resources. Neither of those were problems Dupré could solve on his own or in a short amount of time.
So he did his best to learn the strength and abilities of the men (and women) under his command. Most were hardened veterans who'd survived the northern assault the previous winter; these Dupré found highly skilled, competent, and watchful. Some were fresh recruits just old enough to serve and he assigned each of them an older veteran to school them. Others were refugees from Bradanes who were so thrilled not to be lepers that they happily embraced any duty given them.
And then there were the six men that had escorted William to Metamor and stayed. Of all those under his command only these six did he implicitly trust. But the Keepers showed themselves worthy and none could gainsay their devotion to their land. But until he learned who had been sent to spy on him he could trust none of them.
Not even Nestorius the black lion mage who was titular ruler of this land. He was fair, thoughtful, and as gracious a host as one could ask for in this cold and dangerous land. But he was still Duke Thomas's vassal, and as such, until Dupré felt trusted by the Duke there would always be a measure of distance between them even if it was as imperceptible as a soap bubble.
Compared to all of the intrigue and danger he was now in, becoming a walking, talking ram was a blessing from Eli.
His hooves clattered on the stonework, a sound he was now accustomed to. He nodded to the guard standing watch outside Nestorius's quarters who waved him through. Inside he found the black lion bending over a map. His office was usually cluttered with scrolls, old parchments, dusty tomes, lanterns that might be lit and just as often weren't, as well as recently poured glasses of wine that had been half drunk before being forgotten. Today was no exception.
Nestorius's manner was always a little detached, but he never failed to be appropriately gracious. "Ah, William, come in. Can I get you something to drink?"
"No, thank you," the ram replied with a slight laugh. "It appears you have enough."
Nestorius's yellow eyes scanned the three glasses sitting half-empty on various shelves and tables. He chuckled at his own forgetfulness. "How do you feel about a little watch duty tonight? I know you like to keep abreast of what all under your command must do so I thought I might interest you in this."
Dupré found the suggestion odd but not unappealing. "I've already watched from the battlements many nights. You have been there with me for several."
"Here at Hareford, yes," Nestorius agreed. The ram's eyes narrowed with interest. "I am speaking of the watchtower at the Dike." The lion tapped the map with one claw and picked up the nearest wineglass with his other paw. "Here. The westernmost tower. We call it the Tower of the Eagle because you can see for miles north from there. It's built at the top of a steep defile so there's little chance of being overrun, but there is always a risk."
"How well I know that!" Dupré pondered the suggestion with some delight. With the snows melted he had been eager to get out of the castle again. He wanted to feel grass beneath his hooves (and another part of him wanted to feel it on his tongue but he tried not to grant that much leeway). "Very well. I will take a detachment of men and supplies for the night and ride to the Eagle Tower. I will return tomorrow at this time."
Nestorius smiled broadly. "Very good. I recommend you take the men you brought with you to Metamor. They should have a chance to see it as well."
Dupré felt immediately suspicious and apart from his ears which turned upward, he kept his surprise from his face. "A reasonable suggestion. I will gather them." And leave behind at least one to try to learn why the crafty lion wanted him out of Hareford for the night. He then shook his head, the points of his horns tracing little arcs in the air. "I fear I cannot take Alexander with me. He's still mending from that sortie last week." The Rottweiler was impulsive but of good heart. He'd understand and keep an eye, ear, and nostril open.
The lion gulped down the remainder of the wine and nodded quickly. "I'll see that he isn't disturbed and gets his rest."
"Thank you." Dupré bowed his head and took a clopping step back. "I will ready my men to depart at once. Good day to you." He took the nearest wine glass and emptied it. He chuckled and grinned. "That is quite good."
Nestorius's return smile had the decency of appearing somewhat guilty. "I wish you and your companions a swift ride and safe watch!"
Dupré had no doubt that at
least was true.
Charles spoke little to anyone on the journey from Metamor to Lake Barnhardt. The day was fair with white clouds sliding north at a stately waltz while the carriage and knights made good time on the open and mostly dry roads. On their leaving from Metamor a great throng of Followers had come out to see them on their way. Many had been eager just to touch the barding of the horses or the wood of the carriage praying and hoping for relief or blessing. But as the road left Euper and turned north along the river and the woods that clustered close like drooping eaves they paused and then dispersed back to their homes.
The ride was pleasant, the cool of the early afternoon settling into their fur and keeping the exertion from taxing them. The lead knight, a man of lithe frame and steely countenance, whom he'd hard one of the others call Nikolai, kept so a careful eye on the road, the quickly flowing river, the stones, the little crumbling walls along the roadside that marked where a village used to be, and every other detail of their passage that the rat was certain the man was aware of more than just the threat of ambush. Charles wasn't quite sure what to make of him, but he knew this Nikolai was not a friend to the Keep.
Sir Saulius did try to engage him in conversation of a lighter nature, but he quickly saw that Charles wasn't interested and so turned his attention to the road ahead. Charles wanted very badly to turn to stone and deaden the sores Erick's questions the night before had stirred. But he knew poor Malicon's back would not endure a few hundred pound stone rat and so suffered in silence. He couldn't even muster the will to seek his Calm.
They reached Lake Barnhardt without incident. The city nestled against the shore of a broad lake that was framed to the west by large hills. The river flowed from its southern terminus. Mills dotted the river's western edge and beyond them sheep grazed before the hills disappeared beneath the blanket of pines pointing into the mountains. High walls framed the main portion of the city including the modest castle. A solitary tower rose up from the lake, ice still covering all but the nearest shores where fishermen plied their trade.
The city gates opened to receive them and waiting beyond was a nobleman dressed in bright green brocade that masked his mud-coloured flesh, along with a company of soldiers and other dignitaries. A servant carried a large basin of fresh water next to the nobleman. Standing nearby was a familiar black-coloured hawk. Charles's heart lifted at the sight of her.
The nobleman stepped forward followed by his water-bearer. "I am Lord Robern Barnhardt and I welcome his grace to Lake Barnhardt, my family's ancestral home and the home of the first Ecclesia church in all the Valley."
Bishop Tyrion was helped from the carriage and he smiled to the man and the odd collection of attendants. The trio of priests who'd come with him followed him out. The knights dismounted including Charles and they brought their horses forward to frame the Bishop. Tyrion awkwardly stepped through them and held out his hand with ring to the newt. "I am Bishop Tyrion Verdane. Dominus vobiscum."
"Et cum spiritu tuo," all replied with joyful obedience.
The newt bent down on one knee and pressed the end of his muzzle to the ring. He rose and taking a small cloth from the side of the basin, wiped down the Bishop's hand. "Forgive me your grace, but I am afraid my shape is... well... slimy."
"We all have our burdens to bear," Tyrion replied with some modicum of good humour as he rubbed his hand to rid it of the last of the slime. "Is that why you have a bowl of water here?"
Lord Robern Barnhardt dipped the cloth into the water and then lathered it over his face and hands. "That is to keep my skin from drying out. I am afraid I must spend most of my days in the water or I become very sick. At the very least I can come outside in the winter to greet you, your grace. My Steward waits inside the old church for us because he dare not go outside."
Tyrion frowned as he absorbed all of this news. "What has your good Steward become?"
"He is a copperhead, your grace." Tyrion visibly blanched at that. "Fear not he is a devout Follower who is anxious to meet you."
"Forgive me, but I have had a boyhood fear of snakes. I will do my best not to recoil when I meet him." Tyrion took a deep breath, glanced heavenward as if in prayer, and then asked, "Tell me, Lord Robern, why is it that you have no priests here? You are the only one of all the nobility in Metamor Valley who is of the Ecclesia yet you have no priests."
"We use to have three," Robern replied with much sadness in his voice. "When Nasoj struck eight years past, his armies breached our walls and laid waste the city. Nearly all you see here has been rebuilt since then. Our priests remained in the church to defend and protect the Sacred Hosts. They were all cruelly slain and the Hosts desecrated. Until Father Hough came to Metamor, we have had none and had to rely on hope in Yahshua's mercy."
The faces of the Lakelanders all fell at the brief retelling of that sad tale. Tyrion himself glowered with an inward fire. "If it has not already been done, I will reconsecrate the ground for your church."
"Father Hough has done this, but your blessing would be most welcome." Robern dipped the cloth in the water basin and doused himself again. "Our church is modest but we have rebuilt it stone for stone. Our people have gathered there to wait for us. Come. My soldiers will see that your steeds are given food to eat and water to drink."
Tyrion started after the newt and said, "My time is limited, do not overfeed them please."
A woman dressed in forest greens with a sword and bow approached the knights. "I am Captain Naomi. If you would follow me I will show you where you can tend your horses."
Charles kept his gaze on the hawk for a moment more and then turned to Saulius. "Erick, I am going to talk with Jessica while we're here. Is that all right?"
The other rat nodded, his whiskers twitching but his eyes betraying no thoughts. "Hand me thy reins and I shall tend to Malicon."
Charles did so, smiled to his knight who had already turned to follow Naomi and the other knights toward a building that smelled of horse, and then walked to where Jessica stood. He didn't see Weyden, but a giraffe, woman, and child who were with her paused before leaving to follow the Bishop. Jessica cawed and wrapped the rat in her wings.
"Oh, it's good to see you again, Charles! How are you holding up?"
Charles hugged her back and felt a sense of relief begin to fill him. "It has been difficult," he admitted and sighed. "It's hard not thinking about my boy..."
"I know," She rested one wing on his shoulder and her long feathers tickled the backs of his ears. "But you're home with Kimberly and your four other little children. How are they?"
He smiled a bit as he thought on them. They were a source of light when the darkness in his heart reared. "They are well and happy to have me back. I love them dearly and have spent every day with them since. Well, until Sir Saulius was asked to serve as honour guard for his grace. He seems a good man though he is the son of Duke Verdane. I'm sure that has Duke Thomas fretting." The thought of the horse lord stomping his hooves made him chuckle for some reason. He looked up into the hawk's golden eyes. "And what of you? How are you? I expected to see Weyden with you."
Jessica nodded and glanced at the sky. "He's on patrol. Volunteered for it. I think he still feels a little guilty about becoming Lothanasi. My poor hawk! He is so strong and confidant most of the time, but he's really quite tender and conscientious. I think I love him even more for that." She looked back down at the rat, tilting her head far to one side as only a bird could. "We are to be married in March when his tour here in Lake Barnhardt ends. You will come for the wedding of course."
"Of course! I'd never miss that!"
The hawk's plumage swelled. "Oh wonderful! I have even been making some discoveries with magic, even for the Curse."
Curious, it was the rat's turn to tilt his head to one side. "Oh?"
"Oh yes! I saw how it had touched Lindsey, and I was able to partially discover some of the secrets. I'm still working on developing the power necessary to keep my spells active, but I'm growing a solution to that as we speak." The vine twisted against his chest but she gushed with such excitement that the rat couldn't interrupt. "I can touch people for a little while with one of the other two curses. I have already made Maud into a giraffe a few times, and even made Larssen a little calf! I could do the same for you quite easily if you want to see."
"You could do what to me?" Charles asked in a stammering squeak.
Jessica drew him a bit closer with her wing and she squawked a laugh. "I could make a child out of you for an hour, or... a woman."
Charles stiffened and shook his head. "Uh, I don't think I wish to experience that!"
Jessica cawed and nudged the top of his head with her beak. "Perhaps you could understand Kimberly a little better that way."
"That's perfectly fine, but no thank you. I have a hard enough time contemplating what those like Lindsey or Walter feel. I have no desire to know it for myself! Just the thought makes my flesh creep!"
She laughed and stepped back, letting the rat free from her feathers. "I didn't think you would. It's okay. But I can do this, but only for a short time. I'm still practising. But once I return to Metamor I may be able to do this for many others. I could do a lot of good with this. Husbands and wives separated by the Curse might be reunited in form. And who knows, one day I may discover a way to undo the Curse entirely. Oh listen to me go on. I've discovered a new piece of magic and I just can't let it go!"
Charles smiled, feeling some of his old cheer returning at last. "It sounds remarkable, Jessica. And it does sound like you. At least something else good has come out of all this." The rat took a deep breath and pushed back the sudden wave of misery he felt building. "I've never been to Lake Barnhardt before. Do you think you could show me around while we wait for his grace to finish his inspection?"
Jessica's beak cracked in
a wide grin. "Follow me, Charles. It really is a lovely little
city and I think you'll like it." Jessica led him toward the outer
wall, wings pointing at buildings, her tongue clipping through descriptions
of their history and purpose in such detail one might have guessed she'd
lived there all her life. Charles listened with relief.
They were an even dozen riding along the narrow 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 one 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 him 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, braid 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 second 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 lever 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 four 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.