The Gray Tower
© 2014 by Walter Reimer
(This is a sequel to The Black Chapel. Reading the earlier story isn’t really necessary, but you may find it useful. Just saying.)

Art by  whitearabmare


Part 6.


King Aroki was studying a dispatch from one of the kingdom’s southern realms when his ears swiveled at the sound of swords crashing against shields. For a seasoned soldier like the buck, it sounded like sweet music to his ears. He left the correspondence on the table, picked up the tall mug of beer that sat beside the dispatch box, and crossed to the open window.

A group of men-at-arms had gathered to watch his daughter and a bear easily his own size trade blows. Both were wearing mail hauberks and were armed with short sword and round shield. Aroki scowled as he realized that the swords weren’t blunted.

That girl takes too many chances, he thought as he watched the bear and the elk doe crash into each other. Trasta was holding her own rather easily, thank Valla, because the ursine was definitely not pulling his punches. The doe’s hooves dug in as the serjeant tried to shove her off balance, and she parried the remainder of his charge by angling her shield just so.

The bear closed on her again and his knee jackhammered into her crotch as they clinched. Trasta spit in his face as she staggered back, visibly trying not to vomit or fall to the ground. The crowd booed her opponent, although it was part of any soldier’s melee training. When fighting at such close quarters, any tactic was permissible.

Trasta parried another flurry of blows from the ursine, swept his shield aside with her own and returned the favor, the armored spat on her hoof hitting him squarely in his unarmored codpiece. The bear howled and fell to the ground, curling into a fetal ball and puking up his breakfast. The watching soldiers cheered their Princess and general, a few exchanging coins with others. A few walked over to the bear and rolled him onto his side so he wouldn’t drown.

Aroki smirked and turned away from the window. Trasta was a worthy child of the High House, but her continued resistance to getting married bothered him. Perhaps it was indeed Azos’ will that Meki and Seffa’s fawn would be the next King. The big buck sighed and went back to his desk, setting aside the dispatch he’d been working on and taking another from the box.

He read it over and frowned. This was a missive from a district south of Engery, and the provost there was reporting an increase in criminal activity. Notably, some of the crimes were being directed against the City Guard themselves and was usually accompanied by a passage from the Book of Skulls scrawled on a convenient wall.

For the record, the magistrate had copied down the passage. It was The Skull of the Lonely Hunter, chapter two, verse 7: Those who turn their back upon the Gods deserve death.

The magistrate was asking for guidance regarding the punishment of the ringleaders, who had been found guilty and were awaiting sentence.

Aroki frowned at the man’s timidity and took up his quill. He dipped it in the inkwell, shook an excess drop onto a notepad, and wrote, An attack upon the Guard is an attack upon the Kingdom. These people are to be hanged according to the law. See to it, or you hang with them. A.R. He sanded the parchment and put it aside for the next courier.

There were times like this, he thought, that he was jealous of his daughter. She wasn’t cooped up in an office, looking over dispatches from all over; she could simply spend the morning beating up some soldier who thought the doe was a pushover simply because she had breasts, not antlers. With a grim smile, he took out the last dispatch.

Ah. Here it was.

The Court of Nobles was requesting the Royal Assent (a formality, actuality) to issue warrants to His Highness the Crown Prince Meki of Issem and to Adept Halvrika Hringurhali of the Order of the Surveillant Eye, demanding that they appear or be made to appear before the Court. The matter was an alleged assault upon the Prince by the Adept on thus-and-such a date, and the Court was requesting that the hearing be held four days after both parties had received their warrants. The request was signed by Duchess Rolna, dated so-and-so . . .

Aroki sighed, and signed his name, adding the intricate flourish that told people that he had signed this personally. Privately he thought that Meki was exaggerating; the raccoon sow was a bare slip of a girl, a couple years younger than Trasta and nowhere near as strongly muscled as his son or daughter. Meki was older, and despite his crippled right leg he could swing a sword or fist with telling effect.

The buck had gone to school with Rolna, and he always found it hard to recognize the girl who laughed at him with the dour woman the canine had become. Well, Azos and Dator set the course of every fur’s life, so it was perhaps meant to be.

He gave a wry grin at the memory of the bucket of slops she’d balanced over his door, and their mutual horror when his father had opened the door first. The King had laughed about it, even as he put both children over his ordure-spattered knees and spanked them both soundly. Shaking off the memory, he sprinkled a bit more sand on the signature. After blowing on it to dry it further, he picked up a small bell and rang it.

A liveried footman stepped into the office. “Majesty?” the young wolf said.

“Take this to Duchess Rolna,” and he folded up the request and sealed it with wax. “Wait for her to read it, and bring back any messages.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Oh, and tell her this for me.” At the wolf’s attentive flick of the ears Aroki grinned. “Tell her that I had better not see her with a bucket.”

Mystified, the wolf repeated the message before taking the parchment and slipping out of the office.


* * *


Halvrika’s gray-green eyes opened, then crossed almost comically.

A bumblebee had perched on her nose while she meditated, the insect rubbing its pollen-dusted forelegs together while flexing its membranous wings. It had obviously paused there for a short breather before resuming its search for flowers. All Halvrika had to do was wait, and it would fly off.

Unfortunately, the bumblebee started looking around at the strange new world of fur and skin it had discovered, and strolled about to explore. Its abdomen, equipped with a wicked-looking stinger, flexed as it breathed, and the small black antennae on its head swiveled like the sow’s ears.

The raccoon sat very still, not wanting to spook the creature and maybe getting stung.

The bee skirted close to her nostrils, then took off. Once she was sure it was gone, Halvrika gave a sigh of relief and slowly began to stand up, brushing grass from her trousers with her banded tail as she did so. She felt a great deal better.

It wasn’t quite lunchtime yet, so she went to the Order’s library. Not to get any information on Jeresh the Black or the spell threads that were lodged within her; she would have noticed books like that after the restricted areas were opened to her after she reached Adept rank. She skimmed through the stacks of books and scrolls, looking for anything about erasing tainted magic from material objects.

She reasoned that she could help Marok and Ast when she had to read Jeresh’s works.

One book had an inkling of what she was looking for, discussing how artifacts such as paper could have magic infused into them. In fact, it was a technique known to the Masters for safeguarding confidential messages or setting permanent wards.

“Hmm,” she mumbled to herself, “if it works that way, I might be able to release it by working backwards . . . “ She read on, not paying attention to the Novice walking up to her.

“Adept?”

“Hmm? Oh! What can I do for you?” the raccoon asked.

The Novice was a raccoon like her, a boy maybe half her age. “There’s someone at the gate for you.”

“Thank you.” She put the book away carefully and followed the Novice. She noticed his inquisitive look, but the books would refuse to even come off the shelf for him until he reached her own rank.

The man waiting at the gate was a squat stallion in the uniform of the Royal Guard. He bowed as she approached and she asked, “May I help you, Guardsman?”

“Are you Adept Hringurhali?”

“I am.”

“I am required to give you this,” and the stallion held out a rolled scroll bearing the seal of the Kingdom in golden yellow wax. As soon as she took it he bowed again and walked off.

“What is it, Adept?” the Novice asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Halvrika sighed. “Probably a lot of trouble.” He trotted off to his studies while she turned the scroll over in her paws. She could sense nothing inimical apart from the whisper of power in the seal, showing that it was authentic. The sow cracked the seal and unrolled the parchment as she walked.

To Halvrika Hringurhali, Adept of the Surveillant Eye, hail and greeting.
Know that your presence is demanded before the Court of the Nobility of Shuga four days after the receipt of this Royal Warrant to testify and speak the Truth regarding allegations of bodily assault laid against you by His Royal Highness the Crown Prince Meki.
You are commanded to present yourself before this Court at the Royal Palace on the third hour of the morning upon the day appointed. Failure to appear before this Court will result in your immediate arrest.
Heed this and tremblingly obey!
Signed by my paw and sealed in the City of Shuganath.
Rolna, Duchess Blanak.

“Yes,” Halvrika muttered, “definitely trouble.”