Feb 28, 708 CR
A single candle provided all the illumination that the fruit bat Andwyn needed as he perused reports and assignment schedules for his network of spies throughout the Valley and the lands both north and south. The work of a spymaster was never ended because there was no end of intrigue and plots that threatened Metamor and especially that threatened the Hassan household and those closest to them. In the last six months his spies had learned of and thwarted no less than ten planned assassinations of Duke Thomas, and another dozen aimed at key defenders including himself.
All but one of them had come from the lands still controlled by Nasoj. And that other had been a personal grudge against the exiled Dupré from a minor house near Mallow Horn that had been despoiled of its holdings during the recent civil war in those lands. Only a few of them had actually been competent. But after so many years serving as a spy and an assassin himself, Andwyn was very adept at putting a stop to such threats.
He did not boast of these accomplishments. It was better for those he protected to remain ignorant of all but the serious threats to their lives, else they'd never be able to perform their duties. But he did delight in them.
The bat did his best work in the dark hours before dawn while all the rest of the Valley slept. His body was naturally alert during the night and he took advantage of this, snatching what sleep he could during the day when he wasn't needed by the Duke or was required to be otherwise available. He slept again during the darkest part of the night unless events required his special attention. With Bishop Tyrion's arrival and inspection of the Ecclesia presence, this was one of those times.
His ears heard the coming of his spy even though none else would. He reached out one wing-hand and pulled a small lever, opening the shutters to his window casement. Bone cold air met him and his candle fluttered before steadying. Hanging from the ceiling, Andwyn tightened his grip with his toes and waited.
Upon the casement landed a simple barn owl, white face and chest framed by dusty tan wings and back decorated with grey spots around his shoulders. Dark eyes peered from squat almost flat faces with only a sharp beak protruding. The owl shuddered, stretching its wings, and then all of its frame. Heavy talons gripped either side of the casement, two toes for each side, while fingers emerged form the wings that almost formed real hands. The face took on almost no greater definition, gaze intense and certain. The eyes remained beastly but now intelligent that radiated a sense of duty.
Andwyn folded his wings around his chest and said, "Alban, what have you to report?"
The owl tilted his head to one side so far that had Andwyn not known better he would have thought certain Alban had broken his neck. "The Bishop is spending the night in Hareford. Neither he nor his men have caused any trouble; although there was an altercation between one of Sir Dupré's men and the Bishop."
"Which one?"
"The dog, Alexander," Alban replied quickly. "It ended peacefully and with the Bishop gaining the respect of even Sir Nestorius. Shortly before they went to bed, I overheard the Bishop telling Nestorius that he had a letter from William Dupré's son Jory that he would give to him."
"That is most peculiar," Andwyn mused, "given that the terms of his exile prohibit him from having any contact with his family. Why was the letter written?"
Alban turned his head even farther, so that it was nearly upside down like the bat. "I think the boy wrote it of his own accord. He made the Bishop promise to give it to William."
"Did you hear this from his grace?"
"Yes."
Andwyn's already small eyes narrowed. "Did you believe him?" From the tone of his spy's voice, he already knew the answer. But it was best not to let those he spoke with realize how much they told him from tone, scent, and body language alone, even his own people lest it be used against them.
"I think I do," Alban replied after a moment's hesitation. "He became quite emotional about it. I suspect there is something between his grace and Duke Verdane."
Andwyn nodded to himself. He'd met Tyrion while still a seminarian during his time as a servant to Metamor's ambassador to Kelewair before the days of the Curse. It had been the best known secret that Duke Titian Verdane had made sure his son Tyrion knew that he did not want a cripple for an heir which many thought the reason the boy had joined the Ecclesia. Andwyn always suspected there was more to it than that but had never been able to prove it.
"Do not interfere. Let the letter pass into William's hands. Inform our agents in Hareford to keep a close eye on William, and if at all possible, to learn what the letter says."
"Of course," Alban straightened out his neck and then started turning it the other direction. "I've also been watching the Captain as you requested. He appears to be observing everything with a keen eye. I think he's studying all of our villages and their defences."
"Truly? That is interesting." Andwyn loosened his grip on the grillwork attached to the ceiling and then tightened it again. "Whatever secrets he hopes to learn will avail Kelewair nothing. They cannot send an army to conquer our lands."
Alban hooted. "But they could sell anything they learn to Nasoj and others in the north. Lutins have no fear of the Curse."
"That is true. We must keep a closer watch on this Captain Nikolai. Is there anything else to report?" The owl gave a quick shake of his head. "Then pass my orders and what you know onto Lydia and she can continue the surveillance. Thank you, Alban. You've done well. I'll have your pay waiting for you in the usual place."
"Thank you, Master Andwyn."
The barn owl shrunk back in size and leapt from the casement.
Andwyn pulled the lever again and the shutters drew closed. With
troubled thoughts, the bat returned to his ledgers.
Bishop Tyrion and his entourage wasted no time in leaving Hareford. The sky was only beginning to brighten when the clubfooted Bishop said a final blessing over the assembled Followers in the city's main courtyard before climbing into his carriage and starting on the road south. By the time the sun crested the Barrier Range they were passing Glen Avery and making very good time. The day was cool but neither so cold to reveal their breath nor so warm as to turn the roads to mud.
Their goal was to reach Ellingham in the afternoon and from there pass through Lorland and if the weather continued to be favourable reach the Iron Mine where they would stop for the night. The next day they would sweep through the southernmost reaches of the Valley and its numerous farming communities before returning north to the Keep two day's hence. While the distances were generally longer south of the Keep, the roads were also in better condition, flatter, wider, and much safer. If there was time after Tyrion hoped to head northeast to Mycransburg even though there were only a small cache of Followers living there. But he admitted it was far more likely he would forgo that corner of the Valley and merely inform Hough and Duke Thomas of his ecclesiastical decision before returning to Kelewair.
Ambitious plans driven by necessity, true, but Tyrion was committed to seeing them through. His enthusiasm for them spilled over to the two priests he brought and to his knights, as well as to the four Keepers acting as honour guard for them. Only the Questioner remained sedate and aloof. He stayed as much of a shadow as his garments implied. But one time he did speak with animation.
To pass the hours more amiably, Bishop Tyrion chatted with the Metamorians on their journey. He spent some time in discourse with Sir Egland about Yesulam and the elk knight's memories of that city. He asked Intoran of what Metamor had looked like before the Curses and his life therein, a subject to which the oryx was more often than not circumspect. To Sir Saulius he spoke of the Flatlands and his calling as a knight errant. But to Charles he asked first after the hand-print scar over his right eye.
"I received this blow last Summer Solstice while fighting a Shrieker, your grace. He struck me and this scar remained. The Shrieker was destroyed only moments later. Eli spared me that day, I know it."
At this the Questioner stirred, leaning forward in his seat and peering at the rat who rode just alongside the carriage. "Did you say a Shrieker?"
"Aye. A creature of the Underworld. It was unleashed because of the Censer of Yajakali which was at Metamor at the time. All of them are now destroyed so we should never see their kind again." The rat frowned. "How did you know of them?"
Father Felsah smiled with almost as much delight as when Madog had approached him. "I have never seen one myself, but one was also fought and killed beneath Yesulam a little over five months ago. That one was unleashed by the Sword of Yajakali." Charles's jaw dropped. "I never thought I would get to meet any of those also wrapped up in that horrible struggle. Thank you for what you have done to destroy that evil."
Charles took a deep breath and shook his head, his jowls twitching over his incisors. "So that's what that place was, that place of clay and stone. An altar with nine columns rising, each with a vein of fulgurite?"
Felsah was surprised anew. "How did you know? That's what Father Akaleth described."
"While we were at Marzac, Yajakali brought together all of the places the artifacts were tied. I saw both Metamor and Yesulam in the same place at once." Charles described what he saw in greater detail while Father Felsah listened with rapt attention. Bishop Tyrion felt remarkably small as the words tumbled from the rat's tongue. Fathers Malvin and Purvis could not hide their enthusiasm and both seemed ready to bolt from their seats to grab a sword and run down this dead evil.
As Charles described his companions in the fight, Father Felsah laughed suddenly. "Of course! I know who you are now. You are Charles Matthias, once Head of the Writer's Guild. You were exiled from Metamor because you..." his tone became still and serious, "because you unwittingly harboured the man who killed the Patriarch."
The rat's eyes flamed for a moment but then he lowered both these and his snout. "Aye, that I did. At the time I didn't believe he could be evil."
"He was your friend."
"Nay, he was not my friend. He was my dearest friend and lifelong companion; even brother." Charles looked away, his face catching the sunlight. The black handprint on his eye seemed even darker. "The power of Marzac had corrupted him. He did what he did against his will."
Felsah nodded. "I believe you."
"You do?"
"I have seen the power of Marzac at work. I will pray for your friend's soul. His name was Krenek Zagrosek was it not?"
The rat swallowed, a distant look filling his eyes. "Aye. Before he died he asked me to pray for Yonson and Agathe too. They were other Southland mages who had been corrupted. Not a day has gone by when I have failed in that. If you pray for Krenek, pray for them too. They will need it as much as he."
"I shall. And can you add Bishop Jothay to your prayers? It was he who was corrupted by the Sword. It killed him in the end."
Charles blinked and twitched his whiskers. "A Bishop?" Tyrion did not appear too comfortable hearing those words. "Yes, I recall seeing a portly man with jocular, almost cherubic face amongst those Marzac had killed."
"That sounds like him," Felsah admitted with a heavy sigh. "Pray for him as well."
The rat took a deep breath and then nodded. "That I shall." He then glanced at the Questioner more closely. "What was your role in the affair? And how did you know what you knew of me?"
"I was one of three Questioners sent to Metamor to investigate Patriarch Akabaieth's death. We learned of your involvement during the course of our inquiry. But we found the results of your trial credible and so did not pursue any deeper at the time. When we returned to Yesulam we learned that the conspiracy traced back there and resumed our inquiry." And then to the other's amazement the Questioner recounted a story of betrayal within the Council, of strange Magyar allies, of Driheli knights, and of two swords, one evil and one good.
By its end, Charles looked ready to leap into the carriage and kiss Felsah's hands. "Oh would that you could stay long enough to dictate that to our scribes! I know quite a few others who will want to meet you, Father. I am not alone here in having faced Marzac."
Felsah blanched, his mask beginning to return. "I prefer not to be made a spectacle of, but in private I would enjoy meeting them and hearing their tales as well." His eyes flicked once to the Bishop before returning to the rat. "But that is up to Eli. For now I am grateful to have met you, Charles."
"And I you," Charles replied with a faint smile. "I am very grieved to hear of Bishop Morean's death. I knew him once." He shook his head to rid himself of some unpleasant memory. "I prefer not talking about my experiences of those days."
Tyrion smiled and shifted his bad leg. "That is fair. I would rather talk of your struggle against Marzac. I know only what I have heard from the two of you. It is refreshing to hear of a direct confrontation against evil. Far too much of our lives are spent contending with evils disguised as goods but whose true purpose is to destroy ourselves and those around us. Marzac is a long journey from Metamor. I am sure you have a wonderful story to tell of it."
"If you would care to hear I will tell."
"Please!" Father Malvin gasped excitedly. "Tell us! I have never heard the like!"
Bishop Tyrion smiled and nodded. "We have a few hours more before we reach Ellingham. Tell us what you would of your journey, Charles Matthias."
The rat smiled, incisors exposed,
and turned his tongue to the tale.
Although William Dupré had enjoyed his time in the tower, he nevertheless felt a slight measure of delight as he led the dozen men who'd come with him back through the gates of Hareford. There did not appear to be anything out of the ordinary awaiting him on his return but his mind still pondered why the lion wanted him gone for a night.
No sooner had he dismounted, the sharp clap of cloven hooves on stone sending a dull jar up his spine, then Captain Sobel approached from the grounds. "Welcome home, Sir Dupré."
"Thank you, Captain," he replied as amicably as he could to the woman. He may have been in Hareford for almost two months now but he wasn't yet ready to call it home.
"Sir Nestorius wishes to see you in his study immediately. He asked me to make sure that you went there directly upon returning."
Sobel's expression was candid but not forthcoming. William bleated in amusement, a noise that he still wasn't sure he liked coming from his throat, and nodded. "Probably wants my opinion on the tower and his handiwork there. Thank you, Captain." He turned to the boar Becket at his back. "Becket, see to our things. I must talk with the lion."
Becket's nostirls widened and he nodded. "As you wish, Sire."
Sobel accompanied him to Nestorius's study but turned and left once they reached his door. Within William found the lion gazing intently at a small envelope laying seal down. It was unmarked. There was a darkness in the lion's yellow eyes that made the ram in William nervous. He fought the beastly instincts down and rapped his hoof-like nails on the tabletop. "I have returned from the Eagle."
"Welcome home." Nestorius's voice was distant as if he wished he were elsewhere. "Did you find the tower to your liking?"
"It is as well defended as it can be given that it is cut off by impassible mountains to the west and difficult terrain to the south. A true road should be built through the woods to better transport supplies and soldiers to and from the tower. Its isolation offers it a strategic defence but also means it can only serve to warn. It has no ability to harass or delay the enemy. As such, any man assigned to it is one less man defending Hareford and Metamor. I would half the compliment of men you have stationed there until we can build a true road through the woods. Anything more than what is sufficient to keep watch at all hours and light the signal is a waste."
Nestorius's long tail flicked behind him but he did not seem upset at William's criticism. "We have not built a road through the forest because we wish to keep the forest as a buffer against Lutin invaders."
"Folly," William replied with a bit of acid. "Sheer folly. The forest offers no buffer, only cover for them to slip through. Even your Misha Brightleaf should know that. And I know George knows that. Real fortifications are needed. The tower is a good start. It has very clever defences that will make it a strong rally point, but only after we make the valley mouth defendable. To that end we should build another tower in the east as well."
Nestorius nodded slowly, eyes lowering. He placed both paws on the table and tapped the edges of the sealed letter with his thumb claws. "You were assigned here to Hareford to help improve the defences. What do you recommend?"
"First, cutting a path through the woods that we can use to make a road. I suggest we do it on the southern side of this combe." He drew a line across the map just south of the Dike. "That will provide some warning to any travellers."
But the lion shook his head. "That will take you very close to the Haunted wood, and perhaps even into it."
William tensed, nostrils tightening and his tail flicking. "Then have your paladin appease whatever spirits are in there and assure them we will intrude no farther. But the valley must be defended."
At this Nestorius's voice rose in volume, almost vivacious. "The wood is not a matter of appeasing some spirits! I have been there and it is not safe for any to enter unbidden!" William wanted to shout back but said nothing. He waited, finger pointing at the narrow combe that cut east-west through the forest. Finally, Nestorius sighed and he waved one paw. "If you wish to build a road, why not where our scouts travel now?" Nestorius gestured at the northern flank of the combe. "That will keep you well clear of the Haunted Wood and still south of the Dike."
"With no natural formations to defend us," William replied. "It will be far more dangerous."
"You cannot go into the wood."
William crossed his arms and scowled, stomping one hoof stubbornly. "You would put your men's lives at risk because of these spirits?"
"They will be in more risk if they go through that wood." Nestorius shook his heavy mane and set his jaw in a firm line. He growled under his breath. "Abandon this plan, Sir William. I forbid you from entering the Haunted Wood."
William wanted to tell the lion exactly what he thought of the danger of having a wood that stood in the way of Metamor's defence but managed to get control of his sudden stubborn impulse. It was the ram that wished to rush headlong into Haunted Wood and butt its horns against something, not Dupré. If he could not build his road on the southern side of the combe, and he dare not build it in the combe, he would do what he must. "Then I require at least six squads of soldiers with three more on rotation. I will be making a road to the tower and one to the east and I will need some to stand guard and patrol and others to clear the trees."
"Nine total squads?" Nestorius swelled as if he was going to object, and then he waved his paw again. "Very well. But I want you to survey the land first and show me where these roads will be built and what defences they will have. And we'll discuss later what complement of soldiers you may take with you when you build your roads. We do not wish to leave Hareford unprotected."
"No, we don't. Nor the Valley."
Nestorius stood at his full height and glared. "Sir William, I did not ask you here so that we might argue. I asked you here to tell you something very important. Do not make me regret this."
William's ears lay flat and he could not help but bleat. "And what is it you wish to tell me?"
Nestorious narrowed his eyes and seemed to settled a little in his mood. But there was a tension peculiar to felines that could not escape. "I didn't send you to the Tower merely to analyse its defences, although I am grateful for that." William wanted to bleat that he knew that already but kept his tongue behind his blunt teeth. "The Bishop of Kelewair was here to inspect the Followers of Hareford last night. He left this morning and will be inspecting the southern fiefs for the next two days."
"Bishop Ammodus?" William asked, feeling somewhat confused. "He and I were on good terms when last we spoke. Why did you wish to hide his visit and why tell me now?"
"I do not know who Ammodus was, but he is no longer the Bishop. And I tell you because your man Alexander accosted the new Bishop. You would learn of this anyway and I would rather it come from me."
William felt a dark pall fall over the lion's suggestions. Ammodus no longer Bishop? That was an ill sign. "Who is he?"
The lion took a deep breath and said, "Tyrion Verdane."
William stomped one hoof and bleated in an anger he didn't realize he'd kept in check. "That crippled whelp of the two-faced wolf? By what insanity was he made Bishop, and what arrogance to come here! That pup is nothing but a lackwit spy for his father."
Nestorius's brow deepened. "Is he not your family?"
William leaned his head back and let out a very sheep-like bah. "By marriage yes. A wife that... that..." He could remember that night, still beneath the fog the man with the cards had swallowed him in, deep and burning with rage as if he were entombed in the belly of a mindless dragon, when he'd tried to kill Anya. And then she ordered him brought in chains before her father. He remembered the look in Titian Verdane's eyes when he sentenced him to exile. He knew William was under a spell. He knew and didn't care.
"Get control of yourself!" Nestorius snapped.
William bleated again, loader and more beastly, then grabbed a small chest nestled against the wall and hurled it through the window. Glass shattered as the chest tumbled to the distant ground before smashing into a hundred pieces on the stone road. A woman soldier danced out of the way as the contents sprayed everywhere.
Nestorius gasped and ran to the window. "Are you mad!" He grabbed William by the collar with a heavy paw and lifted him off his hooves.
William kicked the lion in the groin, slipped free, and then ducked beneath his arm and shoved him out of the way. "Mad? I'm furious! That man's father destroyed my life, stole my children, turned my wife against me and... and... and it was all that damn Marquis's fault!" He beat his fist against the table and looked for something else he could throw through the window but there was nothing in reach.
"How dare you strike your liege and commander!" Nestorius gasped through his pain. "Have you no honour!" The lion glared through his pain and lifted one paw to cast a spell.
William lowered his head, curled horns pointed at the lion, and snorted. "Don't you ever think of casting a spell on me, Nest. Don't even think of it."
Nestorius paused and straightened himself out. His eyes reeked with contempt. He brushed his tunic off, glanced at the broken window, and then narrowed fierce yellow eyes at the ram. "Oh I do think it, but unlike certain hotheaded horned knights I also can restrain myself. If not for what's happened to you, I would not hesitate in frying you and selling your flesh in the market as roast mutton. For assaulting your liege I can have you drawn and quartered." His eyes turned to the folded parchment on the desk. "Bishop Tyrion brought that letter for you. I summoned you here to give it to you."
William snorted, eyes flicking to the letter very briefly. "Why should I care what that clubfooted cretinous cleric has to say?"
Nestorius leaned his head back and arched his eyes. "It isn't from him. It's from your son."
His knees buckled and if not for his one hand being on the table he might have stumbled. "My son?" Anger gone, a gasp and a bleat was all he had left. "My son?"
"He made Tyrion promise to deliver it to you somehow. I was given the impression that Tyrion took great personal risk in making sure you received this."
William looked at the letter, truly looked at it for the first time. It was on simple parchment folded over and sealed with wax. He picked it up and saw that the seal was unbroken and in the form of a wolf's head. "This is the Verdane family seal."
"To ensure that if any found it in Tyrion's possession they would think nothing of it. Or so he claimed this morning when he gave it to me. Open and read it."
William swallowed his breath
and broke the seal. His son Jory's faltering handwriting greeted
him inside.
Father,
It has been a cruel winter here in Kelewair. I miss you, Sasha, Lydia, and Timas very much. I make sure every night to say prayers for you and when the Father here has me praying before the Sacred Host I offer them up for your safety. Grandfather tries to teach me how to be a ruler but he is distant and I know there's more bad things happening.
I saw mother only once since Nativity and she is very unhappy with Grandfather too.
Grandfather keeps me on the castle grounds for now but at least he lets me keep company with the dogs. The kennel dogs are my only friends here but they are true and they listen to my voice. I am going to keep them close to me. I know I'm a ram among wolves, Father. I won't forget that.
Bishop Tyrion told me that the Metamor Curse has turned you into a ram too. I wish I could be with you there. I'd hold your sword for you and your shield as you ride into battle. But I know it isn't to be.
I hope you get this, Father. I am your dutiful son always and will make you proud I swear this. I am writing this now because I've made the Bishop promise to get this to you. He feels sorry for me. I will learn all that I can so that I can find other ways to get messages to you, Father.
I know Grandfather exiled
you and that you will never be coming back. But I will find a
way to see you again, Father. Please keep safe and protect your
new home.
Your son,
Jory Dupré
William, with all his self-control mustered, folded the letter back up, pressed it to his narrow, supple lips, and then held it to his chest. He stood that way for several seconds. When he looked up he saw the lion mage gazing down at him expectantly but without any sign of compassion or anger.
Slowly, the ram moved his tongue. "I think... I think I will take two squads into the woods and begin marking trees for the road we discussed. I may be gone several days."
Nestorius nodded. "I think that would be wise."
"Thank you." William lowered his eyes and without another word shuffled past the lion to the door. Nestorius did not move as he passed.
But he did call out to him one last time as the ram stepped into the doorway. "Sir William."
He turned back, peering through the curl of his right horn at the black lion. "Aye?"
"My offer to magically contact your family still stands. We can discuss it when you return."
William nodded again and left.
By the time they arrived in Lorland the southwestern peaks were already threatening to pierce the afternoon sun. The many fields were still covered in patches of snow and those that weren't were choked with mud. Plows waited to till the soil a month from now and the many people who lived in those lands were ready to begin the cycle again.
Bishop Tyrion's arrival was welcomed by a complement of guards and the leading citizens of Lorland headed by the donkey mayor, Macaban, one time steward to the dead Loriod house. He greeted the young Bishop graciously and avoided the subject of Lorland's dark history in the days since the Curse for as long as he could. However, as Tyrion began meeting the subjects, they bewailed of their horrible treatment beneath the pudgy and monstrous fist of the late and not lamented Altera Loriod. At first both his and the other priests listened with dumbstruck expressions, the tales they heard being too dehumanizing to believe, but as they continued to pour forth, Tyrion's face became more and more furious.
He listened to how men who'd become women were forced into marriages against their will and made to bear their new husbands children. He heard of a weeping hen recount how she was forced to lay egg after egg day in and day out for Loriod's consumption like a common farm animal. There was a cow who was similarly forced into providing milk. Any beast that was commonly used by man had been treated that way by the late Loriod. And the rest had been crushed beneath his tyrannical need to have every whim fulfilled.
One of the great sins of Metamor that they had looked the other way so long, merely because Lorland was the Valley's breadbasket and they needed the food.
Tyrion, on realizing the magnitude of the people's suffering, informed his men that they would be spending the night in Lorland to see to the people's needs. Charles took the opportunity to wander about outside the castle grounds. Sir Saulius accompanied him but the two said nothing, rather enjoying the songs of the first birds to make their nests in garden shrubberies. They were still maintained and probably looked better now that they were not all built to satisfy Loriod's whims.
After a very long day riding both of them enjoyed the opportunity to walk and stretch their legs and try to work out the bow-legged cramp that they'd developed. Charles, despite once being blackmailed into agreeing to come live under Loriod's thumb, had never been to Lorland before. It was a pretty place full of life and vigour, but that was only here because Loriod was dead. He shivered at the sight of the fat, vulgar, noble in the vaults of Marzac.
And then, as they came around a high hedge, he stopped and pushed Saulius back with one paw. The knight obeyed, whiskers taut, eyes and ears alert. One paw rested on the pommel of his sword. Charles put a finger over his incisors for silence, and then peered around the hedge. Standing a short distance away in an alcove of old stone walls and unused planters was the head of Tyrion's knights, Nikolai. He was sketching on a sheaf of parchment, occasionally glancing at the castle walls and then returning to his task.
Charles narrowed his eyes as he watched for several seconds, not daring to interrupt him. He wanted to see what was on the parchment, but Nikolai had it turned away from him. The tall, stern man kept the quill close and moved rapidly across the page. After only a few moment's observation, Nikolai set aside his quill, blew across the parchment to dry the ink, and then slipped it within a nondescript leather saddle pack.
The rat almost squeaked when he realized that the knight was making ready to leave his hiding spot. Instead he turned about and gestured for Saulius to head back the way they'd come. Keeping their heads low and their tails held close, the rats darted through the hedges until they were out of the gardens on the southern edge of the castle grounds. Both breathed heavily for a moment and then Saulius gestured back the way they'd come. "What didst thee see?"
"Nikolai, his grace's captain. He was sketching something, I couldn't see what."
Saulius frowned and glanced back at the hedges and stone walls from which they'd escaped. "This Nikolai seems only a soldier. 'Twas not flowers he drew. What was he looking at?"
"The castle. I think he might have been drawing the castle." Charles shook his head and sighed. "I can only think of one reason he might do that."
"To spy, to learn our strengths and weaknesses, to plan how to defeat us." Saulius nodded and then gripped him firmly on the shoulder. Charles's vine slipped from beneath his fellow rat's paw and pulled closer to his neck, ruffling the longer fur there. "We hath no proof. We dare not accuse without that."
"No we don't," Charles agreed, feeling a sullen excitement that he realized he missed. "I can try to steal his satchel after he stows it. If it ever leaves his side."
"'Tis not an honourable thing to do," Saulius chided him. "And if it truly be what we fear, 'twill never leave his side."
"Indeed." He rubbed his paws together, then nibbled on his chewstick for a moment. Saulius did the same. Charles lowered his chewstick after a moment's gnaw and said, "We have another full day to discover what he's up to. I will think on what we can do and when the opportunity comes, we'll do it. It will not be anything as dishonourable as stealing; even if we are rats!"
The knight laughed and nodded. "Verily thou dost speak! Let us tell Sir Egland and Intoran of our suspicious. We may need their hands as well."
Charles agreed and the two
rats returned to the castle to continue their conspiracy.
Feb 29, 708 CR
Charles was disappointed when no opportunity presented itself that night at Lorland, and so as they set out the next morning, early and before the dawn's light grew in strength, he kept a close eye on Nikolai. He and the seven Kelewair knights all had similar saddlebags and there was no way of knowing which held the secrets he'd spied last evening. Nor, even after three days of riding together, were any of them convivial enough to win the secret with loose speech.
The carriage continued southward for three hours before turning down an eastern road. It was not long after that the rough and muddy roads brought them to the gates of Iron Mine. The city wall stretched in a semi-circle before the base of the mountains amidst jagged hills. Homes of wood and stone were packed tightly together, while the large foundries on the mountain's flanks churned smoke and ash. On the southern edge at the top of a steady rise loomed a modest castle with towers watching the southern forests and fields. Archers lined the city walls and knew to expect them. The main gates opened into a narrow passage of stone with a second gate at the end. The knights only had enough room to ride abreast. Sir Egland and Sir Saulius rode at the forefront, with Nikolai and his second behind them. Charles and Intoran were in the middle near the carriage.
Beyond the second gate was a flat commons surrounded by retaining walls to east, north, and south, with stair cases leading up into homes and shops stacked together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The main road ascended sharply into the hills. Everything smelled of iron and fire. In the midst of the clearing was a burly badger and a tall elegant woman along with several guards whose livery displayed a silver pickaxe on a black escutcheon. They waited patiently with broad beaming faces until Tyrion had stepped from the carriage with mitre and crozier.
"Welcome to Iron Mine, your grace," the badger said with an expansive boisterous bellow. "My name is Baron Samuel Christopher and this is my wife, the Lady Stephyni. Welcome to our home."
They exchanged courtesies as happened in every place that the Bishop visited. Charles had never been to the Iron Mines before and couldn't help but admire the very close-knit houses that seemed to blend into one another. They had truly taken advantage of every possible nook and cranny to build their homes. He resolved to find some time later that year to return, possibly during the Summer when it would be easiest and safest to travel. Kimberly and the children would like to see it too.
He forestalled the inevitable darkening of his mood that thoughts of his children brought by reminded himself of his present purpose. His eyes steeled and the vine tightened around his chest. As soon as the tour from Baron Christopher began, a red squirrel with flaps of skin between his arms and legs led them to the stables where they could refresh their horses. As Charles watched Nikolai, the veteran noted with quick glances all of the fortifications that ringed Iron Mine.
The squirrel, an exuberant fellow named Krystoff, showed them the stables, a long building overlooking a small grassy field within the castle's shadow. Beyond them an even smaller training grounds were set up. Sir Egland took Intoran out to the practice fields to work on his swordsmanship. Charles and Saulius made to follow after them but slipped into the hayloft and shrank down until they were normal rats. Even Charles's vine shrank with him though the purple flowers that had begun to open along his back lost none of their delicacy. Very carefully the two scampered to the edge of the hayloft and peered down at the human knights.
Nikolai sent four of them to follow after Bishop Tyrion and the priests and two others to tend to their steeds. The last, his second, a man with cleft cheek named Chadur, assured the squirrel in gruff tones that they had what they needed and that he could return to his duties. It took a few minutes before he finally chased the squirrel off, but Krystoff did finally leave with an almost indignant stomp.
Until then, Nikolai had also tended the horses with consummate skill and exquisite tenderness. But once they thought they were alone, he lifted open one of the windows and peered out. With silent precision, Chadur took up position by the double doors leading to the grazing and practice fields, while Nikolai removed a familiar roll of parchment from one of the saddlebags.
From their vantage point, Charles and Saulius were able to easily observe the man's artistry. His hands were precise and drew perfectly straight lines when called for, and accurate curves when needed. After only a few minutes he had drawn the curtain wall of Iron Mine, as well as a facsimile of the castle, foundry, and many homes visible from outside. Once he started drawing diagrams of the city gates and its dimensions the two rats glanced at each other and nodded. Scurrying back to their clothes, they returned to their normal size and dressed. The noise did not go unnoticed.
"Who's there?" Chadur snapped as he vaulted up the steps to the hayloft. Saulius put his sword at the man's throat but he stumbled back down the stairs as quickly. "Captain!"
Nikolai, Chadur, and the other two knights both had swords in hand when Charles and Saulius leapt from the hayloft into waiting hay bales. Saulius pointed his sword at Nikolai and narrowed his dark eyes. "Thou art engaged in treachery against thy host! Turn over thy drawings at once and weight let thee leave this land with thy hands on thy wrists!" Charles rolled his collapsed Sondeshike back and forth in one paw as he kept an eye on the wary soldiers.
But the foreign Captain had the temerity to feign ignorance. "What are drawings talking you about? My little pictures? Keepsakes that I might show my children when I return home."
Saulius laughed once. "Thy children? 'Tis why thou didst drive poor Krystoff from the stables and why thou didst bid Chadur to watch the door for our return?" He waved the point of his sword in a small circle and flicked both of his ears as if dislodging a troublesome bit of dirt. "Thy words stain my ears with falsehood."
"Besides," Charles added, his voice dark, not even bothering to mask the anger he felt at their betrayal. "If you were just drawing pictures, you wouldn't have your swords drawn. Nor would you have been noting dimensions and defensive positions. You've been taking notes of every castle we've visited in the Valley. What does Duke Verdane want with them? He can't invade the Valley without risking the Curse."
Nikolai's lips slowly curled into an almost self-effacing smile. "I see there is no fooling either of you." There was no hesitation. He flicked his free arm, and a dagger that neither rat had seen aimed straight for Saulius's chest. The rat knight brought his sword and jumped aside just in time to save his life. A wicked gash rent the left side of his tunic but no blood came.
Chadur lunged for Charles's exposed side, but the rat snapped open the Sondeshike and spun the end in a brilliant arc against the man's sword. The knight gasped in pain as his sword flew from his hands and imbedded itself in the wooden planks over their heads. He jumped for it but the rat jabbed one of the brass ferules into his stomach. The man fell on his back gasping for air.
While Nikolai traded sword blows with Saulius, the other two knights grabbed saddlebags and frantically secured their tack. Charles gave Chadur a quick kick and darted toward the two when Nikolai backhanded a stall door which swung into the rat's snout and knocked him backward. By the time Charles shook the daze from his eyes Saulius was still trying to angle past the Captain without success and the two knights were swinging onto their horses. They neighed loudly as they were swung about, the both of them bolting for the stable doors.
Charles leapt to his paws and
chased after them, but then drew to a halt when he saw two dozen soldier
with halberds poised before the city gates waiting for them. A
very familiar and disquieting fruit bat looked over them from the battlements.
Andwyn's smile of triumph was welcoming for once.
Baron Christopher alternately threatened to rip Nikolai's and the other knights' arms off and give them to his dogs to sharpen their teeth on the bones, or to rip their legs off and sequester them in the deepest parts of his mines for the rest of their lives. But his rage was nothing compared to the complete apoplexy and fury that was Bishop Tyrion Verdane who left both Father Purvis and Malvin white-faced while Farther Felsah indifferently pet his dog. And though his words were measured and never foul, his indignation was a physical thing that blasted even proud Nikolai into a simpering cretin.
But it took ten minutes before the proud Captain finally broke.
After Nikolai and his men had all fallen to their knees and begged forgiveness from Baron Christopher, Bishop Tyrion, Charles and Sir Saulius, and even Andwyn, Tyrion collected himself and nodded. "Very good. Now, you will turn over all drawings you have made to the Metamorians. As an act of good faith, you will even allow them to search through your things, all of them, to make sure you do not have any other tokens of theirs. Anything you try to hide will be considered a sin of both theft and falsehood for which I shall exact the maximum amount of penance the Ecclesia permits. And when you are done, I order you to return to Kelewair immediately. I will entrust my safety entirely in the hands of the Metamorians whose lives you threatened."
Andwyn frowned but nodded. "I will consult Duke Thomas regarding their fate. Baron Christopher will hold them until I return with their verdict."
Tyrion turned on the bat and stamped his crozier on the ground. "No you will not consult with Duke Thomas regarding their fate. They are here as my escorts and under the protection of the Ecclesia. And that is I. They will leave the Valley and will not be further molested. Their punishment will come on their return to Kelewair."
"They have been caught spying against Metamor," Andwyn declared firmly. "Their fate must be in Duke Thomas's hands no other."
"Then both he and you would be in violation of the concordant signed by your liege with the Ecclesia. That concordant states that the disposition of all who serve the Ecclesia may only be tried in ecclesiastical courts. I will adjudicate them and no one else. Or do you wish to stand in violation of your treaty?"
Andwyn appeared to ponder this for several long seconds. The badger baron ground his fist into his palm and gave Nikolai and the other knights murderous stares. They did not look up but remained kneeling on the ground with spears at their backs and arrows pointed at their throats. Tyrion stood as tall as he was able, his clubfoot pressed down at an unnatural and painful angle.
Finally the bat nodded in acquiescence. "Very well, your grace. They are yours to dispose of as you see fit. Nevertheless, I respectfully request that they be escorted out of the Valley by our soldiers to prevent them from doing any more harm. And I will need all of their drawings before I return to Metamor."
"I accept your magnanimous proposal," Tyrion replied with the same commanding voice he'd used to cow the knights. "See to it that they are brought to Menth. I will rejoin them there once I am finished here." He let his eyes slip down to Nikolai. "Now deliver up to Master Andwyn all that you have done. And if you aren't quick and honest about it, I will let the Metamorians do as they wish to you."
Their cooperation had never
been easier to obtain.