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Haste to the Wedding
© 2015 by Walter Reimer
This is a sequel to Blunt Objects, which is a sequel to Mont Rose, which is itself 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, Canto I, and Canto II.
_________________________
Part 21.
Sanddelver studied the gloomy fennec that Aqhm Burrows had dragged into his office. The Aqhm of Troop C had his ears laid back, and his tail dragged despondently behind him as Samuel ushered him in and waved him into a chair. Ayyub didn’t sit down.
He slumped.
After a few moments the mole rat glanced at the older fennec. “What’s wrong?” Sanddelver asked.
Burrows shrugged. “I think he’s worried he’ll miss his wedding,” he deadpanned.
“I really can’t blame him for that. I was looking forward to a cup of wine and a cake myself.” The mole rat took another look at the despondent tod, shook his head and pulled a stoneware bottle from a desk drawer, along with a small cup. He sloshed a small amount of clear amber liquid into it, stoppered the bottle, and offered the cup to Ayyub. “Here, drink this.”
Ayyub glanced at the liquid, sniffed at it - it smelled of cinnamon and mint - before downing it in one gulp. His eyes abruptly went wide as he swallowed convulsively, and he started coughing as he fought to get his breath back. “What – what the Netherhells was that?” he finally managed to choke out.
“It’s called yanmisarap,” the lieutenant said. “’Burned wine.’ Some alchemists down west of the Four Sisters took late-summer wine, boiled it, and when the steam cooled they steeped herbs in it. Pretty tasty, but it has a bit of a kick, as you probably found out,” he added wryly as the tod gasped.
“’Kick?’ More like a fire’s burning in my stomach.” His ears felt hot, as well.
“I’ll wager it cleared your head, too,” Samuel laughed. He pulled a chair over and sat facing his fellow vulpine. “Now, are you going to listen to me?” Ayyub nodded. “Good. Colonel Wolff knows you’re getting married on Midsummer Day. We all do, Ayyub, and we all wanted to attend. But you know that we have a job to do – “
“I know.”
“Don’t interrupt.” Burrows wagged a finger under Ayyub’s nose. “I’m still senior to you, and by Fuma’s Gloriously Soft Tits, you’re going to sit there and listen. Do you think I like it any more than you do? I don’t like the idea of leaving Miryam and the boys behind while I run the risk of getting killed. But we joined the Yeomanry with our eyes open, and to back out now – well, it just isn’t Elfly, and you bloody well know it, Ayyub macFarukh.” Samuel sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well?”
“You could’ve saved your breath, Samuel,” Ayyub said, sighing. “I won’t leave my troop without a leader.” He managed a sad smile. “And we still have three weeks or so before Midsummer, and the sooner we smoke out this little nest of murderers, the better.” He thought for a moment. “My report did mention the fog, right?”
“Yes,” Sanddelver said. “So we know that they have at least one magic-user. By Fuma’s Grace you had someone in the caravan who knew a bit of Gramerye – “ He paused as Ayyub started to grin. “What?”
The fennec’s expression grew sly and he held out his cup. “Give me another tot of that yanmisarap, and let me tell you something about my betrothed’s family . . . “
***
“Weather magicks?” Colonel Wolff asked. The Garrison commander had a disbelieving expression on his lupine muzzle. He glanced across a desk littered with reports at the two fennecs, then across the room at Lt. Sanddelver and Lt. Hart, his adjutant. “Of course I’ve heard of them – and of course I’ve read your report, Aqhm – but you think Mrs. Osmundt can help us?” Before Ayyub could reply, the Colonel sniffed and asked, “Have you been drinking?”
“Just two small ones, sir. To steady my nerves.” Elves, after all, don’t lie.
“Hmm. Don’t really blame you.” His gaze wandered over to the decanter and glasses on a nearby sideboard. “I had to take a nip myself when I got the news about the caravan, but of course you have a more important concern weighing on your mind, eh?” He smiled. “Chin up, lad, it’ll happen, the Lady willing. But back to business. Do you think she can help?”
Ayyub glanced down at his maimed right paw. “From what she and Isabeau have told me, she can affect the weather locally. She demonstrated that up in the mountains when I visited – “
“How?” Lt. Hart asked. Ayyub patiently recounted his meeting with Isabeau in the woods, and his ears dipped as the others laughed. When things settled down, the red deer buck said, “That was up in the mountains. How well can she work here, where it’s drier?”
“I don’t know. If you’ll permit me, Colonel, I’d like to ask her.”
“Hmm. If she can, would she be willing to come with us, do you think?”
The fennec nodded. “It’s possible. Her late husband was in the Imperial and Royal Army, sir.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. A fellow named Viktor Osmundt, retired as a Regimental Sergeant Major.”
Lt. Hart gave a short, barking laugh and as the others turned to him said, “I heard a few tales about him at my last posting, sir. Quite a soldier; he was nicknamed ‘Lucky’ by the squaddies.” Another chuckle. “Had more bits falling off of him than a FAFI tea mug.” That remark caused the others to chuckle.
“I suppose one could have worse nicknames than that,” the Colonel said. “He might have been named Naughtius Maximus.”
“Who, sir?” Proudhoof asked.
“I heard about him when I was an officer cadet. In Standard Elvish he was called Skirt-Chaser. Never met him, or ever heard his right name.” He waved to get everyone’s attention and gestured at them to settle down before looking across the desk at Ayyub. “I want you to do two things, Aqhm Sharpears.”
“Sir.”
“One, I want you to talk to Mrs. Osmundt. Find out how well and how far her magicks can operate in this climate, and if she would be willing to help us.”
“Yes, sir. And the other thing?”
Colonel Wolff smiled. “Reassure your betrothed.”
“Is that what they’re calling it now, sir?” Lt. Hart asked in an innocent tone, and everyone in the room started laughing.
***
Isabeau was making dinner. Something light, incorporating the leftover chicken from her first dinner at the house with Ayyub, with a green salad and bread with butter. Aunt Verity had insisted on staying there with her, and the rest of the families agreed; it wouldn’t be good to leave the young vixen alone at this point.
Verity came into the kitchen, yawning from her afternoon nap. “Oh my, I’d forgotten how hot it can get down here. So,” she asked as she reached under her blouse to scratch her ribs, “how are you feeling?”
“Hmm?” She paused, then shrugged, her tail drooping a little. “I’ve seen him go away before – “
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh?”
Verity smirked at her. “Don’t try to play innocent, my darling niece. The menfolk may not have sensed anything, but I certainly did. And so did your mother, and Ayyub’s mother.” She placed her paws on Isabeau’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “You let him, didn’t you?”
The younger vixen caught the tip of her tongue in her teeth as her ears blushed bright red. “Yes.” She gave a shy grin that changed into a startled look as her aunt pulled her into a tight hug.
“I’m so very happy for you, Isabeau,” Verity said, and she kissed Isabeau lightly on both cheeks. “Your mother and Hannah are happy as well.”
“Thank you, Aunt Verity,” the vixen said, returning the hug and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “His grandmother probably wouldn’t think so.”
“Fatima?” Verity snorted. “Don’t you worry about her. Hannah told me what happened.”
“She did?”
“Throwing you in the canal was the best thing Ayyub could have done.” Verity wagged a finger as she smiled. “You need to work on your temper, my girl.” She was about to say something else, but her ears suddenly perked. “What’s that?”
Isabeau cocked her head and listened.
A rhythmic crunch against the gravel drive, and the jingle of ant-tack.
Isabeau suddenly grinned as Verity felt a passing flutter of Elf-mind. It wasn’t directed at her, but at her niece, whose grin grew exultant.
© 2015 by Walter Reimer
This is a sequel to Blunt Objects, which is a sequel to Mont Rose, which is itself 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, Canto I, and Canto II._________________________
Part 21.
Sanddelver studied the gloomy fennec that Aqhm Burrows had dragged into his office. The Aqhm of Troop C had his ears laid back, and his tail dragged despondently behind him as Samuel ushered him in and waved him into a chair. Ayyub didn’t sit down.
He slumped.
After a few moments the mole rat glanced at the older fennec. “What’s wrong?” Sanddelver asked.
Burrows shrugged. “I think he’s worried he’ll miss his wedding,” he deadpanned.
“I really can’t blame him for that. I was looking forward to a cup of wine and a cake myself.” The mole rat took another look at the despondent tod, shook his head and pulled a stoneware bottle from a desk drawer, along with a small cup. He sloshed a small amount of clear amber liquid into it, stoppered the bottle, and offered the cup to Ayyub. “Here, drink this.”
Ayyub glanced at the liquid, sniffed at it - it smelled of cinnamon and mint - before downing it in one gulp. His eyes abruptly went wide as he swallowed convulsively, and he started coughing as he fought to get his breath back. “What – what the Netherhells was that?” he finally managed to choke out.
“It’s called yanmisarap,” the lieutenant said. “’Burned wine.’ Some alchemists down west of the Four Sisters took late-summer wine, boiled it, and when the steam cooled they steeped herbs in it. Pretty tasty, but it has a bit of a kick, as you probably found out,” he added wryly as the tod gasped.
“’Kick?’ More like a fire’s burning in my stomach.” His ears felt hot, as well.
“I’ll wager it cleared your head, too,” Samuel laughed. He pulled a chair over and sat facing his fellow vulpine. “Now, are you going to listen to me?” Ayyub nodded. “Good. Colonel Wolff knows you’re getting married on Midsummer Day. We all do, Ayyub, and we all wanted to attend. But you know that we have a job to do – “
“I know.”
“Don’t interrupt.” Burrows wagged a finger under Ayyub’s nose. “I’m still senior to you, and by Fuma’s Gloriously Soft Tits, you’re going to sit there and listen. Do you think I like it any more than you do? I don’t like the idea of leaving Miryam and the boys behind while I run the risk of getting killed. But we joined the Yeomanry with our eyes open, and to back out now – well, it just isn’t Elfly, and you bloody well know it, Ayyub macFarukh.” Samuel sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well?”
“You could’ve saved your breath, Samuel,” Ayyub said, sighing. “I won’t leave my troop without a leader.” He managed a sad smile. “And we still have three weeks or so before Midsummer, and the sooner we smoke out this little nest of murderers, the better.” He thought for a moment. “My report did mention the fog, right?”
“Yes,” Sanddelver said. “So we know that they have at least one magic-user. By Fuma’s Grace you had someone in the caravan who knew a bit of Gramerye – “ He paused as Ayyub started to grin. “What?”
The fennec’s expression grew sly and he held out his cup. “Give me another tot of that yanmisarap, and let me tell you something about my betrothed’s family . . . “
***
“Weather magicks?” Colonel Wolff asked. The Garrison commander had a disbelieving expression on his lupine muzzle. He glanced across a desk littered with reports at the two fennecs, then across the room at Lt. Sanddelver and Lt. Hart, his adjutant. “Of course I’ve heard of them – and of course I’ve read your report, Aqhm – but you think Mrs. Osmundt can help us?” Before Ayyub could reply, the Colonel sniffed and asked, “Have you been drinking?”
“Just two small ones, sir. To steady my nerves.” Elves, after all, don’t lie.
“Hmm. Don’t really blame you.” His gaze wandered over to the decanter and glasses on a nearby sideboard. “I had to take a nip myself when I got the news about the caravan, but of course you have a more important concern weighing on your mind, eh?” He smiled. “Chin up, lad, it’ll happen, the Lady willing. But back to business. Do you think she can help?”
Ayyub glanced down at his maimed right paw. “From what she and Isabeau have told me, she can affect the weather locally. She demonstrated that up in the mountains when I visited – “
“How?” Lt. Hart asked. Ayyub patiently recounted his meeting with Isabeau in the woods, and his ears dipped as the others laughed. When things settled down, the red deer buck said, “That was up in the mountains. How well can she work here, where it’s drier?”
“I don’t know. If you’ll permit me, Colonel, I’d like to ask her.”
“Hmm. If she can, would she be willing to come with us, do you think?”
The fennec nodded. “It’s possible. Her late husband was in the Imperial and Royal Army, sir.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir. A fellow named Viktor Osmundt, retired as a Regimental Sergeant Major.”
Lt. Hart gave a short, barking laugh and as the others turned to him said, “I heard a few tales about him at my last posting, sir. Quite a soldier; he was nicknamed ‘Lucky’ by the squaddies.” Another chuckle. “Had more bits falling off of him than a FAFI tea mug.” That remark caused the others to chuckle.
“I suppose one could have worse nicknames than that,” the Colonel said. “He might have been named Naughtius Maximus.”
“Who, sir?” Proudhoof asked.
“I heard about him when I was an officer cadet. In Standard Elvish he was called Skirt-Chaser. Never met him, or ever heard his right name.” He waved to get everyone’s attention and gestured at them to settle down before looking across the desk at Ayyub. “I want you to do two things, Aqhm Sharpears.”
“Sir.”
“One, I want you to talk to Mrs. Osmundt. Find out how well and how far her magicks can operate in this climate, and if she would be willing to help us.”
“Yes, sir. And the other thing?”
Colonel Wolff smiled. “Reassure your betrothed.”
“Is that what they’re calling it now, sir?” Lt. Hart asked in an innocent tone, and everyone in the room started laughing.
***
Isabeau was making dinner. Something light, incorporating the leftover chicken from her first dinner at the house with Ayyub, with a green salad and bread with butter. Aunt Verity had insisted on staying there with her, and the rest of the families agreed; it wouldn’t be good to leave the young vixen alone at this point.
Verity came into the kitchen, yawning from her afternoon nap. “Oh my, I’d forgotten how hot it can get down here. So,” she asked as she reached under her blouse to scratch her ribs, “how are you feeling?”
“Hmm?” She paused, then shrugged, her tail drooping a little. “I’ve seen him go away before – “
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh?”
Verity smirked at her. “Don’t try to play innocent, my darling niece. The menfolk may not have sensed anything, but I certainly did. And so did your mother, and Ayyub’s mother.” She placed her paws on Isabeau’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “You let him, didn’t you?”
The younger vixen caught the tip of her tongue in her teeth as her ears blushed bright red. “Yes.” She gave a shy grin that changed into a startled look as her aunt pulled her into a tight hug.
“I’m so very happy for you, Isabeau,” Verity said, and she kissed Isabeau lightly on both cheeks. “Your mother and Hannah are happy as well.”
“Thank you, Aunt Verity,” the vixen said, returning the hug and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “His grandmother probably wouldn’t think so.”
“Fatima?” Verity snorted. “Don’t you worry about her. Hannah told me what happened.”
“She did?”
“Throwing you in the canal was the best thing Ayyub could have done.” Verity wagged a finger as she smiled. “You need to work on your temper, my girl.” She was about to say something else, but her ears suddenly perked. “What’s that?”
Isabeau cocked her head and listened.
A rhythmic crunch against the gravel drive, and the jingle of ant-tack.
Isabeau suddenly grinned as Verity felt a passing flutter of Elf-mind. It wasn’t directed at her, but at her niece, whose grin grew exultant.
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Vulpine (Other)
Size 960 x 644px
File Size 71 kB
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