Part 4 and the end of this tale. I hope you all enjoyed it!
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Metamor Keep: Gazing Through a Barred Window
by Charles Matthias
The Eyrie complex was an interconnected mass of
buildings fashioned from a bright gray speckled
granite. In the evening twilight the walls almost
appeared to blush. Between the buildings were
narrow staircases, small gardens, and a few wide
courtyards that allowed for outdoor gatherings,
though from their scent Kardair could tell that
they had most recently been used for equestrian
training. Probably for Otakar's sons.
Captain Raff led him past one such courtyard,
down a set of stairs, and then to a wide terrace
overlooking the western bluff. Above them
stretched a building at least three levels high,
the topmost level extending a good cubit out from
those below it. Raff gestured to the doorway and
said, This is the Ducal residence. Your family
has been lent the rooms at the rear until the
Kestrel's Wing is made ready for you.
Thank you, Captain.
The man frowned and with one hand tightly
gripping the cape around his shoulders, he looked
the opossum knight full in the face; he had to
tilt his head back to do this, but he did not
show any fear of him, only uncertainty. Sir
Kardair, if I may, the ways of your people are
not the ways of mine. My master, his grace, is a
man who prizes hospitality and the proper
treatment of guests. The defense of the honor of
his guests is his task and his alone. You brought
shame to him with your display.
Kardair felt a twinge of regret touch his heart.
This man who he had only just met a few hours ago
was being completely earnest. How he hated the
subterfuge the games of politics had forced him to play!
I know, and I am sorry for my actions. I will
leave all such affairs to his grace's capable
hands. He turned and cast one glance out across
the waist-high railing and the broad vista
stretching toward the setting sun. A broad
red-limned sky of clouds cloaked them from above,
while the green swards of earth surrounding the
lake and village at the base of the bluff
stretched below them. Somewhere beyond the horizon was Metamor Keep, his home.
He blinked at the vista once, and then returned
his focus to the captain. I hope that my
behavior has not jeopardized my brother's duties here.
Raff shook his head. I do not believe so, Sir
Kardair. But it would be best if you keep the
promise you just made to me. His grace's promise
to send you back to Metamor in chains was not a vain one.
He could say nothing to that and so gestured at
the doorway which had been designed to appear
like a pair of vast feathered wings. Do you need
to escort me to the chambers or will I be able to find my own way?
Raff grunted and opened the door by lifting a
handle that was carved in the shape of a talon. This way.
Kardair fell into step behind him as they passed
into a large foyer. Rooms adorned either side for
reclining, reading, and for study. They walked
past several doors that were kept shut, before
turning to the left to reveal a set of smaller
rooms where a pair of Metamorian guards stood
watch. Here you are. And if you wish the chance
to practice your sword arm, come to the northern
practice fields. We've a good number of men who
would like to see what Metamor has to offer.
Raff smiled to him, inclined his head in respect,
and then turned back the way he had come. Kardair
smiled to himself and then turned back to the
curious stares of his fellow Metamorians.
Chipping, Rolf, he said to the two men from
Midtown who did not know the touch of the Curses
but nevertheless had Duke Thomas as their liege, where is my family?
In the back room. Your squire is with them,
Chipping said with a faint laugh. Where are Earl Tarkas and your Lady Deya?
Still feasting with Otakar. They will join us later.
He found his three children in a small room with
a quartet of beds, a washbasin inlaid with ivory,
and several wooden toys designed to look like
horses, soldiers, and a variety of other animals
common to life in the broad plains and hills of
the easternmost reaches of the Midlands. Playing
with these toys were his two elder daughters and
his young son. His squire and his nephew, Ned,
watched over them; Ned also bore the dusty rad colors of his knight.
Father! his children echoed, rising to their
feet to greet him as he had taught them. His
eldest daughter Lucy, almost ten years of age,
smiled beneath a bright head of auburn curls. His
seven-year old Maria had her hair in pig tails
and kept swinging her dress back and forth. His
youngest and his boy Jon who at four still had a
bright wide face, with golden blonde hair and
adoring blue eyes that could never but be joyous when they saw him.
Kardair knelt down, long tail sweeping the stones
behind him, and he stretched out his arms. Come
here. They wasted no time, rushing into his arms
and pressing their faces into his furry cheeks.
He stroked the backs of their heads with his
paws, little claws catching in Lucy's curls and
Maria's pigtails. Have you been well-behaved for your cousin?
Yes, Father, his girls echoed. Little Jon
lifted a wooden toy dog in his free arm the
other had a firm grip right through the opening
in Kardair's tabard to the linen and chest fur
beneath Look Fatha, it looks like you!
The wooden dog did have white and black painted
fur, but that was the extent of the resemblance.
Jon smiled and churred. Oh my, it does, doesn't
it. Are there any that look like your mother?
But his boy shook his head and waved the wooden
dog about. Just you, Fatha! Will you play knight with us?
Will you show us around the castle? Maria
begged as she almost pranced in her bright yellow dress.
Is Mother going to be back soon?
His heart swelled with delight but he spoke
firmly and gently. It is time for each of you to
get some sleep. When your mother returns, she
will come in and see each of you. Tomorrow we
will see some more of the castle, yes. In a few
days our new home will be ready for us. And I'm
sure there will be other children that you can
play with. Ned, can you help me get them ready?
His nephew Ned had just turned thirteen and had
narrowly avoided suffering the Curse. He had
expressed a bit of disappointment that he had not
yet changed, although he had long since ceased
offering any complaints. In appearance he had the
same bright complexion and build common to the
Kardair family, but the brown eyes of his real
father who had once served as an ambassador for
Metamor before being slain during Three Gates.
When his manly growth finally finished he would
be nearly as tall as his knight and just as strong.
Of course, Ned replied as he picked Maria up in
his arms and made her sit down on the bed. Did
you get yourself ejected from another banquet, Uncle?
His jowls lifted, fangs glistening, though there
was no anger in his snarl. Ned laughed and shook
his head back and forth even as he helped Maria
out of her sun dress. While his children eagerly
tried to tell him about their adventures with the
wooden figurines, Kardair did his best for them.
It was some hours later before his wife and
brother finally retired for the evening. Once his
children had been put in their beds, he prayed
with them, and then joined Ned, and the few
soldiers that were stationed with them in the
Duke's residence. He inquired after the rest of
their retinue, learned of the disposition of
their supplies, horses, carriages, and the like,
and then asked them their opinions on the Eyrie and the castle staff.
He spent a bit of time standing on the terrace
overlooking the lake, with the stem of a pipe
clutched between his fangs, jowls curled around
the wood while thin trails of smoke rose from the
bowl and from either side of his snout. He waited
until the half-moon was at its highest in the sky
before returning inside to offer his evening prayers to Eli.
By the time he had finished he heard the familiar
voices of his wife and brother entering the area
of the residence reserved for them. They found
him crouched by a warm fire in a room with a few
chairs (all of which made accommodations for
tails) and several trophies mounted on the wall.
Good evening, brother, he said to Tarkas,
before gently kissing his wife with his snout. I
apologize again for my outburst at the feast.
Tarkas sighed and slumped in the chair nearest
the fire. You really cannot help it, can you,
little brother? Every offense, every little
threat, you have to defeat then and there. You
could have cost us greatly. Our duties for
Metamor are more important than our pride.
Tarkas's blue eyes found the lemur and in a quiet
voice asked, Are they listening?
The Lady Deya Thores was more than just a woman
of delicate beauty and courtly charm. She was
also gifted in many simple magical arts. While
she could never summon a bolt of lightning or set
stone (or even damp wood) aflame, she
nevertheless could do many things that most men
could only marvel at. She glanced briefly to the
left and then returned her gaze to them both.
There were some charms, but they will not hear
us now. I do not sense any spies listening in. You may speak freely.
Good, Tarkas said with relief. This is
important, Jon. Do not bother yourself with any
insult, with any disgrace, that whelp from
Kelewair tries to bring on you, on Lady Deya, or
on anyone else. If not for him we wouldn't have
any chance here at all. With luck and with some
dignified groveling, I think I can help the Duke
see what a wonderful alliance he can forge with Metamor.
We don't need his help for anything, Kardair replied in a grumbling manner.
We need his help if we hope to push south. In
another five to ten years we can control all the
lands to the Sathmore border if we have Otakar's
help. Trade today, territory tomorrow. Remember
that. Tarkas grunted and made a quick gesture
with his figures; it was patrol-sign, something
that even a spy would probably miss if any
managed to listen in despite Deya's charms.
Kardair read it in an instant, Did he get the message?
Kardair grunted and sat down, making the
affirmative sign back as he did. Very well, it
will be easier with Otakar than without. I admit
that. But I do not like sitting around talking. You know that.
I do, Tarkas replied in the sort of
understanding voice one uses to assure a child
that they had, in fact, done wrong. But if you
are going to protect me, you are going to do
exactly that. I will protect you too, brother,
but you have to help me. And that means no more
foolish stunts or shows of bravery. No more
protecting your honor at each slight. And
definitely, do not ever touch Jaime Verdane
again. We need him right where he is.
Kardair was already beginning to wonder if it was
wise at all to have come to Salinon. It was hard
to say no to a summons from the Duke, especially
one so noble and wise as Duke Thomas Hassan. I
will do as you say. I apologize for the difficulty I have caused you.
Forgiven, Tarkas replied as he leaned back in
the chair and sighed, eyes closed and his hands
crossed in his lap. I am tired and I am full of
food and wine. I think I will get my sleep. I
shall see you both in the morning.
And we you, Kardair rose, his wife's hand at
his side. He wrapped an arm over her shoulders,
lowering his hand to erst just beneath. Her tail
brushed against his. Before he quite knew what
was happening, she had kissed him on the cheek.
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Jaime paced in his tower cell , hands clenching
and unclenching, as he seethed with indignation
and confusion. Until that day he had never before
seen a cursed Metamorian. It had taken all of his
self-control to pretend as if he hadn't noticed
them from the first moment he'd stepped into the
Gyrkin hall. He normally held his tongue when
meeting yet another of the Duke's guests, but
before they had always been dignitaries from
another part of Otakar's domain. Here he had the
chance to meet a guest from afar and that gave
him a chance to show foreigners just how
inhospitable the Duke's hospitality could really be.
He had never thought the Metamorian knight just
what had he been anyway, some sort of rat?
would have actually challenged him to a duel of
honor. That the beast knight had defeated him so
quickly couldn't help but make him grind his teeth together in shame.
But the most perplexing of all had been those
three words whispered into his ear, clearly meant
for him alone. Trust the bird.
What were they doing here in Salinon? Had the
Metamorians come to free him? That couldn't
possible be the case because there was no love
lost between the Verdane and the Hassan houses. A
quiet war had been raging on their borders for
almost a hundred years. The last siege of Metamor
from their south had been led by a Verdane. That
probably meant that they wanted to use him for
some other purpose, something which may or may
not be beneficial to him, but would certainly
benefit the Metamorians. And if that was the
case, they should have sent a vulture instead of a jackdaw then.
A caw at his left made him stop and turn in
surprise and then anger. There perched on his
sill, framed by the starlight in a window that
didn't have bars but may as well have, was the
jackdaw. It bobbed its head up and down as it looked at him expectantly.
What do you want? Jaime snapped, a little
louder than he should have. More prudently,
thought still snarling, he said in a quieter
voice, Do you understand me? What are you anyway? Bird? Pet? What?
But the jackdaw merely sat there and cawed at him
again with an irritating insistence that he knew
he should expect. If not for that beast knight's
hushed admonition, he would have already taken
out the little bit of bread he'd stuffed in his
tunic and begun tossing him pieces. Nothing for
you, Jaime declared with crossed arms as he
finally managed to stop his stalking. Not until you speak for me.
The jackdaw stared at him with his bright eyes,
almost two little stars in the midst of his black
and gray feathers. He cawed again.
Jaime put his hands to his face and then stomped
toward the bird who promptly flew away, only to
appear again at the other window with another
angry caw. Gasping in frustration, Jaime pulled
out the small loaf of bread and tore off a little
chunk. The bird's eyes followed the bread, from
the man's fingers, and then to the spot he threw
it. The jackdaw leaped down to the ground,
snatched up the bread in his beak, gobbled it
down, and then stared up at the man waiting for more.
Jaime slumped against the wall, his heart aching
in the misery of his prison. No tears moistened
his eyes, but he felt very close to weeping.
Through this misery he mindlessly tore at the
bread, tossing each piece to the bird who
greedily scarfed them until there was nothing
left. A few more caws were offered his way, but
at some point the bird understood it was not
going to get anymore and it flew away.
For several minutes Jaime sat there against the
cold stone walls, the numbness beginning to seep
into his back as the night air sucked away the
meager warmth his fire provided. His eyes
remained fixed upon the spot where the bird had
been enjoying his meal but he could see nothing
of it. He would have given up nearly anything
right then to become a bird, even the ability to change back if it came to it.
When his Verdane practicality forced him to climb
to his feet, he realized that there was a little
scrap of parchment nestled in between the stones
where the jackdaw had waited for its treats.
Jaime frowned and bent down to pick it up. Like
the piece the bird had brought him earlier that
day, it had little marks on it that looked very
much like letters. Curious, Jaime stepped over to
his desk and found the other piece beneath his
prayer book. Both pieces appeared to have been
cut by a knife along all of their edges.
Jaime spent a minute placing one edge against
another to see if the marks made any sense. He
was about to give up when suddenly he found that
by not lining up the shorter ends he could see a
single word jump out of the scraps 'free'.
He stared at that word for several minutes, mind
numb but still present. Eventually he took each
piece and stuck them between the pages of his
prayer book. He then shut all the windows, put a
few more logs in the fire, enjoyed the feeling of
the flames as they warmed his face and hands, and
then retired to his bed where he lay staring at
the ceiling as wild orange shadows danced back and forth.
Whatever Metamor truly wanted with him, it was
clear they were going to dangle the idea of being
set free to obtain his cooperation. They would
have it. Maybe, just maybe, no matter what they
intended, he might actually be able to use them
to win his freedom. He was finished being a disagreeable guest.
Although no matter what happened, it was sure to
frustrate Otakar to no end. That thought alone
brought him a cold, miserly satisfaction.
----------
It was very late that evening when a man in his
thirties with already balding head quietly
entered Otakar's private study. Otakar was
enjoying a last glass of wine before he retired
for the night. A pleasant fire warmed him and the
ticking of a clock marked off the seconds. All
else was silent. Otakar read from a book he'd
obtained from Metamor, a strange collection of
fanciful tales that seemed at times very
different from the stories spun by bards or
passed down through family lore. He lifted his
eyes from the pages and smiled to his guest.
Velar, thank you for coming.
It is my pleasure, your grace, the young man
said as he stepped within the room and shut the
door behind him. As you requested, I have news about your guests.
Which ones?
All of them, Velar replied with a smirk.
Otakar's lips tightened, but his chief mage had
earned the right to be a bit sarcastic. He
gestured with a wave of a ringed hand at the seat
opposite him. Tell me of them. Let us begin with
our newest guests. What have you learned of them?
Velar settled himself in the damask chair and
shifted his voluminous sleeves until they dangled
unimpeded from the chair's arms. They do appear
to be what they claim to be. None of the
soldiers, scribes, or servants that accompanied
them seems to believe differently. Although the
Lady Deya Thores did not tell you all that there is to know of her.
Otakar nodded thoughtfully as he brought her
beastly appearance to mind. The strange lady
with the large golden eyes. What was it the
ambassador said she was... a lemur? Yes, that's
it. A lemur. Some animal from the Isle of Manzona I believe.
A traveling circus brought one with them to
Marigund when I was a boy; I recognized what
Metamor's Curses did to her, Velar replied with
the smirk of self-satisfaction. But what she did
not say of herself, your grace, is that she too has magical talent.
Otakar's eyebrows lifted and he took a slow
breath. It was not unheard of for diplomats to
bring a mage with them for protection or for
ferreting out secrets. That one noble born and
whose beauty, regardless of its exotic nature,
was likely sufficient to bring any number of
secrets to the lips of men also employed the
arcane arts made the Metamorians all the more
dangerous. How do you know this, Velar?
She disabled all of the listening cantrips I
placed in those suites within moments of entering.
All of your cantrips? Otakar said as if the
news really dismayed him. She must be quite powerful then.
She has some skill, Velar admitted as if he
were surveying the work of a student. But she
does not see everything. I was able to listen in
to their conversation this evening regardless of
her efforts. In between excoriating that knight
for his discourteous behavior, the ambassador let
slip that his intentions here are to gain your
help in pushing Metamor's borders south. He wants
to take advantage of your capture of Jaime
Verdane to carve up the Southern Midlands, or so he claims.
Truly? Otakar wouldn't be surprised if that
were true. The Southern Midlands had just endured
a bitter civil war that had given him the
opportunity to swing Bozojo to his side. He now
controlled a good deal of the trade along the
Marchbourne and that had already swelled his
coffers and brought a great deal of joy to the
merchant class and even to the farmers and
various guilds in Salinon who saw a greater
demand for their wares. Metamor had solidified
its control over the city of Giftum at the mouth
of the Marchbourne, but had not otherwise pressed its advantage.
They did think that no one was listening, Velar
insisted. Otakar only stared impassively at him.
He would judge the Metamorians intents for
himself. I will use stronger cantrips in the
Kestrel's Wing now that I know of the Lady Thores's gifts.
Very good. I take it then that you have nothing
else of note to report on the Metamorians?
Nothing yet, but it is early. I will learn more.
I am confident you will. What of Jaime? Has he had any more flying visitors?
Velar nodded and his smile regained its usual
confidence. That crow I mentioned just visited
him again. And I noticed something about him this
time that I had missed before.
Otakar sipped at his wine and narrowed his eyes. What is that?
I mentioned that there seemed to be something
magical about him, but that I couldn't tell
what. He waited a moment as if expecting Otakar
to actually prompt him. But the Duke only waited
and eventually Velar continued. Today I figured
it out. The magic on this crow looks exactly like
the magic touching our guests from Metamor.
That did give Otakar pause. The crow is a
Metamorian? What could they possibly want with
Jaime? Has the crow revealed himself?
No, Velar replied and then his expression
soured. And I have not been able to determine
where this bird goes when he leaves the donjon. I
still think a well-shot arrow would be the best solution to this mystery.
Thank you, Velar. Do you have anything else to report?
Velar pressed his lips tight at the rebuff. No, I do not, your grace.
You have done well. Cast your cantrips in the
Kestrel's Wing, and continue to listen and
observe. Do not let your hand be noticed. Now go; I have much to think about.
Velar rose from the seat, placed his hands inside
his large sleeves, and bowed his head. Good
evening, your grace. With that he excused
himself and left Otakar alone in his study.
The Duke leaned back his head and smiled. He
didn't know what the Metamorians were up to but
it was going to be very entertaining to find out.
Perhaps even a good learning experience for his
eldest. And despite his pet mage's complaints, it
was best to let them think their subterfuge
remained undetected for now. Let them gain
confidence and let them have their hope of
success. When the time was right, when he knew
enough that the advantage would be his, he could
let his mage feather that bird with arrows, or
his guards bind in chains that over-zealous knight.
And of course, if he was really lucky, he could
instigate war between Metamor and Kelewair.
Mind awash with possibilities, the Duke of
Salinon sighed in contentment. He would sleep well tonight.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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