This is a sequel to Mont Rose, which is a sequel to Rajjan Tor. The stories are set in  tegerio's Realm of Faerie universe, as shown in his Zandar's Saga here on FA, and The Ballad of Adler Young.

Also check out  eocostello's Realm of Faerie stories:
The Thin Line
From Whom All Blessings Flow
Personal Diplomacy
The Font of Honour
It's Only Funny Until Someone Loses Their Dignity
. . . Is In Another Castle
The Coin of the Realm

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Blunt Objects
© 2014 Walter Reimer
Art by  tegerio

Part Five.



“So, you didn’t lay a paw on her?”

Ayyub glowered at Eadward and the rest of the troop. Over breakfast, each was recounting their adventures the previous night. “Elves don’t lie, Eadward, but by Fuma’s fuzzy ears I swear I refused the Shaykh’s offer.”

“How’d he take it?” another trooper, a fennec, asked.

“I think he was disappointed, Thorwald – you can say what you want about the Shaykh, but he’s got a lot more between his ears than his mane.” Ayyub took another bite of his breakfast, a piece of soft flatbread stuffed with soft cheese, vegetables and seasoned, grilled strips of beef, and chewed thoughtfully before washing it down with tea. “Although the sight of her – “

“What was her name?”

Ayyub huffed a short laugh. “I was told her name was Mina, but as I was saying, the sight of her made me think of Isabeau.”

Thorwald snorted. “Fuma’s nethers, Ayyub! You two aren’t married yet.”

Ayyub snorted back. “Fuma’s steaming honeypot, Thorwald, I guarantee you that if I weren’t betrothed I’d’ve taken her. Right in front of the Shaykh, if he would’ve allowed it.”

The other fennec’s eyebrows went up. “She was that pretty?”

“Netherhells, yes, she was that pretty. And the way she moved!” He wagged a paw and gave a leer. “Like she had an eel for a spine,” and a few troopers whistled and exchanged looks.

“I suppose it’s true, what they say about Southern girls,” a canine remarked.

“If you’d go to the Shrine in town, you might meet one there,” and Ayyub flipped a 5-copper piece at him. “It’s good luck to make an offering to the Lady before we head back.” That drew a few amused chuckles. “Now, what’s the news with the rest of you?”

Thorwald shrugged. “Some wine, a visit to the Shrine,” and he winked. “Nice girl, too, farmer’s daughter.”

“Broad in the hips?” one asked.

“Like my ant’s arse,” and everyone laughed, “but a lot softer.” He flexed his paws and grinned.

“How’d you know about your ant’s arse, then?” another trooper asked, and a few laughed at Thorwald, who flushed red.

“Simple, Wilf. You talk in your sleep.”

Everyone laughed, and a few jumped up to get between Thorwald and Wilf, who had started glaring at each other. “Enough, both of you,” Ayyub said. “We’ve got the rest of the week to pick fights with each other, or get into a scrap in a tavern. There’s no need to do everything the first night, is there?”

“True, Aqhm,” Eadward said.

The remaining six days passed uneventfully, with only one fight at a waterfront inn between Eadward and Eadgar and the crew of a fishing smack. After tossing the last sailor into the harbor, the two bulls spent the night in the city guardhouse until they’d slept off their wine and their bruises had had time to ripen.

On the afternoon of their last day Eadgar entered the caravan guards’ quarters and saw Ayyub sitting at the common table, rereading the scroll he’d gotten before leaving Rajjan Tor. “What’s on your mind, Ayyub?”

The fennec sighed. “I’m not sure if it’s bad luck or Tilki having a joke at my expense,” he said, rubbing his knuckles against the back of his head. “Why did this have to come to me before we rode out? It’s been an almost constant distraction,” and he flicked a corner of the papyrus.

The bull nodded. “Ayyub,” he said, slipping onto the opposite bench, “leaving Tilki – or any of the other Holy Consorts – out of it, maybe it’s the Lady’s Will.”

Ayyub gave him a wry look. “Going to become a priest, Eadgar? You finally ceding the field to Eadward?”

“Hah! Not on your life. But look here, Ayyub, maybe you were meant to get that letter when you did, because it gives you time to think.”

“Think?”

“Think. Think about your relationship, and how to deal with this problem. See, that’s why you got voted Aqhm – you use your head as much as you use your sword or bow. We all respect you, and even more after last year.” The bull sat back. “The Imperials don’t give out the Honor Badge to idiots.”

“Unless they’re very lucky,” Ayyub pointed out, and the two laughed. Ayyub and the other three Yeomanry leaders were awarded the Badge for their actions in defending the Regiment after the charge at Tel Akom had been broken, and in the rear-guard action at Tel Troof. “But I suppose you’re right.”

There was a pause. “So?”

“What?”

“So what are you thinking?”

Ayyub rolled up the letter and grinned at Eadgar. “When we get back to Rajjan Tor, I think a short trip up to Woodbridge will be good.”

“That’s the spirit,” and the bull got up to start packing.

The afternoon was spent getting things packed for the return trip. The caravan’s traders had managed to sell everything they brought south, and were laden with consignments for buyers in Rajjan Tor. The Yeomanry spent the time whetting knives and swords, and making certain that their bows were in good working order. They hadn’t had any trouble from the tribesfurs, but that might likely change as they drew closer to home.

The Stonecleaver clan, sheltering in the hills to the west of Tel Troof, hadn’t signed the truce arranged between Governor Longtooth and Hetman Clawsand. It was rumored that they still had a grudge over their chief being taken prisoner during the rear-guard action.

Another rumor held that the chief had been killed after his return. Weakness wasn’t a quality that the hill tribes cultivated.

They left Tel Akom behind them the next day, the merchants fairly satisfied; they’d made good deals, with only a few cases of furs trying to steal their goods as they stood in the warehouses. Their drovers and the Yeomanry usually discouraged the attempts. One unlucky thief had gotten caught, and Eadward and Thorwald had thought it great fun to tie the fellow up and dangle him by his ankles by the entrance of the warehouse. The city guard had shared the joke, even as they cut the fellow down.

The caravan paused for the night beside the river, making sure they had enough water before braving Fuma’s Oven again. They found it harder going headed north than they had south, with the wind blowing sand and dust in their faces and slowing their progress.

Eadward reined in his ant beside Ayyub, the bull and the fennec both wearing a fold of their hoods over their muzzles to shield themselves from the blowing dust. “This isn’t right,” the bull said.

“You’re right. Wind shouldn’t be northerly this time of the year,” Ayyub agreed. “Magic?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

The wind died down as the sun set, and the caravan settled down for the night. This time they set up a defensive circle with sentries and watch fires banked.

Ayyub was awake and on watch with the last shift of sentries when Thorwald walked up beside him and pressed a cold mug of tea into his paw. “Quiet night, Aqhm?” The fennec shivered a bit in the cool damp of the early morning.

“Yes, so far. Weather’s filthy,” and Ayyub gestured out at the gray murk of ground fog that hugged the surrounding dunes – and that, too, was unseasonable. Do we have any magic-users in the caravan?”

“I’ll go ask.” Thorwald loped off. Ayyub swallowed his tea, poured the rest out onto the sands and murmured a prayer to Fuma before saddling his ant.

Only one drover had enough knowledge to dispel the fog, and then only in a limited fashion; the mist hovered perhaps ten feet over their heads, the rising sun shining wanly through the murk. As soon as the air cleared, Ayyub had his spyglass out and was standing up in his stirrups.

Suddenly he pointed. “There! Northeast! ALARM!” Furs scrambled into their saddles and the caravan drivers readied their own weapons. “First Section, to me!” Six of the Yeomanry troopers formed up beside him, two drawing their swords.

Presently they came into view, ten ants with riders whooping shrill cries.

Ayyub unslung his bow and nocked an arrow. “Steady . . . “ he breathed.

The riders drew closer, close enough to see that they were armed with swords only.

“CHARGE!” His heels drove into Beauty’s flanks and the ant reared before starting to run, his compatriots accelerating beside him.

The distance closed quickly, the ants practically gliding over the sands, Ayyub signaling a slight shift to the left and the others moving with him. The other members of the section had arrows nocked and ready.

They closed the gap between themselves and the raiders, until Ayyub was certain.

He rose, standing up in the stirrups and feeling his leg muscles complain at the strain of supporting his weight, maintaining his balance and guiding the charging ant beneath him. He drew the bowstring back to his ear and sighted on the leader, a stocky weasel.

The recurved bow vibrated as he loosed, his right paw immediately reaching behind him to grasp another arrow from the quiver on his back.

The weasel cried out as the arrow struck him in the right side, and his ant faltered in its charge. Ayyub’s second arrow took the man’s life, straight into his chest. The others in his section saw their arrows either meet their marks or miss, but the initial charge was effective.

Ayyub sat back down, guiding Beauty by gentle pressure with his knees around in a tight circle as he selected another target. Shouts from the other side of the defensive ring told him that another raiding party had attacked, but he trusted Eadward and the other two sections of the troop to hold them off.

Beauty snorted a panting breath through the vents just behind his saddle, her mandibles gnashing together. Ayyub loosed another arrow and stifled a growl as he missed. The trooper on his right had better luck, felling another raider before the remaining riders turned and rode off.

The section pursued them for a short distance before breaking off and circling back to the encampment to find that the other two sections had also beaten back their adversaries. Of the twenty troopers, two were wounded.
Five raiders had been killed, with their wounded being taken by their fellows as they fled. The dead were buried in a common grave, with a stone cairn raised over them before Ayyub led the caravan out of the desert.

The rest of the trip north was uneventful, with the usual stop at Tel Ostori. Ayyub visited the Temple of Fuma and offered thanks to the Lady for Her protection, but had no more encounters.

The wine and food were just as good, though.

The walls of Rajjan Tor loomed before the caravan two days later, and after making certain that the cargo was stored away securely and the troop was paid, Ayyub took Beauty to the stable in town. He made sure she had water, and fed her a lump of sugar as a reward for her hard work.

He then went up the hill to the fortress, to make his report.

“Attacked, eh?” Lt. Sanddelver said when Ayyub had finished. “Stonecleavers?”

Ayyub shook his head. “They weren’t wearing war paint, and we were attacked too far south of where they usually hunt. It might be someone new.”

“Hmm.” The mole rat tapped his fingertips on the table. “Talib’s troop will be going out with the next caravan in a week. I’ll make sure that he gets your report.”

“I’ll tell him myself, if I see him.”

“Good.” The rodent glanced up from his chair and asked, “Anything else?”

“Two things,” and Ayyub recounted his dinner with Shaykh Raddlen Rohl.

Sanddelver took careful notes. “Hmm. I’m going to suggest that the Governor send a representative down there to have a chat with all of the Shaykhs. With Fuma’s help we might – might – see something good come from last year’s tragedy.”

“I agree.”

“What was the other thing?”

Ayyub scratched his neck. “I need to take some time off.”

“Oh? Well, I don’t see a problem with that. Your troop has another twelve weeks or so before they come back up in the rotation. Is anything wrong?”

“There might be,” and he told the mole rat about the letter he’d received.

When he finished, Sanddelver said, “Take as much time as you need. If anything comes up I’ll contact Eadward.” He extended a paw. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.”

The fennec spent the night at Gareth and Marjorie’s hostel, then saddled Beauty and headed for his family farm in the morning.