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 Four.


With the sun starting to lower itself in the west, Ayyub presented himself at the gate of the Keep. He gave his name and rank to the suspicious attendant, and waited. While he waited, he tried to avoid being or acting too self-conscious about the stares from passers-by. Finally the gate opened and the attendant said, “You are welcome, Aqhm. Follow me.” His tone seemed to indicate that he, personally, would rather have seen Ayyub tossed out on his ears.

He was escorted to a part of the Keep perhaps halfway up the tower, to a balcony that had a sweeping view of Lake Jennefya. Shades of canvas dyed in intricate geometric patterns shielded the eyes from the glare of the afternoon sun. Costly carpets and piles of cushions provided soft places to sit or recline, but the room was currently empty.

The attendant was about to say something, but shut his muzzle as Ayyub stooped and removed his boots. “You are familiar with our customs?” the mouse asked in an almost-sulky tone.

“This is not my first visit to Tel Agraf,” the fennec replied in a carefully neutral, matter-of-fact voice. He was still wearing a knife at his belt, but felt rather confident as he padded barefoot over to a cushion and sat down. Custom in this part of the world held that hospitality was a form of offering to the gods; a guest in one’s house was considered sacred.

The cushion was almost four feet around, upholstered in deep green silk and very comfortably padded. Ayyub settled down to wait, looking around.

The room was decorated in colored marble, with a few screens of carved dark wood folded against the wall. If necessary, they could be used as partitions. The air was scented by the breeze coming in through the balcony, the smell of the lake mingled with the scents of the town’s market.

Ayyub raised his muzzle and sniffed. Yes, the spice market was still open . . . he thought that his host wanted it that way. It was a very inexpensive way of perfuming the air.

The door at the far end of the room opened, and Ayyub came to his feet as an imposing, tawny-furred feline with an impressive mane swept in. The lion was nearly six feet tall and powerfully built, dressed in a caftan of red silk worked with gold thread at the collar and cuffs.

For some odd reason, his toe-claws were painted silver.

He was followed by four lionesses dressed in gauzy silks with thin veils over their muzzles. “Aqhm,” the Shaykh boomed, “welcome! Be welcome in my house!”

Before the fennec could say anything, the lion had swept him up into a rib-cracking hug and kissed him on both cheeks before releasing him. Ayyub staggered slightly before recalling his manners and bowing. “Shaykh Raddlen Rohl, I am honored by your invitation,” he managed to say. “My name’s Ayyub Sharpears – “

“Of course it is, of course it is,” the Shaykh said agreeably. He waved at the cushion Ayyub had been sitting on. “That’s usually mine, but you were sitting in it first. It’s yours until you leave.” He sat down on another cushion, this one upholstered in red. “These are my wives,” he said, with a wave at the quartet of lionesses. “Well,” he amended, seeing the surprised look on Ayyub’s face, “my four favorites, that is. I keep the other four at my estate in Rasha o-Baykan.”

“I’m honored to meet you all. If you’ll pardon me, Shaykh, I was wondering – “

“Why you’re here, eh? There’s a reason for that. I have reasons for everything I do; I’m a reasonable Elf,” the lion said. He clapped his paws, and a group of servants and attendants entered. “But first, we shall eat,” and he dipped his paws in a basin of water held by one servant, then dried his paws on a towel offered by another.

Ayyub followed suit, the warm towel lightly scented as the lionesses reclined a short distance away and small tables were set beside him, the Shaykh, and his mates. The wives chatted among themselves, and more than one looked directly at the vulpine.

He was sure they were trying to work Wiles on him, and he had to admit their eyes were very attractive.

Fortunately, he was distracted by the arrival of covered dishes brought in by servants. The first course was thick fish chowder, served with flatbread for dipping and wiping the bowl clean. The portions were fairly small, indicating that there were a lot of courses in the offing. Magically-chilled water was served with the dish.

The Shaykh had a larger portion than the others, and slurped at his soup with gusto, his tufted tail swinging and brushing at his toes. The pattern held up through the arrival of the second course, grilled feral lamb served on a mound of savory rice pilaf and accompanied by a local red wine.

The lion glanced at one of the lionesses looking at Ayyub. He growled a word, and she smiled coquettishly behind her veil. “Women,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “You are not married?” he asked Ayyub.

“I am betrothed, sir,” the fennec said. “We will get married this summer.” Fuma willing.

“She will be your first wife?” At his nod, the Shaykh allowed a fond look to cross his muzzle. “Ah, the first wife is a treasure, whose luster is only enhanced by the others. Have you a second already in mind?”

Ayyub smiled tolerantly. “We only have one wife at a time, Shaykh.”

Rohl laughed loudly before pausing to cough as a bit of pilaf went down wrong. He took a sip of wine and said, “One wife!? One god or goddess I can understand, but one wife! It’s not to be contemplated, young Aqhm – it is not generous.” He waggled his bushy eyebrows at the fennec and laughed again.

Ayyub found himself laughing along with the bigger feline as more courses were brought in. It was fairly obvious, from the fact that he had eight wives, that the Shaykh believed in acquiring things in bulk as an economy measure.

A fine dessert of candied fruits ended the dinner, leaving Ayyub feeling a bit like a tick. As he sat back on his cushion and surreptitiously rubbed his aching stomach the Shaykh gave a rumbling belch and asked, “Can you think of why I invited you here, Aqhm Ayyub Sharpears?” Before Ayyub could reply the lion said, “I’ve heard of what happened up north last year, and I wanted to see the kind of troops Adler the Prudent had. Were you there?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Shaykh nodded. “And was wounded there.” He gestured at the fennec’s paw.

Ayyub nodded.

Another nod, and the paw raised. “I have no desire to take up the mantle of the S’taykkan, Aqhm, rest assured at that. Have you met Shaykh en-Baykh, from Banghaz e-Maash? Of the rest of us, only he wished to support Tel Ostori, but Shaykh Yerbouti and Shaykh B’for Usain dissuaded him.”

“I am glad of that, sir,” Ayyub said. The S’taykkan Shaykh was the war leader of the Four Sisters’ combined forces, which easily outnumbered the garrison at Rajjan Tor. He relaxed, just a bit. “The battle . . . was a mistake.”

Rohl nodded. “And it’s been said that he paid the price for his . . . mistake.” He popped a slice of candied lemon in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“He did. I was there.”

Rohl spit out a lemon pip. “You were?” He sat forward, almost knocking over his small table. “Tell me what happened.”

Ayyub recounted what he’d seen that day, when one of the Keepers of the Blood Seal had given the late Colonel Fenslough a choice, and the nutria had literally fallen on his own sword. When he finished, the Shaykh sat back and stroked the tuft of fur under his chin. “So, as two children at play, you nurse your hurts and try not to speak of it . . . but enough of this!” he said, his demeanor changing so quickly that Ayyub blinked in surprise. The lion clapped his massive paws. “Entertainment! Let us have tea and songs, and let the shadows pass!”

A trio of liveried servants, all equine, entered the room. Two carried stringed instruments that resembled a small harp lying on its side and affixed to a sounding board and the other a small drum. Members of the Shaykh’s staff and retainers also entered, taking seats around the room or near the lion.

Bowing to their leader, the musicians sat a small distance apart and began to play, with one of the qanun players beginning to sing in a strong tenor:

”A Colonel of Faerie’s out with a thousand Elves to settle the Border-side,
For he’d heard furs say there’d be a raid, and that sore nettled his pride:
But at Tel Akom the vultures came, and feral jackals stayed to feast,
For the Colonel of Faerie had fallen afoul of the Seeress of the East.”

Ayyub fought the urge to wince, barely noticing the cunning, calculating look in the Shaykh’s eyes.

” In Fuma they had placed their trust, the godly lady skunk,
And that day they’d prayed to her, ere the stirrup-cup was drunk:
But there on the sands of Tel Akom their future had been writ,
The Lacktail’s men were worsted, when the Kahin’s magic bit.”

At least the tea was good. He listened as the balladeer went on, aware of the low-voiced conversations between the Shaykh and his retainers, and the occasional quiet titter from the lionesses.

He sat back as the story unfolded, told from the southerners’ point of view; the panic they’d felt as the Regiment marched south, and the preparations they’d made.

“The Hetman raged against his young men, his tailfur bottled out,
For the approach of Faerie’s fighters filled the hearts of all with doubt:
Some counseled flight, and some said fight, and some said either way,
But it was an old adviser who counseled ‘Send for the Kahin straightaway.’”

The tale went on to the actual battle – the parley between the Hetman and the Colonel, with Fenslough arrogant and the caracal defiant; the terror as the defending furs faced the onslaught of the Regiment’s Lancers, and the joy as the Seeress’ magic broke the charge and sent the Imperial troops reeling back.

“The Elves of Faerie fled to the north, fleeing for home and hearth,
Leaving the bodies of those who’d fallen, to be taken into the earth:
As flights of sparrows will harry a hawk, so the fighting men pursued,
Jackals nipped at the lion’s flanks - there was no time to brood.”

No, there hadn’t been.

“’Ride on! Ride on!’ the young men cried, their ants fleeting o’er ground,
As hounds will set upon their quarry, until they’ve run it down:
The defenders cowered behind their walls, their trust in the Lady’s power,
But not a single Elf alive could tell if Fuma would win the hour.”

“A single arrow came from the walls, a bright hot dart of flame,
With a voice that shouted aloud and invoking the Lady’s Name:
With a hiss and a boom and the cry of doom the air itself took fire,
And those who spoke of victor’s laurels were consumed as by a pyre.”

The rest of the ballad spoke of the truce, and spoke of the ghosts of the dead. The last stanza invoked divine protection upon the fallen, and sweet memories for those they left behind them.

There was a short silence, and heads turned toward Ayyub. He could feel the Shaykh waiting for his reaction.

So he gave him one.

The fennec began clapping, and one by one the courtiers followed suit. The lionesses whispered to each other. Raddlen Rohl, for his part, clapped his paws together loudly as the musicians smiled and bowed from their seated positions.

“Well done,” Ayyub said. “Is it acceptable to reward the players?” He dug a paw into a pocket.

The Shaykh smiled broadly. “It is acceptable, and they can use the extra pay, eh?” and he laughed loudly, clapping his paws again. ”Kuleta nje kucheza mbwa!” he called out as a servant distributed the silver coins Ayyub gave him for the players.

One of the qanun players had set aside his stringed instrument and produced a tambourine. With a tinkling flourish and a roll on the drums, a dancer entered the room. The dancer was a fennec femme, dressed in sheer silks that hid nothing at all.

She began to dance, moving sinuously with the music, and as she moved she flashed a look at Ayyub that was a simultaneous challenge and invitation. Her smile and the outlines of her body through the silks were as blatant as a shout.

Ayyub blinked and started to squirm a bit as he mentally recited the Mephitist Prayer Against Temptation.