This is a story inspired by Zandar's Saga and The Ballad of Adler Young, both by  tegerio, and The Thin Line by  eocostello.

It features characters and settings from my own Realm of Faerie story, Rajjan Tor.

Thumbnail taken from this sketch by the talented  xombiehamster.

The story will, over its course, feature Mature and even Adult situations, so be patient and enjoy!

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Part Twenty-two.


With the cavalry and the soldiers formed up, the Regimental band facing the stands sounded a fanfare, followed by the Imperial and Royal Anthem. A brief silence after the wordless tune, and the band struck up the Regiment’s favorite marching song, the romantic ballad Will She Not Come Back Again?

The Regiment advanced in column on the second verse of the tune, the foot soldiers breaking into song as they marched. The Yeomanry took pride of place at the head of the column, to the cheers of the onlookers. Their new banner dipped as the Aqhms drew their swords and saluted while marching past the reviewing stand, and the salute was matched by the assembled officers on the dais. Prince Guillaume acknowledged them with a solemn lift of his Marshal’s baton.

His sword felt awkward in his maimed paw, and Ayyub had almost fumbled it drawing the blade from its scabbard. He managed it, though, and hoped no one had noticed.

As he rode past the stand he heard voices over the sounds of the band. Prince Guillaume was saying to Colonel Bolthole, “I want a peach.”

“I’ll get you a peach, Your Highness,” the feline said, “now salute, please; the colors are marching past . . . “

The fennec suppressed a chuckle as he carefully returned his sword to its sheath.

After the review, the Regiment marched into the town and back to the fortress for the midday meal. Most of the citizens of Rajjan Tor were having their lunch at various restaurants and hostels in the town, the meal decreed by the Viceroy and all bills paid from his purse. There would very likely be quite a few toasts drunk to the Prince’s health.

Later in the afternoon the Regiment’s officers and sergeants gathered with the Yeomanry in the Temple of Fuma for a formal Holy Re-Creation to consecrate their new banner. Crystallized perfumes and dried herbs were added to the stone, and as the flames died down after the addition of the Reagent the green-and-brown-striped flag was waved through the haze of sweet-smelling smoke.

Another reason for the ceremony was to invoke Fuma’s aid in maintaining the treaty and encouraging friendship between Faerie and Tel Ostori.

By the time Ayyub rode home that night, he was swaying slightly in the saddle, and even Beauty seemed tired. He led her into her stable, removed her tack and made sure she had plenty of food and water before going into the house.

“Ayyub!” his father said as the younger fennec walked in. “Welcome home, son. You look tired.”

“I am – thanks, Mother,” he said as he flopped into a chair and his mother brought him a cup of fruit juice. He drank deeply and sighed. “I feel like I’ve been in the saddle for a week,” and he tugged his collar open.

“I’m not surprised,” Alys said. He glanced at his sister as she added, “You had a lot of eyes on you.”

“Eyes?”

“Oh yes,” and she giggled.

He took a sip of his juice. “Tell your friends I’m already betrothed,” he said sourly.

“Hmmph. You’re too tired to tease. I’ll try again tomorrow,” and the vixen left the room.

Farukh chuckled as his daughter walked out. “Could I see the certificate you got with your Honor Badge, Ayyub?”

“Certainly, Father,” and he passed over the scroll. Farukh opened it and read it carefully as his mother came back in, refilled his cup and read the parchment over her husband’s shoulder. “I think I’ll have it framed.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Hannah said. “It’s beautifully written. The copyist must be very talented.”

“I know. I hope it won’t fade over time.”

“I doubt it,” Hannah said. “I’ll wager it’s been magicked somehow to keep it from decaying.

“All the more reason to treasure it,” Farukh said as he rolled up the scroll. “Do you have anything else scheduled, Ayyub?”

The tod sat up and thought for a moment. “We’ll be escorting the Viceroy and the Governor when they leave. Wiglaf and Talib’s troops will escort the Hetman partway back to Tel Ostori, and after that things should settle down.” He flexed his injured right paw.

“Paw bothering you?” Hannah asked.

“Just a little.”

“Ayyub . . . “

“I’m not lying, Mother. With two fingers missing, the others have to work harder.” Ayyub drank the rest of the juice in his cup.

“I have some willow salic,” Hannah said. “Would you like some?”

“Yes, please,” and Ayyub smiled as his mother kissed his cheek and took his cup back into the kitchen. While he waited for her to come back, he thought of how proud Isabeau would be, and then thought of an appropriate woodworker in town to frame the scroll properly.

It was just before noon the next day when the two delegations left Rajjan Tor. Ayyub’s troop, along with Samuel’s and a cohort of Lancers, escorted the Governor and Viceroy north. Following protocol, they would go far enough that the fortress atop the mountain was no longer visible. They would turn back then, leaving the Governor’s Lancer escort and the Life Guards Cataphract to escort Prince Guillaume.

Having completed their escort duties (and received a round of pawshakes from both the Prince and Governor Longtooth, the riders headed back to Rajjan Tor. They didn’t need to keep a set formation for the return journey, and Ayyub glanced behind him to see Albie Fuchsbau coming up on his right.

“Ensign,” the fennec said, “congratulations on your promotion.”

“Thank you, very much, Aqhm,” the younger tod said, “and you with the Honor Badge! Not many Elves get those, you know.”

“I know. Which reminds me: Private Amaram – “

“Yes?”

“With so many Honor Badges, how is he not an officer yet?”

The gray fox chuckled. “It’s not for want of trying, I’ll tell you. Father says that he tried repeatedly to get the duffer to accept a field commission, but Amaram won’t hear of it. Won’t say why, either.”

“Maybe he likes FAFI tea?”

Albie laughed. “It makes a good substitute for vinegar for polishing armor, at that. He’s a queer one, he is.” He waved an armored glove at the subject of their conversation as he rode past. Freed of the requirement of riding to military standard, Amaram slouched in his saddle like a sack of meal.

The Yeomanry, being made up of volunteers, slowly separated from the group and headed for their homes, leaving the Lancers to continue on to the fortress and their own quarters.

The next few days saw life returning to a certain familiar rhythm. Ayyub helped with the chores around the farm and spent several hours each day at the fortress, helping Lt. Sanddelver with the paperwork. Eadward was still his troop’s field commander and the bull was still having trouble getting his reports right.

To be perfectly fair, he was a bit preoccupied. His duties usually kept him away from home, and his twin brother Eadgar was slowly breaking down Leila’s resistance to marrying him.

One afternoon he and Sanddelver were going over a report from Persoc Tor when the Corporal of the Guard knocked on the doorjamb. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Sir,” he said to Sanddelver.

“What is it, Corporal?” the mole rat asked.

“Messenger fer th’ Aqhm,” the noncom said. “’Ere, you,” and a young kitten appeared in the doorway with a small box in his paws.

Ayyub recognized him. He was the son of the owner of The Tailless King, the hostel that served as the coach stop on the Great Road. “Yes? What is it, young fellow?”

“Are you Ayyub Sharpears?” the youngster asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“Package for you. All the way from Mont Rose, my Ma tells me.”

Ayyub smiled and dug into the purse at his belt. “Here you go, lad,” and gave him five coppers.

The kitten’s eyes gleamed and he gave Ayyub the package. The fennec tod started to open it as the corporal showed the kitten out. “What’s that, Ayyub?” Sanddelver asked.

“Something I bought at Mont Rose – oh.”

Inside the wrapping paper was a pair of leather gloves. The left was sized to fit him, and had the correct number of fingers; the right glove was – different.

There were leather covers for his thumb, index and middle fingers, and a curved flange of hardened, boiled leather replaced the missing ring and little fingers. The inside was carefully padded to protect the stumps.

Sanddelver looked them over. “Good workmanship.”

“Yes.” Ayyub pulled them on. They fit perfectly, although the flange would take a bit of getting used to.

The mole rat gave a knowing smile and closed his portfolio. “Ayyub?”

“Hm? Yes?”

“Go home.” He nodded toward the fennec’s paws. “You might want to get them broken in, and you probably want to do it in private.”

Ayyub looked at his gloved paws, then at the rodent. A moment, and they both started to laugh.

Back at the farm, he changed out of his uniform and dressed in workaday trousers and boots. With the warm weather there was no need for him to wear a shirt, and he busied himself stacking up an Elf-sized mound of hay before turning to the sheathed sword that lay nearby.

The hilt fit his paw easily, and he slowly began doing elementary exercises with the blade. The drill was something he was used to, and his thoughts turned to Isabeau.


End