Part 2! Can you guess what Thomas is drinking?
--------
Metamor Keep: Gazing Through a Barred Window
by Charles Matthias
April 19, 708 CR
Duke Otakar liked to feast. Anyone meeting the
corpulent noble would learn that much by the mere
sight of him. This meant that the sovereign of
the Outer Midlands would take every opportunity
that presented itself to him as an excuse for
declaring a banquet and inviting various
prominent citizens or visiting dignitaries to his
table. And like a dog on a chain so too would
Jaime Verdane be brought down and sat in the
midst of Otakar's family so that all of Otakar's
guests could note him and appraise him. He
almost, while in an especially snappish mood,
asked a visiting baron who would not stop staring
at him if he wished to inspect his teeth.
Still furious at the humiliation he'd had to
endure the previous evening, Jaime stalked back
and forth in his donjon chambers. He started at
the corner of his bed, crossed all the way to the
wall next to his writing desk, and then would
return the way he'd come. And when he reached the
bed he'd start right on back toward the desk.
Seven paces one way and seven paces back. Seven
paces one way and seven paces back. On and on he
stalked, his lips curling in indignation and his
heart racing almost as fast as his mind.
Some of Otakar's cousins from Marigund had come
to visit the night before, one of which was an
older lady who couldn't see very well and so she
often used the wrong names when speaking to
people and also had a bad habit of accidentally
knocking goblets over which she treated as no
more notable than a distant crackle of the fire
despite the repeated need of the servants to
clean the mess but ware her ire if they did not
first refill her goblet. To make up for her poor
sight she also feigned a bad ear professing
ignorance of most of what was said to her but
developing perfect acuity whenever gossip was to
be shared, some notable who'd earned her disgust
was the recipient of calumnies, or when she
herself was spoken of in terms less than
resplendently dignified and fawning. As if these
two habits were not bad enough, she dressed in
the most garishly opulent clothing which
constantly needed to be attended to by the trio
of young girls who followed her around and
endured her near constant abuse, and she drenched
herself in a hideous perfume that made Jaime wish
he were eating with the Duke's geldings instead of his gentry.
And naturally, his grace Duke Krisztov Otakar XII
had seen fit to seat this unbearably disgusting
example of the old matriarch next to Jaime. She
spent the evening, when not engaging in her usual
litany of vituperative and vexation,
condescending to Jaime by asking him what it was
like to be a hostage and then complaining how it
would not suit with her ill health and that she
hoped she didn't catch some bad airs from an
obvious miscreant such as him. She also spilled her goblet on him three times.
The only satisfaction he had that evening was
that Ladislav sat on the other side of the
hideous woman and had to endure the abuse in
those short interludes when Jaime briefly bored
her. The head of the Marigund delegation, Sir
Brian Brightleaf who was also regrettably her
grand nephew, a choice of words that had been
whispered felt so bad about it that he
apologized to Jaime after the banquet had ended,
and only after the woman had left because she
could not, as she put it, abide the foolish
prattle of the men over their wine and meat.
But Otakar had said nothing, only smiled and
acted the gracious host, praising the old crone
for her beauty and wit before gasping in relief
after she'd gone. Jaime had been dismissed like
that dog on a chain shortly thereafter, the wine
still soaking and probably permanently staining
his satin britches. He'd spent the rest of his
evening jabbing at the mortar with his stone
until one of his blisters began to bleed.
Now, nursing the wound, he paced in a fresh pair
of britches, hoping against hope that the old
woman had accidentally fallen over the lake wall
and died, and that she'd taken Otakar with her
when she'd gone. Only yesterday morning he'd been
congratulating himself with how well he was
tolerating his imprisonment. Eli had seen fit to
remind him of the folly of pride and it was only
a matter of time before He saw fit to remind him of the folly of anger too.
Although he hadn't expected his anger to be
interrupted by a bird cawing at him in some
indignation. It had to caw three times before he
even realized what it was he was hearing. Turning
his head he saw perched on the northern sill the
gray and black-feathered jackdaw that he'd been
coaxing with his bread crumbs along with some
other birds over the last few days. The bird was
staring at him with pale blue eyes that almost seemed irritated.
Jaime did have some bread left over waiting for
him on the desk, but he was in no mood to feed
birds. He stomped toward the jackdaw, waving his
arms and yelling something incoherent. The bird
flew away before he could take more than two
steps. Still, he finished going to the window,
planted his palms on the sill, and leaned his
head out to glare at the rest of the world.
Before he could do anything more than note the
city spreading out with its towers and tight
roads along the steep hill, the bird cawed at him
again. Jaime looked over his right shoulder and
saw that the bird had alighted on the eastern
facing window sill to regard him with the same demanding expression.
Just go away and leave me be! Jaime snapped,
walking to the other window to smack the creature
from his sill. The offending avian was quick to
jump back into the air, but to Jaime's dismay he
flew directly to the northern window and resumed his cawing there.
Jaime ground his teeth in frustration and beat
his fist against the stone sill until it felt
sore. He lifted his hand and sucked on the
blister as he glared at the jackdaw. The corvid
leaned forward a bit to point his beak at the
ground before leaning back and returning the
jailed aristocrat's gaze. Do you want more
bread, is that it? Jaime asked with a heavy
sigh. He could always just close the shutters of
course, but for some reason the pestering of this
bird was a welcome relief to the constant rage he felt.
Fine, fine. Bread it is. Jaime crossed to his
desk, took the loaf while still standing and
began tearing off little chunks and throwing them
on the ground beneath the sill. The jackdaw was
quick to jump down and snatch up each little
peace. He then beat his wings back up to the sill
to wait for the next morsel. He kept this up for
a few minutes before some of the other birds
began to gather and ask for bread too.
Jaime watched the smaller birds fight over each
bread crumb, gulping them down so quickly that he
was sure they couldn't possibly have tasted them.
The jackdaw didn't bother trying for any of the
pieces he threw to the other birds; rather, he
hoped down into the room and waited for his next
piece as he stood beneath the sill. Jaime tried
throwing the bread crumbs closer to himself, and
this time the jackdaw at least came nearly
halfway into the room before becoming too nervous and flying back to the wall.
The bread however could not last forever, and
soon he was splitting his last piece into as tiny
of fragments as he could so that all of the birds
who'd come to visit him might get a piece. He
tossed the crumbs to the smaller birds before
gently depositing the last morsel in the center
of the room. The jackdaw was quick to hop in,
snatch it up, and then hop back toward the
window. He turned back and tilted his head to one
side as he gazed at Jaime, as if he were asking a question.
I'm sorry, but I'm out of bread.
The jackdaw cawed at him one more time, and so
Jaime repeated his apology. The smaller birds
also chirped, but the jackdaw seemed to
understand that nothing more was forthcoming. The
black-feathered bird flew back to the window
sill, cawed again, and then jumped out into the
air and was gone. The other smaller birds joined him a moment later.
Jaime sighed as his little friends left. He could
still hear their song somewhere nearby, possibly
the roof of the donjon tower, but he couldn't see
them anymore. But one thing he didn't feel
anymore was his anger. He cocked a glance at his
writing desk and the small number of books
brought to him by the poor priest Otakar had
obtained for him. He took the prayer book from
its spot on the shelf, a spot it had inhabited
nearly since he'd first placed it there, and began flipping through the pages.
And eventually he even began to see the words and offer them up in prayer.
----------
Duke Thomas eyed the yellow, creamy drink as
rivulets of vapor rose from it surface to
tantalize his nostrils with a muscular blend of
nutmeg and cinnamon. His wife Alberta had made it
for him only a short time ago, but, as he was
meeting with his advisers, trusted that he would
drink it all and lather her ears with his delight
later. All she had said was that it was a
delicacy on the Steppe and drunk only on the greatest of feast days.
Are you waiting for it to cool down? Malisa,
his adopted daughter and Prime Minister asked.
She was garbed in her usual blue attire, loose
fitting tunic, vest and trousers of a masculine
cut with only the medallion of her office to add glitter to her appearance.
No, Thomas replied as he reached one hand for
the clay goblet holding the mysterious brew; the
goblet rim was decorated with a ring of horses
all standing nose to tail. Thomas didn't recognize it.
What then? It smells very good.
Thomas took a deep breath and turned the goblet
around in his large fingers, watching the yellow
surface ripple and reveal little dark bits of
spice in the blend. It does indeed, the horse
lord agreed. And I have no doubt that its taste
is hearty and agreeable. But... she said it was a delicacy of the Steppe.
So? George asked. The jackal always hated the
bookkeeping aspect that came with being an
adviser to the Duke but he did his duty and
prepared reports for him even if he did not
report as often as the rest of his staff. What's wrong with that?
Thomas tapped one hoof against the chair leg and
folded back his ears against his coiffured mane.
It means that she probably used horse milk.
There's just something... unsettling about that idea.
George laughed and leaned back in his chair; he
nearly slapped the table with his paw. Oh, go on
and drink it. It's probably not your wife's.
Thomas tensed and glared at the head of his
patrols. You should be a little more careful and
polite in your choice of words where my wife, Dame Alberta, is concerned.
The jackal grunted but nodded. Of course. I
meant her grace no insult. But just drink it
already! The smell is making my nose itch. I don't like nutmeg!
True enough, and my Alberta did make this
especially for me. Thomas lifted the goblet,
tipped it across his supple lips, and felt the
thick, creamy texture run across his tongue. It
had at the same time a sweet taste, but also a
heavy weight to it, the mix of spices giving it a
strength and a savor quite unlike anything else
he'd ever had, and certainly more appealing than
any milk he'd drunk, no matter its source! He
lowered the goblet, a good bit of the brew left,
and he licked it from his lips and nodded in
approval. That is very good! A smile broke out
on his equine snout. A delicacy indeed! What
other wonders do they hide on the Steppe?
George's grin spread to encompass his jowls. I
have heard that they enjoy searing mushrooms,
peppers, and horse-flesh in a rather tart but
peckish sauce; never tried it myself. I don't
think you'd be interested in that.
No, no, I would not. Thomas turned the goblet
in his fingers and sighed in contentment.
George, since you are smiling so broadly, would
you care to report on the condition of our
military and what goes on in our lands?
The usual Lutin raids are tapering off as the
tribes head north for the Summer. But the human
raiders coming in from the south are becoming
more aggressive. Mostly they stay at the southern
end of the valley to keep clear of the Curse, but
we just rousted a dozen brigands who'd been
traveling as far north as Ellingham to harass the
farmers and merchants there. They managed to
steal a large number of furs as well as cattle
and more salted meats than I care to admit and
ship them south before we were able to find them.
That's the worst of them, but there are others
picking up the slack as we speak.
Why so many brigands? Malisa asked, tapping her
fingers together beneath her chin. They've
always been a problem as many unwilling Keepers
can attest, but from what you've said and what
I've heard, we've never had so many.
I suspect that some are refugees from Bradanes
who haven't been able to make new lives even if
they were healed. But the real problem was the
plague. While we were stuck here, all of the
barons were left to themselves to organize their
defenses and coordinate patrols. We did what we
could but we were mostly cut off from the rest of
the valley. The brigands knew it and moved in.
Now we have to convince them to move back out again.
Thomas took another sip of his wife's delicious
and unusual brew and glanced at the bat Andwyn
who perched at the other end of the table by
himself. Are there any rumors of dangers to the north?
There are rumors of something strange happening
in the Murk; I have a few of my men watching it
very closely. If you are thinking of shifting our
northern defenses to the south, I would do so
very judiciously. There may not be a force
amassing in the Murk, but there may be. Lik has
become very, very dangerous of late; there are
monsters there that should not be in any city. I
have heard whispers of night-creatures who drink
blood and cannot die, but I have nothing certain.
Vampires? Lothanasa Raven will wish to know of
that if it is true, Malisa pointed out.
Sadly, her thoughts are to the south as well
these days, but I can tell her what I know,
Andwyn offered as he shifted on his perch. I do
not believe we are in immediate danger from the
north, but I think something is trying to at
least gain control of our northern frontier now
that Nasoj has lost those lands.
Thomas nodded and rubbed his chin with his free
hand. We'll want to keep a very close eye on the
Murk. Has Nasoj stirred from his fortress?
Rumor suggests that he has, but that he has gone
to the east to keep Lom Shi'un from taking any
more of his territory. We have nothing solid.
And what of Arabarb? Has there been any news of Lindsey or Pharcellus?
Nothing, Andwyn said with a marked sigh. But
it is still early yet. News will come soon.
Thomas took another sip of the brew and was
disappointed to discover that he had almost
finished it. I think it is best that we move
more patrols south of the Keep for now to fight
back these brigands. But we will need to keep our
northern border defended. Speaking of which, how
is our new commander at Hareford doing?
Sir Dupré is living up to my expectations,
George said with a snort and a chuckle. That is,
he is exceeding them. He has spent the last month
surveying the tracks north from Hareford to Eagle
Tower and to the Dike. I was up there last week
and he's already begun clearing out the wood
nearest Hareford to build a fortified road to the
tower. He's also surveyed the western edge of the
Giant's Dike and is drawing up plans for a small
fortress next to the mountain that can be used to
extend the reach of our soldiers.
They won't be able to stop an army there,
Malisa noted with a moue darkening her face.
Especially a Lutin army. A small force could
keep the defenders holed up in any garrison at
the mountains while the rest march on past.
I told him the same and he already knew it,
George agreed with a quick nod. His ears folded
back and his eyes narrowed. He is a bit more
far-sighted and definitely more ambitious than I
suspected. He wants to reclaim the entire northern mouth of the Valley.
Thomas lifted his ears and flicked his tail as if
swatting a fly. Why? The Haunted Forest prevents
anyone from coming down the eastern half.
George chuckled and shook his head. He seems to
think that Nestorius, Edmund and Stealth will
free the spirits there one day. And then he
muttered something about Ecclesia priests doing
their job, but otherwise he is very confidant
that the thousand-year old restless spirits are just about to start resting.
Have there been any more incidents? With Sir Dupré that is?
Nestorius says he's been a perfect soldier
since. If he has any rage left, it's taken out with his drills.
That is also what my men have seen, Andwyn added quietly.
Thomas raised the goblet to his lips, but only
let the creamy froth touch his lips; enough to
get a taste but not enough to finish his drink.
Very well then. Continue observing him but let
him do as he wishes. George, I want you, Misha,
and Jack to look over whatever plans he has drawn
up for this garrison. If it does not meet with
your approval, then we will rein him in. Is there anything else to report?
Not from me, your grace, the jackal said.
I have one item, Malisa said as she folded her
hands on the table. I received word that
Ambassador Tarkas and his entourage are only a
few days from Salinon. They have met with no
trouble in their journey and report that the
skies look fair. I will know how well they are
received in a few days; I'm sure it will be an
eye-opening surprise for Duke Otakar and his court at the very least.
When they meet Sir Kardair and his wife I'm sure
it will be, Thomas said with a chuckle. Are
there any other animal Keepers amongst Tarkas's entourage?
Malisa frowned. No. The rest of the entourage
are human; half the soldiers are former women,
and the other half have never been Cursed. The
servants are also former men and women and a few
newly made children. I carefully selected them so
that they would not draw undue attention to
themselves. There wouldn't have been any animal
Keepers at all if Sir Kardair had not insisted on
going to protect his brother.
But George shrugged his shoulders and scratched
at the yellow fur on his elbow. I wouldn't worry
about Sir Kardair. He served with distinction at
both Three Gates and Winter Assault, and he has
been an able commander in the Red Stallion for
years. I even had the pleasure of serving
alongside him on a sortie near Politzen four
years ago. Good, solid warrior. The jackal
laughed and a crooked smile teased his jowls.
And he can jump higher than any man I know, at
least any man who isn't a frog.
Perhaps it's better that he and his wife Deya do
draw attention, Andwyn suggested. If everyone
watches him, and if he conducts himself as
honorably as we both know he is, that alone may
offer more protection for our people in that
land. And, the bat added with a helpless grin,
it will provide more opportunities for our
alternate purpose in sending a delegation.
Jaime Verdane, Malisa nodded and sucked in her
breath. Do you really think you can help him,
Father? He's being held in their highest donjon;
not even the sturdiest rope could see him safely
outside the castle grounds. And we certainly cannot rescue him by force.
Thomas frowned as he thought on the man his own
age trapped in a prison far from his home. The
Verdane family had long shown themselves to be
enemies to the House Hassan and the imprisonment
did not change this. But it has been his house,
his very family, that was responsible for the
murder of Jaime's wife. He would not sit idle
while a man who's life he destroyed rotted away
in a donjon no matter how commodious.
He tipped back his head and the goblet, finishing
off the last of the creamy brew, licking his
thick lips as he set the wooden goblet back down.
That was very good. As for Jaime Verdane... I
don't know. But we are going to try. Keep me informed of any developments.
With that he rose from his seat, still clutching
the goblet in his right hoof-like hand. The trio
all rose as well, each trying to be quicker than
their liege. He smiled to them and nodded his
large head. Thank you all. You are dismissed. I
am going to find my wife and congratulate her on a wonderful delicacy.
And at that they all shared a warm laugh.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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