It was late in the evening before Andwyn returned to Metamor with a satchel full of parchment strapped to his chest. He spared only a moment to don modest clothing before finding Duke Thomas. The horse lord had been entertaining Lord Barnhardt who gushed with enthusiasm at Tyrion's recent visit to his lands but who accepted Thomas's suggestion to enjoy a good soak with aplomb.
"What did you learn, Andwyn?" Thomas asked the bat when they were alone in the Duke's private chambers.
Andwyn showed him the maps of Metamor, Lake Barnhardt, Glen Avery, Hareford, Ellingham, Lorland, Euper, Iron Mine, and a few other smaller towns they'd passed on their journey. Thomas's astonishment quickly turned to fury.
"That craven snake! He spies on Metamor with a religious mission as pretext! I knew he couldn't be trusted!" Thomas stomped back and forth, hooves clattering loudly against the stone floor. "What have you done with them?"
"Nothing I fear," Andwyn replied with shrugged wing. "The concordant signed between Metamor and Yesulam prevents us from taking any action against these spies. They have the protection of the Ecclesia."
Thomas blinked in shock and then resumed his stomping. "He is caught spying on Metamor and he dares claim protection form the Ecclesia! What... what arrogance. I want him shipped out of the Valley too. I don't care what objections he makes. This I cannot tolerate!"
"Forgive me, your grace," Andwyn said gently. "I don't believe that Bishop Tyrion himself was aware of the spying. This was conducted by Captain Nikolai at the behest of another."
Thomas frowned and paused in his pacing. "What makes you say that?"
"I served our ambassador to Kelewair for a few years prior to the Battle of Three Gates. I know his grace personally and this does not seem to be in his character. Further, the actions he has taken while here at Metamor, up until this point, have been respectful, dignified, and of the highest virtue. He may be a Verdane, but he is not Titian.
"Captain Nikolai on the other hand, is very much one of Titian's creatures. I have been studying him since their arrival and I have learned that he is the leader of the Wolf's Claw. That is, Duke Verdane's elite warriors. I suspect that he was tasked with learning our defences. He was quite circumspect about it as well. He did not realize that we who have been made beast-like can become beasts for a time and observe him unawares. Had he known that, we may not have learned of it at all."
Thomas leaned over the table and gazed hard at the numerous maps filled with architectural detail. His anger smouldered on his tongue. "If his grace is honest as you say, why would he defend these men when they have been caught spying? Surely his own father would not have hesitated in having them tortured and hanged."
"I have been pondering that," Andwyn admitted without much enthusiasm. "For most of my flight I was at a loss. What he says is true of our concordant with Yesulam. But what good does it do to use this to protect spies? Either he is protecting his father's men because he is afraid of his father, or he is protecting them because he is protecting the Ecclesia's prerogatives here that they might be respected elsewhere as well."
With a long sigh, Thomas considered those two suggestion. His hearty lips rubbed against one another for several seconds before shaping more words. "Perhaps a bit of both. I do not trust him, Andwyn. I want your spies to keep an even closer watch on him."
"I do not trust him either, your grace." Andwyn's small red eyes glinted with amusement. "But you should have seen the way he broke the spies of their obstinance. I think even Baron Christopher was impressed."
"I will wait and see. I want to talk with this Bishop Tyrion for myself. I think I'm going to enjoy it more than I should." Dark equine eyes lifted and held the bat in place. "Thank you for learning all these things, Andwyn. Continue to keep a close watch on them."
"As you command, my liege!"
Thomas gestured at the maps. "And make sure these are given to the lords of each town. They'll want to improve their fortifications after this. Who knows how much those soldiers will remember and repeat when they leave the Valley anyway."
Andwyn nodded glumly at that.
It was time he started paying even closer attention to their southern
neighbours.
Jetta was a small farming community on the southeastern end of the Valley and the very last one before the range of the Curse came to an end. Bulwarks had been built on its southern fields to dissuade raiders and many of its young men and women were involved in defence against the occasional malefactors who kidnapped the animal-folk and showed them as exotic beasts.
Some of whom had even returned from their captivity in far off lands, a few of which described the many fiefs and villages of the Southern Midlands to Tyrion's dismay. One of them, a grizzly by the name of Sho Rosewain, formerly of Midtown, described in great detail her ordeal under the cruel hands and whips of the one known as Sideshow whose death at the hands of a vengeful Keeper was not much lamented by anyone, with only a dog-eared copy of the Canticles and worn spectacles to tend her bruised and battered spirit in her four years of captivity. Captured on the road, she'd been left in a cage at the periphery of the Curse until she had been transformed into the massive bruin. She was beaten regularly and left unwashed, kept in a cage where both her food and offal were on public display. No shred of clothing had been left to her or any of the other victims of Sideshow's depraved menagerie. By tortures that massive face burst into tears describing, they forced her into playacting the routine of a smart beast who only wanted to eat and sleep. They left her the Canticles as a cruel joke, but it had been her only strength and the only reason she'd lasted as long as she did without surrendering to the animal within as several others who'd been captured had finally done.
Tyrion was so moved by her description that he had to fight back tears as he personally blessed her Canticles which she still treasured, and also promised her that he would order all the priests in his Diocese to do whatever they could to stop such atrocities.
After a modest banquet from last year's harvest, Tyrion and the other three priests all heard confessions and quite a number of requests until well past dusk. The Follower community was not large and a good portion of them were transplants from leprous Bradanes or like Sho refugees from far worse horrors. Still, Tyrion derived greater joy and consolation from seeing to these simple people than he did in all of the intrigues of court in which he'd grown to maturity.
They were given an upper room in the largest farmhouse that was decently apportioned but like all of Metamor smelled of animal musk. However the musk here was more farm animal than forest denizen. Still Tyrion found the accommodations comfortable and was grateful to finally be off his clubfoot one day more.
After sharing their evening prayers together, a pair of lanterns between them illuminating the narrow room that had been filled to bursting with an extra trio of sleeping mats, Tyrion sighed and looked the three priests in the eyes. Rakka lay asleep with head resting on one of Felsah's crossed legs.
"Well, we have seen what we came to see. Metamor Valley and most of its Follower communities. At least as much as we dare risk. It has been a revelation to me. But what of each of you. What do you think of Metamor and her people?"
Father Purvis nodded to himself as he sat with legs curled behind him on his sleeping mat. His red cheeks had lightened some in the northern sun. "They are good people. They look strange, and they have a few strange habits, but they are good people. Fierce and proud, but good."
The bookish Father Malvin was quick to agree. "I think they are very hungry for us. They've been fighting to protect their homes but need a relationship with Eli that only the Ecclesia can give them. I felt welcomed everywhere we went; nay, wanted."
"I did too," Purvis jumped in. "Father Hough is a remarkable priest to have tended so wide and needful a flock as this."
Tyrion felt much the same as they, but there were still many questions that he knew he'd never be able to answer. "And what do you think of the many who are married but are not both man and woman?"
Malvin made a pinched face. "I confess I find that hard to stomach. I know it was not their choice, but they cannot really be married any more are they?"
Felsah's soft voice broke through, his foreign accent lending a strange cadence to his words. "It was decreed by the Patriarch and the Council of Bishops that their marriages are still valid. But upon them the injunction of chastity has been laid."
"I certainly wouldn't want to perform a marriage like that," Purvis mused with a grumble.
"Nor would you," Felsah continued. "The allowance only exists for those who were sacramentally married prior to being Cursed by Metamor. It is up to us as priests to communicate this to them, and further, to comfort them and give them strength in their sacrifice. We understand the sacrifice of celibacy, but they face an altogether more difficult reality in that their husband and wife is still there but so changed that they can never bring forth children again." He gently scratched Rakka between the ears. "I do not think any sane man would envy them."
"Indeed not," Tyrion replied. "You have both heard from Father Felsah. What say you?"
Purvis shrugged his shoulders. "If that is the Patriarch's command, then I'll obey it."
Malvin's face was still pinched but he did agree after a moment's hesitation that obedience was the only proper course of action. "True obedience breeds love," he said as if quoting a scholar.
"Good. Now, what do you think this Valley needs?"
Pleasantly impulsive, Purvis replied, "More priests! A monastery would be good too."
Tyrion nodded slowly, smiling, "But what sort of priests?"
The plain-faced priest didn't pause to dwell on the question. "Ones who can look at the Keepers and see fellow children of Eli and brothers of Yahshua."
"Just brothers?"
Purvis chuckled. "And sisters too."
"And you, Father Malvin?"
The other priest rubbed his hands together and swallowed. "I noticed that many of the Followers here have a horrible lack of training in liturgy and worship; I hesitate to speculate on their theology! We need to develop a Follower culture here in this land to counteract the many pagan attitudes that have infected these good people."
Tyrion's smile widened. "But you yourself wished to peruse their library, one of the greatest collections of pagan literature in all the world."
Malvin frowned but nodded. "Aye, there is much good in the pagan lore. But you need to have the Spirit Most Holy to guide you if you wish to determine what is good and what is not. Understanding can only come from above as a gift. It is our duty to pass that along. If they know better how to be Followers, then this Valley will think more as Followers should. That will bring many more to the faith in the long run."
"But who will accomplish that instruction?"
"More priests," Malvin replied simply. "It is a necessity."
"But what kind of priests?"
"Ones that love and hold up truth and learning, but also practice and discipline. Priests that can teach and guide their flock to Eli."
Tyrion spread one hand wide and asked, "But do they need to love their flock?"
Malvin's eyes narrowed. "A priest who cannot love his flock, even the worst of sinners as Yahshua did, should not be a priest." The words were firm and almost seemed aimed more at the speaker than the listeners. Still, Tyrion felt satisfied by the answers. The decision that had been hovering in his heart now felt right and certain.
"Very well. Thank you. Assuming that Nikolai's actions have not jeopardized the good will we've tried to build here, then tomorrow on our return to Metamor I will announce my decision."
"And what is your decision, your grace?" Purvis asked anxiously.
He told them. They did
not object for that had always seemed plain to them. But they
did have some trouble sleeping that night. Even Tyrion tossed
and turned. Only the Questioner priest seemed to rest easy and
without uncertainty as the stars turned in their courses through the
many hours of the winter night.
Feb 30, 708 CR
It was midday by the time that the Bishop's carriage passed through the gates of Metamor again. This time it was flanked by only four horses, those of Sir Egland, Sir Saulius, and their dutiful squires. They were welcomed by an eager crowd of Followers who waited anxiously for word of the Bishop's decision. Would they receive more priests? Would they receive their own diocese? And what of the rumours that the Bishop's soldiers had been spies sent to learn Metamor's secrets? Just what had become of them?
Neither knights nor squires spoke of those affairs having been enjoined by Andwyn to silence for the time being. Further, they believed in the Bishop's mission and did not wish to cause it any more harm than had already been done. Not one of the four was wearied from the long days of journeying across the Valley, but they were looking forward to the day they bid the Bishop farewell and returned to their homes.
Neither Tyrion nor his priests uttered a word or hint to those gathered to welcome him back to the fabled castle and its peacock city. Instead they hurried through to the Cathedral the crowd following them with hopeful faces and eager eyes, noses, and ears.
Bishop Tyrion led them in a prayer service — Father Hough had already offered Mass that morning — and during his short remarks, he pronounced his decision. He was met with joyous approval tempered by an uncertain disquiet. Father Hough, who'd been holding his breath for well on nigh four days, almost sagged with relief at the news. When the service concluded the Keepers thronged all of the priests and thanked them profusely.
The clubfooted Bishop wished he could stay among them and celebrate, but he was met with a summons from the Duke that he knew would come. He blessed all those in attendance one last time and followed the detachment of guards led by the massive bull Andhun down the halls of Metamor.
Tyrion had been waiting for this moment with almost as much worry as he'd been the announcement of his decision. Now that it came to it, he had to suppress a desire to curse Nikolai and his father's animosity. They had made what was to come all the harder.
They came to a large doorway both wide and tall fashioned from stout oak and bearing the horsehead Ducal crest of the Hassan family. Already four other guards flanked the door with ceremonial halberds in hand and paw. Andhun opened the door onto a room of warm mahogany tables, bookcases, and timepieces, along with alabaster carafes and crystal decanters, exquisite chalcedony inlay, red carpets over stone, and a vista looking south across the city and the Valley through wide windows. Roaring hearths kept the room warm.
"His grace, Bishop Tyrion Verdane," Andhun announced in an almost conversational tone.
An unseen voice echoed back. "See him in and shut the door, Andhun."
The bull gestured with a massive arm that was wider than many trees and Tyrion stepped through. He favoured his good leg but otherwise gave no indication that he was intimidated by the modest opulence of the Duke's private meeting chambers. From an unseen door emerged a tall chestnut-brown stallion in regal blue doublet and hose. One thick-fingered hand rested upon the pommel of a ceremonial sabre, while the other was braced in a fist before his chest. His hooves were covered in soft leather and made only the faintest of noises as they trod upon stone and carpet. His bearing was proud and dignified. The form of a stallion suited him well.
"Bishop Tyrion Verdane." Dark eyes surveyed him and despite his growing familiarity with beastly eyes, he could discern no motive in them. The voice was polite to the point of being strained. "Thank you for taking the time to reply to my summons. Please sit. I would like to discuss with you your time here in my land."
Tyrion inclined his head respectfully, but only a short distance as if it were no more than a nod. He spoke as he slid into a cushioned seat with straight back and arm rests carved like the backs of horses grazing. "Thank you, your grace. I am very grateful for your hospitality. I have enjoyed seeing your land. It has opened my eyes to many things I had never before considered. I am blessed by this visit and I only wish that it could have been longer and less... eventful."
Thomas took the great seat opposite him, and ever so slightly twisted his supple lips at Tyrion's choice of words. "You have been very busy these past few days. I have already heard word of your ecclesiastical decision but neither the details nor the reasons for them."
"The reasons are simple. I chose to bring Father Malvin and Father Purvis with me here to Metamor originally because they both have family within the Valley. Neither man comes from the Southern Midlands; both were born in lands swearing fealty to you. Both are willing to face what the Curses will do to them. I have contingency plans in case either becomes a woman and is no longer able to serve."
Thomas's expression remained firm but his ears did flick at the news. "And where do you intend to station them?"
"Father Malvin will serve in Lake Barnhardt. The community there is strong and he is an intellectual sort. His temperament is well-suited to the people there and he will find an able patron in Lord Barnhardt to help him continue his scholarly interests. Both people and priest will lift each other up closer to Eli as it should be."
The horses nodded ever so slightly. "The news undoubtedly pleased Robern. What of Father Purvis?"
"I am assigning him to Lorland. The community there is growing and growing strong with the many refugees from Bradanes. His simple manner and strong faith will be an antidote to the poison the late Lord Loriod filled those people with."
Thomas grunted and almost smiled. "Good. Those sound like wise choices to me. I have long pondered how better to help the people Altera ground to dust, but your suggestion seems the best of any I've heard. A priest of their own will be of inestimable help."
Tyrion felt some transitory relief. Those had been the easy choices. His heart clenched tighter as he opened his lips for his next declaration. "I am also assigning Father Felsah to Metamor to be both assistant and resident Questioner for when one is needed."
Thomas eyes narrowed and he chuffed, nostrils flaring. "Metamor does not need any Questioners."
Tyrion shifted his bad leg to cover his wince. "He has been here before, twice in fact. And it is only because of this I am assigning him here. Of any Questioner that is alive, he is perhaps the only one suited to this task and to this land."
"That may be, but I am not going to allow you or anyone else to start a religious war in Metamor."
"That is not his purpose," Tyrion replied as evenly as he could. He didn't want to have to remind Thomas that when it came to matters of the Ecclesia, this consultation with Thomas was purely polite and completely unnecessary. "I have tasked him with spending a month or two learning the needs of the Followers in the Metamor Valley as prelude to my nascent request to Yesulam to create a new diocese for Metamor itself. After, he would remain in Metamor as an aid and would serve in his capacity as Questioner only when ordered to do so."
Thomas leaned forward, nostrils still flaring. "The Questioners are an arm of Yesulam. I would be justified in suspecting you of an attempt to shift the allegiance of my people to Yesulam instead of Metamor."
"Forgive me your grace, but that is ridiculous." Tyrion gestured with one hand at the horse lord and shook his head. "Yesulam is where the Patriarch resides and as such is the head of their faith. But their homes are here in Metamor. You may as well cast out the Lothanasi; are they not subject to the head of their order in Elvquelin?"
"I do not want a holy war in my land!"
"And you will not have one," Tyrion replied, doing everything he could to keep from snapping at the obstinate horse. "Although I only met him briefly, I am told that all hold Madog in high regard here. Madog considers Father Felsah one of his friends. I am sure you heard what happened when we arrived four days ago."
Thomas paused, his eyes still fixed on the priest, and kept his lips still. He leaned back slowly, the tension between them dwindling ever so slightly. A gust of cool air made the fires dance. The horse's ears twitched to the side and then returned upright. "The concordant that we signed with Yesulam expressly forbid certain activities on the part of your priests. You may not proselytize the Lothanasi or cause discord amongst the Rebuilders. I will hold Father Felsah accountable for any such trespasses that occur in my lands."
Tyrion hated that such a concordant had been signed but that had been done by his predecessor Ammodus. Still, it had saved that fool Nikolai. "And any that convert of their own free will?"
"Well that's their choice," Thomas replied coolly.
"Of course." Tyrion took a deep breath and smiled at the edges of his lips. "That is the extent of my decisions for this land at this time. I will be offering a Liturgy of Installation in Lake Barnhardt this evening for Father Malvin. Tomorrow on my way out of the valley I shall do the same for Father Purvis in Lorland. Father Felsah will leave me in Jetta from whence he will begin his tasks."
"And then you will return to Kelewair," Thomas finished for him. "And there I hope you shall stay. I do not wish to see any Verdane in my lands ever again."
Tyrion sighed and lowered his eyes. "Please forgive me for what happened with my men. I did not know what they were doing. I am ashamed of it."
"Then why protect them?" Thomas's voice was hard and chuffing, like a warhorse champing before battle.
Tyrion shrugged his shoulders and sighed, no longer the Bishop weighed down with responsibility but the son wearied by events beyond his control. "Because my father needs all the good soldiers he can if he is to keep Salinon from eating all our northern holdings. I do not know why they were making drawings of your castles. All I can figure is that my father wanted you as weak as he is that you might consent to be an ally on equal terms instead of a suzerainty. We Verdanes have always been proud." He shook his head and looked away.
Duke Thomas crossed his arms and leaned further back in his seat. He now spoke as a ruler to a subject. "If he thinks I have any desire to aid him now, then he is an even greater fool than I thought. And your actions do not make me trust you. I do not care how much humility you show me now. You hide behind your concordant to protect spies. Do not think to tell me they will be punished for their acts. Your father will reward them for every detail they can remember."
He reached into his robes and drew out a small unsealed roll of parchment. He laid it on the table before the horse lord. Thomas narrowed his eyes. "What is this?"
"Read it."
Thomas uncurled the scroll and scanned the freshly written text and noted Tyrion's clerical seal at the bottom. His eye ridges lifted in surprise. When he was finished, he gazed at the bishop with curious regard, the stare of one who hopes that they have misjudged but are not yet sure. "Excommunication? You have written a bull of excommunication for them?"
"It will be undone after a certain length of penance, but not even my father can challenge this. Until they have served sufficient penance, they will not be able to communicate anything they learned here at Metamor. My hope is that by the time they will have finished their penance, they will remember nothing more than what any traveller to your lands might learn."
Thomas took a deep breath, stared at the scroll for several long moments, took another deep breath, flecked his lips, and then rolled the parchment back up and handed it to Tyrion. "You have surprised me, your grace. You are acting more honourably than I thought any Verdane capable of."
"My family may be proud and sometimes we may have put our own ambition ahead of common sense, but we are honourable," Tyrion replied. "And that includes matters of treachery. You signed an agreement with Duke Otakar to honour each other's territory, and now Otakar has seized lands belonging to my father."
The horse lord's lips tightened but he did not give any other indication of the irritation this reminder might have caused. "Aye, that I did. It seemed reasonable enough at the time, but I was not aware of what he intended."
"And he has taken hostage my brother and the heir to the throne of Kelewair."
"You have my sympathies."
Tyrion shook his head. "I did not come here for your sympathies. I came here for your help."
Thomas blinked, ears lowering along the side of his head. "My help?"
"Aye, your help." Tyrion swallowed and looked the horse straight in the eye. "My father will never ask it, and he will be furious with me if he finds out I asked, but I am asking. Please do whatever you can to free my brother from Salinon. Even if you can only provide a way for a message to reach him that does not pass through Otakar's hands, it will be enough. I fear that as long as Jaime is held hostage, it will make war in the Midlands inevitable.
"I do not have any ability to offer you reward. I am merely asking for help for my brother's sake."
Thomas asked in a rather quiet voice. "If we free Jaime, then will not your father storm Bozojo and reclaim it? Will that not lead to war?"
"Bozojo is going to be stormed one way or another. Either when Jaime is freed or when he dies. Kelewair cannot retain control over its northern fiefs without at least some control over the Marchbourne. War is inevitable. It will either be for desperation or for parity. I have seen some of your own citizens that have been held hostage by cruel men in my last few days here. When I see them all I could think of was my own brother locked in a cage, a jester for the japes of men who'd once been his family. Metamor has resources I do not. I am only asking your help. Nothing I have offered to do for you is conditional on you giving that help.
"Aye, I have spoken of the stability between our countries. But I ask your help as a man seeking to aid his brother. I do not care whether my father's dreams of uniting the Midlands under the rule of Kelewair ever come to fruition. I just want my brother home and safe."
Thomas took a long moment to consider those words. His eyes were dark and unreadable; his poise fixed and noble. He spoke, when he did, slowly and with great precision. "You are right, Tyrion, that war is inevitable. That has been the way of things in the Midlands for as long as history has been written. You are trying to lay a burden at my feet that does not belong here. Your family has never been anything but an enemy to my own. You provide no reason for me to aid you but a personal plea. There are many who, in such a situation, would welcome the instability that the lack of heir in Kelewair will cause. I could use this opportunity to extend my own holdings further south if I so choose."
Tyrion did his best not to betray any fear at these suggestions, suggestions he knew and had considered at length before deciding he needed to make this request. But Thomas wasn't finished. "You are not a fool, your grace. Your actions these last few days demonstrate that. So you did not come to me to ask for my help unless you thought there was a chance I might give it. And in giving my help I can expect no return. Thus, you think I am willing to be both magnanimous and generous of my self and my people. But your own house has given us no reason to be so generous. I can promise you nothing. Nothing except that I am unsure whether you think me gullible or chivalrous.
"Either way, I am chivalrous and I will not forget your request. I may do nothing, but I will not forget it or your brother. But whatever help I may give if I decide to give it, will be on my terms. Do you understand?"
Tyrion lowered his head in a grateful bow. It was not quite what he'd hoped for, but it would have to do. "Thank you, your grace. I do understand."
"Good. I believe you have an installation Liturgy to perform."
Tyrion chuckled lightly to
himself. "I believe that I do. Thank you for your time, your
grace. My Eli bless your land for ages to come." With
that they both rose, nodded to each other, and Tyrion walked back out
the door. As the bull Andhun escorted him back to the Cathedral,
Tyrion did his best to keep himself from kicking the wall with his clubfoot.
Mar 1, 708 CR
With the arrival of evening, Bishop Tyrion Verdane sat alone in his carriage with only his driver and the four Metamorians to guide him. It was many hours since he'd left Father Purvis to his new duties in Lorland, and not long since Father Felsah had departed to walk on foot to Jetta with only Rakka for company. He was alone with his thoughts, memories of delighted Keepers eager to greet their new priests and to thank him for listening to their cries for help. The smile this brought was ended as he dwelt on the betrayal of Nikolai and of the anger of Duke Thomas Hassan.
He'd grown up being taught that the Hassans were political rivals, one that would one day be bowing to the Verdane house. His father would be furious if he knew Tyrion had begged for help from the Horse Lord. But all he wanted was his brother back. Nothing more.
He shifted his clubfoot about the carriage until it no longer felt sore, and then gently lifted the heavy yew dangling over his chest. He'd never wanted to be a Bishop. What had Yahshua said about His yoke being easy and His burden light? "I feel very weary by thy weight, O Yahshua! Aid me by thy strength!"
He kissed the yew and a moment later the carriage was brought to a halt. Sir Egland rode back to the near window and nodded southward, velvety antlers already larger than when he'd first seen him. "We've reached the southern end of the Valley, your grace. The road goes straight to Menth from here. Some of our human soldiers wait just ahead to escort you there."
"Thank you, Sir Egland. Your stewardship has been most welcome. As has been your conversation and your very presence. Thank you."
The elk's muzzle faintly broke into a smile. "It has been good to protect you, your grace. I have greatly missed it. Please come back that we may do so again."
Tyrion laughed warmly at that and shifted closer to the window. "I do not believe I will be returning for some time. But thank you for wishing it. Now I wish to say one more blessing before I leave you." He struggled to his feet and pushed open the door. Sir Saulius, Intoran, and Charles all brought their steeds around. Tyrion swayed uneasily for a moment before finding his balance.
"May Eli bless you each in your sacred duties. May your lives be dedicated to His service, and your swords to His will. And if so called, may He grant you the grace necessary to give up those lives for Him. May Yahshua guard you against the Evil One, and bring your souls safely to Him in Heaven." He made the final invocation while tracing the sign of the Yew in the air before them. They each did likewise across their head and breasts. Four beasts, but men of more noble character than the knights he'd brought with him. He would miss them.
Tyrion sighed but held his place a moment longer. "Now I must go. My own knights will see me safely back to Kelewair."
The oryx, the one least trained in the Followers ways, asked, "Are you sure, your grace? I do not think they will warmly welcome you back in their company after Iron Mine."
Tyrion smiled, though it was one weighed down by more cares than he had ever wished to have. "I am protected both by my clerical office and by my lineage. My father may wish to excoriate me for sending them away and excommunicating them, but he would eviscerate them should any harm befall me. I am safe from them. Only offer your prayers for me that I might provide for your land as best I am able. And for peace in all of the Midlands. Pray for that!" He did not know if any could forestall the darkness coming to the Midlands, but all things were possible with Eli.
"We shalt," Sir Saulius assured him with that reserved nobility that came to the rat with such ease. "And may Eli bless thee on thy voyage! 'Tis an honour to have served thee, thy grace." He bowed his head low in the saddle, and the others did likewise.
Tyrion felt his smile broaden and he had to grip the side of the wagon to keep from toppling. Even his driver, a stout man of middle-age who thought he'd seen everything let out a little sigh of unexpected delight.
"I bid you farewell and Eli's blessings be on each of you. Now return to your families and to your homes. They have missed you." He made the sign of the yew one last time before collapsing back inside the carriage. His leg ached. Yet he watched those four knights remain there as his driver started them south. Not a one of them moved. Even after a bend in the road made it impossible for Tyrion to see them, he knew they were still there.
Clasping his hands together,
Tyrion wept one final prayer. "Oh Eli, please let me have done the
right thing! Thy will be done. Thy will be done."
"And so my agents report that Bishop Tyrion has left the Valley and rejoined with his disgraced knights," Andwyn announced to both Thomas and Malisa. It was now evening and both of them would be grateful for the chance in the morning to worry about other matters. "There have been no further incidents. Both of the new priests seem a trifle overwhelmed but I have confirmed that they both have family in the Valley. Some have bled and died in our wars against Nasoj. I do not believe either will be anything but priests."
"But you will still keep an eye on them," Malisa asked, her face strained but expressive.
"Of course!" The bat replied with a little laugh. "I've already arranged duty rotations for my men to observe them."
"And what of the Questioner, Felsah?" Thomas asked, his chin propped on his fists, his whole head shifting with each word.
The bat looked a little irritated. "His purpose seems so nebulous to me that I will have some difficulty in knowing when to assign spies, but his movements will not be hard to follow. I need some time to assess him before I can be sure."
"Make sure that he is not fomenting zealotry amongst the Followers," Thomas suggested.
"I doubt he'll do such a thing," Malisa pointed out gently. She spread her hands on the table and keeping her eyes on her father's distracted face, she spoke a little more firmly. "He was one of the Questioners who exonerated us in Yesulam and he is the one who was brought by Madog to Coe for healing last September. I spoke with him at length then. He is a man of deep faith and conviction, zealous, but no fanatic. I would say of the three he is the man we need least concern ourselves with."
"Perhaps you are right," Thomas added. He lowered his hands and sighed. "I know we should be grateful that these men are willing to embrace the Curse to serve the Followers in our land. They are courageous if nothing else. But it is not they who bother me."
"It's the Bishop," his daughter added with a sigh. "Father, I've seen these dynastic battles turn otherwise good men against each other for no reason other than family and pride. I too am disturbed by what his men did, but he seems blameless in it. Perhaps his motives here really had nothing to do with his father."
The horse lord shook his head and leaned back. "Of course they had to do with his father. But to what extent I do not know. We may never know, and that has me worried. Plus, there is one other thing."
When he said nothing for several long seconds, Andwyn and Malisa glanced at each other before his daughter asked, "What is the other thing?"
Thomas rested his hands on the table and sighed. "He asked me to help free his brother."
Andwyn sucked in his breath while Malisa blinked in surprise. "His brother? Jaime? The one imprisoned in Salinon?"
"Aye, he begged me to do something to help and he didn't care what the political consequences were for his family."
Malisa pursed her lips. "Could we? Dare we?"
"As to the first, we can probably send one of our birds to bring him messages at the very least. Let them learn what they can of his prison and perhaps we may devise a way for him to escape. As to the second, I do not know. Tyrion believes war is inevitable in the Midlands, but the severity of it is dependent on whether or not Jaime Verdane is a prisoner."
"He may be right," Malisa replied glumly. The young woman slid her hair back over one ear and scrunched her face in deep thought. "Bozojo is the flashpoint. There are rumblings in Lanton and Linduin. But if war does come it may only ever be between them. I doubt Marigund will be eager for this sort of fight."
"They will if any of their families are involved." Thomas tapped his thumbs together, the nails clicking audibly each time. "And Duke Otakar's family and several of the most prominent in Marigund are bound up in marriages. It's how he's been able to keep Marigund dancing on his string all these years." He flecked his lips and narrowed his eyes. "If there is any sort of war it could easily escalate. Tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of lives would be lost. And there's no knowing who the victor would be."
The bat's large ears turned away and his eyes narrowed, wings drawing tighter over his chest. "Yes there is." Both Malisa and Thomas stared warily at the bat. He smiled faintly. "If they two go to war, they will deplete each other's resources. The only victor will be Metamor. If they fight and we keep clear of it, we will gain in power by default. If we rescue Jaime, we may prevent war or we may cause it. Either way, he will be indebted to us and we will still gain power. These are seeds we have sown twelve years past. We may be able to reap a rich harvest."
Thomas's dumbfounded stare darkened into a glowering anger under which the bat wilted some. "I am not going to be a King on a throne of skulls! And what seeds are you talking about?"
"I am merely pointing out a truth, unpleasant though it may be. The seeds were not yours, my liege. They were your mother's. An alliance of marriage was to occur between Jaime and Duke Otakar's niece. The combined power of Kelewair and Salinon threatened Metamor with a war we could not hope to win; we had no Curse to protect us from the south then. The decision was made to prevent this alliance. And so it was. The marriage ended very poorly and the house of the wolf and the house of the falcon have hated each other ever since."
Thomas stared at the bat with increasing horror in his face. Slowly he rose to his hooves, towering over the fruit bat and casting him into deep shadow. His voice trembled. "You were in Kelewair twelve years ago."
Andwyn let out a long breath and nodded. "I have always been a spy in the service of the House of Hassan. I received my orders from Master Sedares and carried them out. I only got the goblet wrong."
"Sedares... I remember him. Cold-hearted bastard. I was glad when he died in bed and Phil took his place. You would be best to emulate the rabbit and not that... man."
Andwyn stood a little taller. "Your grace, I am yours to command. I have served you in some of the most vile places imaginable. But I will not apologize for doing my duty or for telling you truths you do not wish to hear. That is why you have asked me to do this." He lowered his eyes and his smile, faint thought it was, returned. "It would be ironic if we were to save Jaime Verdane when it was Metamor who destroyed his life twelve years ago."
The Duke of Metamor and the Northern Midlands stood to his fullest height and in a growl unbecoming of the stallion he was, he belted his words. "We are going to help Jaime Verdane in any way we can. Not for irony. Not for political advantage. But to amend a very poor mistake."
"I will do as you command, my liege," Andwyn replied.
"See that you do."
Thomas turned away from him for a moment, but the bat, in a timorous voice, added, "I have always been a loyal servant of the Hassan house. My specialty has always been poisons. Your mother knew that. Phil knew that. Would you look on the coming conflict any differently had I poisoned the right goblet twelve years ago?"
Thomas took a deep breath and then nodded. "I too have a wife, Andwyn. I too have a wife.... Knowing that my family is responsible for this conflict...." He lifted his brown eyes and met both his daughter and the bat. "I will be responsible for ending it. And damn the consequences!"
With that he turned and stormed away from the table toward his private chambers. Malisa stood up and called after him, "Father? Where are you going?"
Thomas paused and looked over his shoulder. "To be with my wife. Good night, Malisa. Andwyn, I don't want to see your face again until tomorrow evening. Good night." With that he shut the door behind him strong enough to knock the tapestries off their hooks.