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


17.


“So, what shall we start with?” Earl Chassi asked. Like Trasta, he was clothed in chain mail with a plate-armor cuirass. His helmet had been forged with a rictus grin for a visage, and it sat a few paces away in an aide’s lap. “As challenged, I suppose I’m within my rights to choose first, but as you’re a Princess I think I should defer.”

Trasta snorted as she took her helmet from Chelli. “You choose, my Lord.”

Chassi sighed. “Very well.” He walked over to a weapons rack and selected a cudgel, a length of smooth wood three feet long and two inches thick. A woven rattan basket acted as a hilt guard. He swung it around and said, “This will do.”

Trasta laughed. “All right, then.” She chose another cudgel from the rack and put her helmet on. After a practice swing to gauge the heft and reach, she stepped into the sparring circle. “Standard melee.”

“Right.” As soon as the buck stepped into the ring Trasta charged at him, swinging the cudgel at shoulder height to numb his sword arm. The Earl barely parried the cudgel downward, twisting his hip to avoid it striking him before chopping at Trasta with his own weapon.

She avoided it easily. His parry and his off-balance position had sapped the strength from his counter. Her next swing almost disarmed him before he could recover completely. His hooves scraped on the sandy surface as he practically danced to his left. He charged at her, the cudgel raised in a guard position.

The doe sidestepped his charge, only to yelp and crumple to the sand as he struck her hard behind the left knee. Trasta twisted and blocked his next swing, then countered as she tried to get back to her hooves. Her left leg was refusing to cooperate, but she got her hooves under her and fended off another blow.

Chassi practically bent backward to parry her swing, the crack of wood against wood loud in the quiet practice yard. He took a step back, and when she lunged he ducked, slamming the seasoned wood upward into her crotch.

Pain exploded through Trasta, robbing her of her breath and she fought the instinct to double over. She gave a roundhouse swipe that ricocheted off Chassi’s helmet, putting a dent in part of the decoration and making it ring like a bell. He staggered back perhaps a dozen steps as she forced herself to stand upright and charge at him.

Truth be known, it wasn’t a fast charge, as the pain in her loins refused to be entirely ignored, but she managed it. She gripped the shaft of the cudgel about a paw-span from the end and swung hard, driving the tip of the wooden club under the Earl’s cuirass. The impact made his grunted ”Oof!” sound like music to her ears, and he fell back onto the ground.

Trasta panted as the buck wheezed in an effort to get his breath back. “”G . . . give up?” she managed to say.

“Urrh . . . huff, huff . . . hyess,” Chassi said. As soon as he said it, his attendant rushed to his side, taking his helmet off and removing his cuirass.

The doe took her own helmet off and gave it and her cudgel to Chelli before walking over to where the buck still lay, looking up at the sky and coughing. He finally propped himself up on his elbows and looked up at her. “Shall we call it a draw?”

She laughed. “No. You lost. You conceded.”

“I did, at that.” He chuckled, then cocked his head slightly. “Are you feeling better now?”

“What?”

“You were a bit angry yesterday. I thought of a way to ease that temper.” He smiled.

Trasta gaped at him. “I could have broken your head, you silly buck. What in Valla’s name possessed you to do that?”

“I’m a loyal vassal of your father, the King,” and the Earl sat up. “I had to do something. Come, Padzi,” and his attendant helped him to his hooves, the equine’s hooves clop-clopping on the sandy ground. Chassi swayed a bit, then bowed slightly to the doe. “If you allow, I’d like to practice against you after lunch. Will that be suitable?”

“You’re a very strange person. “ Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you sure my mother didn’t put you up to this?”

“The Queen? Gods, no, Your Highness.” He walked away, his aide trotting along beside him.

Trasta gaped at him again as he walked away, his tail flicking slightly. What the Underworld was that all about? she thought. Few, if any, bucks had approached her on their own initiative, and those who did usually opened with meaningless compliments or frivolous gifts.

She stared at his tail before she found her voice. “Wait!” He turned and she said, “After lunch sounds fine.”

He smiled and bowed slightly. “Thank you, Your Highness.”


***


She felt his presence against her wards and she opened the door for him with a thought, never turning away from her work.

“What have you learned so far, Halvrika?” Marok asked as he entered the room. He had stopped by his student’s quarters to find scroll everywhere, even on the bed, and the raccoon’s desk piled high with notes. “You’ve been quite busy, I see.”

“Yes, Master Marok.” Halvrika sat back and held up the page she had been writing. “Going through his journals is like putting together a jigsaw puzzle,” she said, “but I’ve managed to piece together how Amb was able to attack me.” She pointed at part of the page. “It’s archaic, but it’s the same spell Master Maffa taught me.”

“Which one was that?”

“To basically separate myself from my body,” she replied, and the bear nodded in understanding. “He felt the trap closing, I’m sure, and performed the spell.” She set the page aside and massaged feeling back into her writing paw. “What time is it?”

Marok raised a brow. “Almost past time for the midday meal. I hadn’t seen you all morning.”

“All morning . . .” Halvrika looked at the piles of notes. “I – I needed to distract myself, from Orn’s death. I guess I may have overdone it.”

“Yes, you certainly did.” The bear wagged a finger at her. “Don’t get too immersed in Jeresh’s writings, Halvrika. The Writ knows what you might find out.”

“I’ve learned quite a few things - about him.”

“Oh? Such as?”

She grinned. “He couldn’t spell worth a damn.” They both started laughing, and the raccoon started to gather up her notes and the pages of the journals. “I’ll put these away and – what?” Marok was sniffing the air. “What is it, Master?”

“Have you been entertaining guests in your room, my dear?” She blushed and her banded tail drooped. “Ah. I see.”

“It wasn’t like that, Master. I mean, I didn’t bring them here – “

“’Them?’ How many were there?” he asked, arching a brow.

Halvrika sighed. “Two. They were blacksmiths I encountered at a tavern outside the city.” She winked at him. “Jealous, Master?”

Marok chuckled. “Hardly, Halvrika. But I do caution you to be careful. That fellow Gond has adherents here in Shuganath, and their number grows slowly. I’d hate to see you injured because of carelessness.” He reached out and brushed one of her cheekruffs with the backs of his fingers in an affectionate gesture. “Now, shall we go get something to eat?”

“Should I clean up first? I mean, you were able to scent them on me – “

“Who said I did?” Marok’s grin was mischievous. “I just asked a question. Your own guilty mind assumed I knew, and you started explaining yourself.”

Halvrika pouted at him. “I’ll never manage to hide anything from you.”

“The day you do, let me know.”