The Black Chapel
© 2014 by Walter Reimer

Art by  whitearabmare

Part 15.


Early the next morning Dame Karalla entered the boys’ tent and clapped her paws sharply. “Wake up, you two slugabeds!” As the two young felines stirred, Seni rubbing sleep from his eyes, the weasel femme made a show of sniffing the air and declared, “I see the two of you will have two hours tonight with the Chaplain.”

“Huh?” Chelli asked, his ears tilting toward her.

“You two should know not to play with yourselves,” and she raised a brow as two horrified expressions jolted both felines wide awake. “Acts of contrition and a reading from the Book of Skulls, I think – and so I shall tell Priest Matati,” and the weasel swept out of the tent before Seni and Chelli had time to protest.

Trasta turned away from the tent flap and stifled her laughter. It was a rather dirty trick to pull, but the two squires were members of noble families, and could become officers in the Army. It simply wouldn’t do for them to become corrupted by temptations of the flesh. Their families expected her to safeguard their morals, as well as their persons, and teach them to act honorably.

Still, she found it hard to stop laughing as she finished her breakfast and got ready to arm for the day’s march.

After being helped into her armor at daybreak by her two now-chastened squires, she accepted a hot roll stuffed with vegetables and strolled around the camp, watching as the soldiers packed. One soldier, a heavyset wolf, sat beside his gear and read a scroll absorbedly. That drew Trasta’s attention; although literacy was widespread in the kingdom, the wolf didn’t look the bookish type. “Good morning, soldier,” she said.

He looked up and scrambled to his feet. “General! I – “

“Calm down, sirrah,” she said soothingly. She smiled as she said, “I’m not here to inspect you, but I’m curious. What are you reading?”

He blushed, his ears laying back, and offered her the document. She opened it, expecting it to be an illustrated collection of salacious stories. She’d seen similar things before.

Her ears went up in surprise as she read the first few paragraphs. The scroll definitely wasn’t pornography.

“ . . . The feral sort of foxes - by which the common person calls those that go on all fours, rather than two as Azos decreed – they know that they cannot help being pursued for the murders that they do daily. For that reason they have holes, either in the ground, or in among the rocks. There, they think, they may be safe, and there they may flee when those that have been injured by them do pursue after them.

“But what should we make of this creature, which I follow and hunt at this time? He is another kind of fox from the common sort. He is a Magic fox; a seducer and destroyer of men’s souls, and he fears that he should be dug out of the ground like a clam from the beach-sand, if he hides himself in the common fox-holes.”

“Now these Magic foxes, these unclean beasts that Azos in His Glory shuns, are protected from hunters like myself. They dare to have their holes in the shadow of the Silver Mountain itself, protected and sheltered from those that would do them harm for the sake of the Pantheon. Yes, my friends, they are sheltered in deed, by the High Priest himself and by the corrupt hierarchy in Shuganath. There these monsters are housed, and there they are safe, for the great priests there profit from the depredations of the beast. They profit by it, as a certain scholar had of a fox in Wolof’s Bridge, far to the east. This scholar had a tame fox in his chamber, where, as he made him a hole behind a hollow bench, the fox went out in the night, and brought to the scholar's chamber hens and ducks, and so the clever scholar profited by the depredations of the beast . . . “

Trasta scowled and looked up from the scroll. The look on her face made the wolf straighten up. “Where did you get this?” she asked, rolling the parchment up in her paws. The title was on the outside of the paper: A Sermon on Hunting, by Gond, a Priest of Azos.

It took an effort to not twist it like it was someone’s neck.

The wolf looked a bit surprised. “Oh, um, well, Your Highness, as we were marching out of Engery one of the furs watching us go gave it to me.”

“I see.” Her expression softened. “Stand easy, sirrah. I’m not mad at you. Do you recall what this person looked like? Or did they say anything to you?”

“Um . . . “ The lupine’s brows knitted in thought. “It was a lady – no, not one of those, Your Highness,” he added hastily as she grinned knowingly. “I’m happily married, I am. Anyway, she gave this to me and told me that my soul would profit from reading it.”

“Hmm. Did this lady give away a lot of these scrolls?”

“Just a few, that I could see.”

Trasta nodded and gave the scroll back to him. “May I ask you a favor? Could I read this after you’re done with it?” The wolf looked surprised, and agreed.

He was done the next morning, after another’s day march closer to the capital. She thanked him graciously and spent part of the night reading it. Several cups of wine didn’t equal a good night’s sleep after she’d read only a third of the document.

The next day, small detachments and divisions of the force broke away from the main body as they got closer to the capital. The units, under the command of their own generals and thegns, were headed to their homes and to their lieges’ fortresses. Finally Trasta rode with her command staff and the garrison troops she personally led to the gates of Shuganath.

There were scattered cheers and shouted blessings from the citizens as the soldiers marched through the city to the Keep. The Captain of the Guard hailed them as they entered, and bowed in salute to the Princess. “Your Highness, welcome home.” He reached out a paw to hold the war-beast’s bridle.

“Thank you, Thegn Stolipi,” the elk doe said as she dismounted from Rukh. “I trust all is well here?”

“It is, Your Highness, and His Majesty has told me that he is anxious to hear your report about Engery.”

Trasta frowned. “Hasn’t he heard from the Order yet?”

“Not yet.” The buck smiled. “He was waiting for you, before he asked the Arch-Adepts to come to the Keep. He told me that he missed his daughter.”
Trasta smiled and took off her helmet, using a paw to shove back her mail coif. “I’m not going to keep him waiting, then. Uncle?”

“Yes, Niece?” Prince Meki said.

“Could you dismiss the troops and see to them, please? I have to go see Father and Mother.”

The old buck snorted. “Fine, fine, you run off and kiss your parents’ paws. Leave the hard work to us old relations . . . “ He winked before stamping off, leaving the two younger cervines chuckling.

“He hasn’t changed a bit,” the deer said. “Acts the same as he did when I was a squire.”

“With the help of Azos and Luli, may he be that way for many years to come,” Trasta remarked, placing a palm against her forehead. “Now, I think the King’s expecting me,” and with a nod to the thegn she entered the Keep.

Although the exterior, like the city walls, were unfinished and still bore the scars of old battles (there was one scorch mark that looked very like a tree), the interior of the place was spotless. Creamy marble from the east covered the interior walls, matched by smooth tan travertine on the floors. Costly rugs deadened Trasta’s hoofsteps.

She squared her shoulders as she came close to the entrance to the throne room, and nodded to the guards. One opened the doors and announced, “Her Highness, the Princess Trasta!” before stepping out of her way and bowing.

There were no rugs on the floor, and her hooves clicked against the stone as she advanced to the requisite thirty paces from the Throne and knelt, placing her mailed fist to her chest in salute. “Majesty, your army returns,” she said proudly.

Aroki IV nodded gravely from the simple granite seat, carved as it was from a boulder of the Silver Mountain. The rock had rolled down and come to rest on that exact spot, so the legend ran; the Keep had been built around it to honor the favor Azos had bestowed on the High House. The King, in some ways, resembled the throne he sat on. He was a massive elk buck, his broad shoulders straining at the fabric of his tunic. Paws capable of bending an iron bar (she’d seen him do it not five years earlier, at a fair; the people were overjoyed to see that their sovereign was undiminished by age) rested on the arms of the chair. One lifted, slowly, as if he was aware of the power he possessed.

“Rise, Daughter,” he said in a deep voice. He smiled as she stood, and he stood up and walked forward to embrace her. “Welcome home, Trasta.”

She hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Father.”

His smile broadened as he stepped back, his paws on her shoulders. “You look well, Trasta, and your mother and I are looking forward to hearing what went on at Engery.”

“It was magic, Father.”

A heavy brow quirked. “That probably explains why the Order wants a chat. I almost thought it was another trick on Marof’s part to drink the cellars dry. But for now, we have a bit of family time, and your mother’s anxious to see you. How’s my brother?”

“Uncle Meki’s fine, Father. He marched – “

“All the way here,” he snorted as she giggled. “Same old buck.” He leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “He used to fall out of the saddle when he was a fawn. That’s why he walks everywhere,” and Trasta laughed.

“Can I get changed first, Father? Before we go see Mother, I mean?”

He waved a meaty paw. “Of course, of course. Go freshen up.”

She stepped back, bowed slightly and was about to turn away when she hesitated. “And . . . Meki?”

Again, the quirk of an eyebrow. “He’s as well as you can expect. Seffa takes good care of him, she’s a good mate.”

Trasta frowned.

“He beats her.”

Her father matched her frown. “I know, and so does your mother. Custom forbids us from interfering with a prince’s marital affairs, Trasta. Meki . . . is Meki, I’m afraid.”

Again, she frowned. “I’d better go get freshened up. Let Mother know I’ll be down soon.” She kissed her father on his cheek and walked out.