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Middenly Charms
© 2016 by Walter Reimer
A hearty thank you for the use of characters by
eocostello set in 
tegerio’s Realm of Faerie universe!
Part 7.
On the road.
Again.
The first time I took the Great Eastern Road to Mossford and Flourford, I was on my first mission as a Blood Seal Bearer. A great many years, and a great many adventures, have transpired since then.
We were several days out from Albric Tor and maybe another day’s ride away from the United Cities. We were sharing a coach, Prince Erik, the Wolf Queen and I, with a few other coaches bearing the diplomatic delegation that King Adler had attached to us. (“The ones,” the Wolf Queen observed, “who will be doing the work, at least in the mind of those at the Palace.”) A troop of stern-faced Lancers escorted our little caravan, and after watching one gaunt feline on his ant ride by, I asked Prince Erik something that had been on my mind.
“Why is Laird Vortimer all scarred? Surely a diplomat – “
Prince Erik chuckled. “He’s retired. We only use senior combat veterans as diplomats and envoys. It’s a customary thing to do – send out someone who’s shown that he can take care of himself.” He glanced out of the coach as another Lancer rode past. “Laird Vortimer’s survived two wars, and eleven inter-clan fights in his lifetime. He’s more than earned his scars, and his current post is an honorable one. He might well have been insulted had he NOT gotten this posting.”
“Eleven inter-clan fights?” I asked, knowing that the Marshal would want that information in my report. “Over what?”
The wolf mel tapped the side of his nose and smiled before sitting back. “Say you have two neighboring clans, both raising feral sheep.” I nodded. “One of your sheep gets stolen, and you want it back. There’s two ways you can do it, and the law’s very clear on that. You can either steal it back, risking a beating if you’re caught, or issue a challenge against the neighbors, and put your faith in the Great Alpha.” His eyes momentarily glanced at the Wolf Queen, who was listening interestedly. “Sometimes injuries occur, but the law demands that the fight stops at first blood.”
My ears dipped and I cleared my throat. “It sounds a bit harsh.”
Prince Erik’s gray eyes grew a bit cold. “We can be a harsh people, Master, as I’m sure you recall from your fights with us. But we have a sense of honor, and the law helps prevent blood feuds that can last for centuries. My grandfather used to regale me and my brothers and sister with tales about the rise of Clan Vangaria to High Rock and the Great Lair. It lasted over five hundred years, off and on, so he said.”
“How did it start?” the Wolf Queen asked.
Prince Erik looked thoughtful. “According to my grandfather, it started when the Wolf Queen wandered into the lands of the Gray Horde,” and her ears stood straight up in surprise. Mine did, too, and I listened more intently as he went on. “Clan Brihtholme had become corrupt and brutal – even by wolven standards – and the Wolf Queen demanded that justice be restored. The Pack Leader of that Clan challenged her, and she slew him. Most of him was supposedly buried under the four main towers, but his skull was made part of the Great Lair’s foundation.” He paused and closed his eyes before reciting:
“Feeder of ravens : Bold Long-fang
Wolf Queen’s blade : Shortened him
Skull of the Jarl : Sleeping deep in stone
Mind your step : Crossing the door.”
He opened his eyes and looked at us. “It may be a legend. The Lair’s been rebuilt at least twice since the Vangaria became the Ruling Clan, and as far as I know no skull’s been found under the threshold.” The wolf mel gave the Wolf Queen a smile. “I regret to say, Wolf Queen, that you may find quite a few people staring at you.”
“Because of my resemblance to the original Wolf Queen?” she asked. “Or my resemblance to your Great Alpha?”
“To be frank, both,” Prince Erik said. “The High Archimandrite will definitely want to speak with you.”
“Excuse me,” I interjected, “the who?”
“The High Archimandrite of the Worshippers of the Great Alpha, to give his full title,” Prince Erik replied. “My grandfather used to call him the ‘Loud Howler,’” he added with a bit of a chuckle before looking out the coach window again. He pointed. “Is that the lake where you fought Lord Aelfric?”
I scooted over and, yes, there was the gleam of water far off in the distance, through the trees. I nodded. “Yes, that’s where it was,” I said somberly. “It doesn’t look like they ever drained the lake.”
He glanced at me. “Why would they do that?”
“To recover the bodies and their armor.” Elves don’t lie.
After a moment (a long moment), the wolf nodded, his paws idly toying with his glengarry. “It’s what we would do too,” he said. We both went quiet, and I reflected on Fuma’s Will, wondering why, of all the Elves in Faerie, She had to single me out to do things like this.
Thinking back on the conversation, I also thought to myself (behind shields against Elf-mind) that there was a third group that would be staring at the Wolf Queen - largely at her arse. But believe me, with her sitting right beside me in the carriage, it would have been folly to express that out loud.
The skies had been threatening rain all day, with the clouds stubbornly refusing to open and end the suspense. Shortly before we stopped for the night in Flourford, though, the rain started coming down in perfect sheets. It being summer, it was a warm rain, but you’d get soaked just as quickly. We were also entering the area where the troops that the Marshal had sent were concentrating, and several times our procession was stopped and papers were checked. During that whole process, I saw that Flourford was a little bigger than when I was here last, and the buildings were all made of brick.
At one intersection, I saw something that immediately made my blood boil. There was a strategic crossroads just outside the village, and the squaddies that were supposed to be watching the road were instead squatting under a tree around a small fire, having a brew-up.
Blood Seal Bearer or not, ad hoc diplomat or not, I was still a Corporal in the Imperial and Royal Army, by Fuma’s Spacious and World-Birthing Hips, and before I could stop to think about it I had a paw on the door-handle. These idiots were going to end up guarding the intersection in their small-clothes, if I had anything to say about it.
The Wolf Queen put out a paw and rested it on my shoulder. “What?” I asked.
She shook her head and indicated where the two Lancer sergeants were already dismounting and striding toward the miscreants. “You already have a mission, Master. Don’t get caught up in the stupid.”
“The what?”
She pursed her lips, and then spoke slowly, as to a dim-witted fawn. “Just don’t get distracted from the task at paw.”
I wondered about that, as I regained my seat to the sweet music of falling rain and sergeants bawling out erring squaddies. We reformed and were about to move on to Sainted Oaks when there was a horn-blast and the sound of approaching cavalry.
The Lancer lieutenant rode back to our coach and said, “Just a patrol, sirs, ma’am. The whole country roundabout’s filled with Imperial troops, and you can’t fault them for being a bit skittish.” He glanced back and his feline ears went down. “I was told we can expect safe passage, straight to the border.” Rain dripped from his whiskers. “Mind you, if there’s an attack – “
“We’ll deal with that when it comes,” the Wolf Queen said before I could open my muzzle. The Lancer officer looked a bit startled before touching the dripping brim of his duckbill helmet and steering his ant back to the head of the column.
“Are you thinking that I can dissuade the Horde if they come over the border?” Prince Erik asked.
The Wolf Queen smiled. “No, but I expect you to be fighting side by side with the Master against them.” Her smile widened to bare her teeth. “Or I’ll send you to the Great Alpha myself.”
He gulped and glanced at me. “I think she’s serious.”
“Elves Don’t Lie, Your Highness.” I glanced at the wolfess. ”Did you really mean that?” I queried her in Elf-mind.
”Of course,” came the swift reply. ”If they attack after asking for peace, then their leaders are Unseelie, and I will have to do what my predecessor did.” I must have looked a bit disturbed at that, but she ignored me and started looking out at the rain-swept landscape.
We stopped for the night at Sainted Oaks, the chief city and capital of the United Cities. Rooms had been arranged for the entire delegation, and dinner was all paid for. The United Cities being mainly populated by squirrels, I had a wide range of vegetarian dishes available, along with a very tasty hazelnut cake for dessert.
There was a fox in the kitchen, so Prince Erik and the Wolf Queen were able to get some meat for dinner. That puzzled me a bit, because as I had remembered it, there had been some small communities of wolves in the realm. It was one of the justifications the Gray Horde had for their invasion. A passing waiter, when asked, sniffed and said, “After the Empire forced the Horde out, we rounded up all the wolves left here and shoved them across the border to join their kind. Good riddance, says I – no offense,” he said hastily, seeing Prince Erik’s ears go flat against his head.
The prince was rather quiet the rest of the night, and retired to his room immediately after dinner. The Wolf Queen and I, therefore, were the ones regaled with a ballad named The Horned Ghost.
The Wolf Queen blinked as I laid my head down on the table, grinding my teeth. “It’s a rather nice ballad, compared to The Howling of the Wolf Queen,” she observed. “You come off rather well – six feet tall, arms like tree trunks – “
“Pack it in, please,” I groaned.
“ – Nose the size of a large coconut – “
Grr . . .
She rubbed salt in by humming the tune the next day as we headed for the border.
The rain had stopped sometime during the night, and the day promised to be sunny, steamy and hot as we boarded the coaches for the next leg of the trip. The Lancers had been augmented by a troop of the United Cities’ mounted militia, mostly squirrels with a smattering of rabbits. They were also about as far away from the Lancers’ discipline as day is from night. They looked more like a gang of armed, surly youths than a military force.
One of the youths deliberately rode alongside our coach, glaring at Prince Erik while fingering his sheathed sword meaningfully. He kept at it until I got a touch irritated at him and formulated a bit of Gramerye that caused his ant to slip and throw the surly squirrel from his saddle, right into a convenient (and deep) mud puddle. He got up cursing as his mates jeered at him, and we had a bit of peace.
“They’re – they don’t like wolves around here,” Prince Erik ventured. “Can’t say that I blame them. Uncle Aelfric was rather uncompromising, if I recall him.”
“There were quite a few farms burned,” I said, “and many of the natives were killed or driven from their homes.”
The noble wolf nodded. “Those are standard tactics, according to our military manuals.” He was choosing his words very carefully, as if he was tiptoeing through stinging nettles.
”Enough, Master,” the Wolf Queen said. ”He’s had the opportunity to have his eyes opened about his enemies, and he feels sympathy.”
”I don’t blame him for the actions of his uncle or the armies under the Great Wolf’s command,” I replied. Still, I decided not to mention what I had seen around Sainted Oaks, Lark’s Rise and Mossford, and Auld Tom’s pipe stayed in my Elfintory.
Our little caravan pulled to a halt just before midday and the Lancer officer rode back to us. “We’re at the border now,” the tabby said, “so here’s where we’ll part ways.” He touched two fingers to his helmet. “The Lady go with you.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” I said, and saluted before I took a small case from my Elfintory. Inside it were letters from Laird Vortimer and King Adler, establishing our bona fides and accrediting us as diplomats, with full rights of immunity, etc. etc. etc. Prince Erik took his, examined the seals, and placed them in his lap, while the Wolf Queen just looked at hers a tiny bit nervously.
No doubt recalling the last time she’d been given diplomatic credentials. No ospreys about, luckily.
The coachfurs dismounted and walked back to United Cities territory as heavier footfalls could be heard. Our coach rocked slightly as a new driver mounted up, and a stern gray wolf wearing a lieutenant’s pips on his shoulder tabs rapped on the door. “Ye’ll be wantin’ ta step oot t’coach,” he rasped, tucking a swagger stick under his left arm.
His eyes bugged out and his tail went rigid at the sight of the Wolf Queen as she stepped regally out of the coach. He stepped back as she manifested her wings and a crowd quickly gathered, the wolves ogling her shamelessly as Prince Erik and I climbed out of the carriage.
The Wolf Queen pulled Sun-and-Moon from her Elfintory and struck a pose, and a few lupine squaddies started to howl. They didn’t get very far before their sergeant waded in with fists, foot and swagger stick and restored discipline. She looked at the still-gaping lieutenant. “Aren’t you going to examine my credentials?” she asked.
I was surprised. I thought he was already doing a detailed examination.
He finally snapped out of it and took the scroll she held with a shaking paw. He read it through and gave it back, giving an almost puppylike yip of surprise when her wings went away. Prince Erik then stepped forward, and the officer snapped to an almost painfully rigid attention and saluted. “Yor ‘Ighness, SAH!”
“Stand easy, Lieutenant,” the Prince said in a wry tone, “we’re the same rank.”
“SAH! I beg yer pardon, but by order of t’Grand Duchess, we’re t’consider ye promoted. SAH!”
Erik frowned. “Promoted? To what?”
“SAH! General, SAH!” Prince Erik looked gobsmacked again as the Lieutenant verified the Prince’s paperwork and, after giving it back to Erik and exchanging salutes, turned to me. “’Ere, laddie, yoor a wee one, an’ nae mistake. Yoor Mum know yer awa fro’ hame?”
I offered my credentials. “Corporal the Master of Elfhame, Westersloe Winterbough, Fifth of His Name.” Needless to say, I was at attention when I said this. I’m not going to let anything cause me to make the I&RA look bad.
A few of the lupine squaddies laughed. “Ye sure?” one jeered. “Yer nae so tall as m’ – OW!” He started jumping around, batting ineffectually at the flames that licked at his boot.
“Aye, I’m sure,” I said in a passable imitation of the standard Gray Horde accent. I’d been around the ones up in Elfhame long enough to pick up a bit of it.
The rest of the delegation’s papers were in order, so we were given an escort of ant-cavalry. (“Bloodtooth’s Cataphract,” their commander announced them proudly. Ever notice they never call a unit simply “Fred’s Ants?”) We were waved through the gate across the road, and I headed into the demesne of an enemy I’d already fought twice.
Hopefully, a third time being the charm would not be necessary.
(NEXT)
(PREVIOUS)
(FIRST)
© 2016 by Walter Reimer
A hearty thank you for the use of characters by
eocostello set in 
tegerio’s Realm of Faerie universe!Part 7.
On the road.
Again.
The first time I took the Great Eastern Road to Mossford and Flourford, I was on my first mission as a Blood Seal Bearer. A great many years, and a great many adventures, have transpired since then.
We were several days out from Albric Tor and maybe another day’s ride away from the United Cities. We were sharing a coach, Prince Erik, the Wolf Queen and I, with a few other coaches bearing the diplomatic delegation that King Adler had attached to us. (“The ones,” the Wolf Queen observed, “who will be doing the work, at least in the mind of those at the Palace.”) A troop of stern-faced Lancers escorted our little caravan, and after watching one gaunt feline on his ant ride by, I asked Prince Erik something that had been on my mind.
“Why is Laird Vortimer all scarred? Surely a diplomat – “
Prince Erik chuckled. “He’s retired. We only use senior combat veterans as diplomats and envoys. It’s a customary thing to do – send out someone who’s shown that he can take care of himself.” He glanced out of the coach as another Lancer rode past. “Laird Vortimer’s survived two wars, and eleven inter-clan fights in his lifetime. He’s more than earned his scars, and his current post is an honorable one. He might well have been insulted had he NOT gotten this posting.”
“Eleven inter-clan fights?” I asked, knowing that the Marshal would want that information in my report. “Over what?”
The wolf mel tapped the side of his nose and smiled before sitting back. “Say you have two neighboring clans, both raising feral sheep.” I nodded. “One of your sheep gets stolen, and you want it back. There’s two ways you can do it, and the law’s very clear on that. You can either steal it back, risking a beating if you’re caught, or issue a challenge against the neighbors, and put your faith in the Great Alpha.” His eyes momentarily glanced at the Wolf Queen, who was listening interestedly. “Sometimes injuries occur, but the law demands that the fight stops at first blood.”
My ears dipped and I cleared my throat. “It sounds a bit harsh.”
Prince Erik’s gray eyes grew a bit cold. “We can be a harsh people, Master, as I’m sure you recall from your fights with us. But we have a sense of honor, and the law helps prevent blood feuds that can last for centuries. My grandfather used to regale me and my brothers and sister with tales about the rise of Clan Vangaria to High Rock and the Great Lair. It lasted over five hundred years, off and on, so he said.”
“How did it start?” the Wolf Queen asked.
Prince Erik looked thoughtful. “According to my grandfather, it started when the Wolf Queen wandered into the lands of the Gray Horde,” and her ears stood straight up in surprise. Mine did, too, and I listened more intently as he went on. “Clan Brihtholme had become corrupt and brutal – even by wolven standards – and the Wolf Queen demanded that justice be restored. The Pack Leader of that Clan challenged her, and she slew him. Most of him was supposedly buried under the four main towers, but his skull was made part of the Great Lair’s foundation.” He paused and closed his eyes before reciting:
“Feeder of ravens : Bold Long-fang
Wolf Queen’s blade : Shortened him
Skull of the Jarl : Sleeping deep in stone
Mind your step : Crossing the door.”
He opened his eyes and looked at us. “It may be a legend. The Lair’s been rebuilt at least twice since the Vangaria became the Ruling Clan, and as far as I know no skull’s been found under the threshold.” The wolf mel gave the Wolf Queen a smile. “I regret to say, Wolf Queen, that you may find quite a few people staring at you.”
“Because of my resemblance to the original Wolf Queen?” she asked. “Or my resemblance to your Great Alpha?”
“To be frank, both,” Prince Erik said. “The High Archimandrite will definitely want to speak with you.”
“Excuse me,” I interjected, “the who?”
“The High Archimandrite of the Worshippers of the Great Alpha, to give his full title,” Prince Erik replied. “My grandfather used to call him the ‘Loud Howler,’” he added with a bit of a chuckle before looking out the coach window again. He pointed. “Is that the lake where you fought Lord Aelfric?”
I scooted over and, yes, there was the gleam of water far off in the distance, through the trees. I nodded. “Yes, that’s where it was,” I said somberly. “It doesn’t look like they ever drained the lake.”
He glanced at me. “Why would they do that?”
“To recover the bodies and their armor.” Elves don’t lie.
After a moment (a long moment), the wolf nodded, his paws idly toying with his glengarry. “It’s what we would do too,” he said. We both went quiet, and I reflected on Fuma’s Will, wondering why, of all the Elves in Faerie, She had to single me out to do things like this.
Thinking back on the conversation, I also thought to myself (behind shields against Elf-mind) that there was a third group that would be staring at the Wolf Queen - largely at her arse. But believe me, with her sitting right beside me in the carriage, it would have been folly to express that out loud.
The skies had been threatening rain all day, with the clouds stubbornly refusing to open and end the suspense. Shortly before we stopped for the night in Flourford, though, the rain started coming down in perfect sheets. It being summer, it was a warm rain, but you’d get soaked just as quickly. We were also entering the area where the troops that the Marshal had sent were concentrating, and several times our procession was stopped and papers were checked. During that whole process, I saw that Flourford was a little bigger than when I was here last, and the buildings were all made of brick.
At one intersection, I saw something that immediately made my blood boil. There was a strategic crossroads just outside the village, and the squaddies that were supposed to be watching the road were instead squatting under a tree around a small fire, having a brew-up.
Blood Seal Bearer or not, ad hoc diplomat or not, I was still a Corporal in the Imperial and Royal Army, by Fuma’s Spacious and World-Birthing Hips, and before I could stop to think about it I had a paw on the door-handle. These idiots were going to end up guarding the intersection in their small-clothes, if I had anything to say about it.
The Wolf Queen put out a paw and rested it on my shoulder. “What?” I asked.
She shook her head and indicated where the two Lancer sergeants were already dismounting and striding toward the miscreants. “You already have a mission, Master. Don’t get caught up in the stupid.”
“The what?”
She pursed her lips, and then spoke slowly, as to a dim-witted fawn. “Just don’t get distracted from the task at paw.”
I wondered about that, as I regained my seat to the sweet music of falling rain and sergeants bawling out erring squaddies. We reformed and were about to move on to Sainted Oaks when there was a horn-blast and the sound of approaching cavalry.
The Lancer lieutenant rode back to our coach and said, “Just a patrol, sirs, ma’am. The whole country roundabout’s filled with Imperial troops, and you can’t fault them for being a bit skittish.” He glanced back and his feline ears went down. “I was told we can expect safe passage, straight to the border.” Rain dripped from his whiskers. “Mind you, if there’s an attack – “
“We’ll deal with that when it comes,” the Wolf Queen said before I could open my muzzle. The Lancer officer looked a bit startled before touching the dripping brim of his duckbill helmet and steering his ant back to the head of the column.
“Are you thinking that I can dissuade the Horde if they come over the border?” Prince Erik asked.
The Wolf Queen smiled. “No, but I expect you to be fighting side by side with the Master against them.” Her smile widened to bare her teeth. “Or I’ll send you to the Great Alpha myself.”
He gulped and glanced at me. “I think she’s serious.”
“Elves Don’t Lie, Your Highness.” I glanced at the wolfess. ”Did you really mean that?” I queried her in Elf-mind.
”Of course,” came the swift reply. ”If they attack after asking for peace, then their leaders are Unseelie, and I will have to do what my predecessor did.” I must have looked a bit disturbed at that, but she ignored me and started looking out at the rain-swept landscape.
We stopped for the night at Sainted Oaks, the chief city and capital of the United Cities. Rooms had been arranged for the entire delegation, and dinner was all paid for. The United Cities being mainly populated by squirrels, I had a wide range of vegetarian dishes available, along with a very tasty hazelnut cake for dessert.
There was a fox in the kitchen, so Prince Erik and the Wolf Queen were able to get some meat for dinner. That puzzled me a bit, because as I had remembered it, there had been some small communities of wolves in the realm. It was one of the justifications the Gray Horde had for their invasion. A passing waiter, when asked, sniffed and said, “After the Empire forced the Horde out, we rounded up all the wolves left here and shoved them across the border to join their kind. Good riddance, says I – no offense,” he said hastily, seeing Prince Erik’s ears go flat against his head.
The prince was rather quiet the rest of the night, and retired to his room immediately after dinner. The Wolf Queen and I, therefore, were the ones regaled with a ballad named The Horned Ghost.
The Wolf Queen blinked as I laid my head down on the table, grinding my teeth. “It’s a rather nice ballad, compared to The Howling of the Wolf Queen,” she observed. “You come off rather well – six feet tall, arms like tree trunks – “
“Pack it in, please,” I groaned.
“ – Nose the size of a large coconut – “
Grr . . .
She rubbed salt in by humming the tune the next day as we headed for the border.
The rain had stopped sometime during the night, and the day promised to be sunny, steamy and hot as we boarded the coaches for the next leg of the trip. The Lancers had been augmented by a troop of the United Cities’ mounted militia, mostly squirrels with a smattering of rabbits. They were also about as far away from the Lancers’ discipline as day is from night. They looked more like a gang of armed, surly youths than a military force.
One of the youths deliberately rode alongside our coach, glaring at Prince Erik while fingering his sheathed sword meaningfully. He kept at it until I got a touch irritated at him and formulated a bit of Gramerye that caused his ant to slip and throw the surly squirrel from his saddle, right into a convenient (and deep) mud puddle. He got up cursing as his mates jeered at him, and we had a bit of peace.
“They’re – they don’t like wolves around here,” Prince Erik ventured. “Can’t say that I blame them. Uncle Aelfric was rather uncompromising, if I recall him.”
“There were quite a few farms burned,” I said, “and many of the natives were killed or driven from their homes.”
The noble wolf nodded. “Those are standard tactics, according to our military manuals.” He was choosing his words very carefully, as if he was tiptoeing through stinging nettles.
”Enough, Master,” the Wolf Queen said. ”He’s had the opportunity to have his eyes opened about his enemies, and he feels sympathy.”
”I don’t blame him for the actions of his uncle or the armies under the Great Wolf’s command,” I replied. Still, I decided not to mention what I had seen around Sainted Oaks, Lark’s Rise and Mossford, and Auld Tom’s pipe stayed in my Elfintory.
Our little caravan pulled to a halt just before midday and the Lancer officer rode back to us. “We’re at the border now,” the tabby said, “so here’s where we’ll part ways.” He touched two fingers to his helmet. “The Lady go with you.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” I said, and saluted before I took a small case from my Elfintory. Inside it were letters from Laird Vortimer and King Adler, establishing our bona fides and accrediting us as diplomats, with full rights of immunity, etc. etc. etc. Prince Erik took his, examined the seals, and placed them in his lap, while the Wolf Queen just looked at hers a tiny bit nervously.
No doubt recalling the last time she’d been given diplomatic credentials. No ospreys about, luckily.
The coachfurs dismounted and walked back to United Cities territory as heavier footfalls could be heard. Our coach rocked slightly as a new driver mounted up, and a stern gray wolf wearing a lieutenant’s pips on his shoulder tabs rapped on the door. “Ye’ll be wantin’ ta step oot t’coach,” he rasped, tucking a swagger stick under his left arm.
His eyes bugged out and his tail went rigid at the sight of the Wolf Queen as she stepped regally out of the coach. He stepped back as she manifested her wings and a crowd quickly gathered, the wolves ogling her shamelessly as Prince Erik and I climbed out of the carriage.
The Wolf Queen pulled Sun-and-Moon from her Elfintory and struck a pose, and a few lupine squaddies started to howl. They didn’t get very far before their sergeant waded in with fists, foot and swagger stick and restored discipline. She looked at the still-gaping lieutenant. “Aren’t you going to examine my credentials?” she asked.
I was surprised. I thought he was already doing a detailed examination.
He finally snapped out of it and took the scroll she held with a shaking paw. He read it through and gave it back, giving an almost puppylike yip of surprise when her wings went away. Prince Erik then stepped forward, and the officer snapped to an almost painfully rigid attention and saluted. “Yor ‘Ighness, SAH!”
“Stand easy, Lieutenant,” the Prince said in a wry tone, “we’re the same rank.”
“SAH! I beg yer pardon, but by order of t’Grand Duchess, we’re t’consider ye promoted. SAH!”
Erik frowned. “Promoted? To what?”
“SAH! General, SAH!” Prince Erik looked gobsmacked again as the Lieutenant verified the Prince’s paperwork and, after giving it back to Erik and exchanging salutes, turned to me. “’Ere, laddie, yoor a wee one, an’ nae mistake. Yoor Mum know yer awa fro’ hame?”
I offered my credentials. “Corporal the Master of Elfhame, Westersloe Winterbough, Fifth of His Name.” Needless to say, I was at attention when I said this. I’m not going to let anything cause me to make the I&RA look bad.
A few of the lupine squaddies laughed. “Ye sure?” one jeered. “Yer nae so tall as m’ – OW!” He started jumping around, batting ineffectually at the flames that licked at his boot.
“Aye, I’m sure,” I said in a passable imitation of the standard Gray Horde accent. I’d been around the ones up in Elfhame long enough to pick up a bit of it.
The rest of the delegation’s papers were in order, so we were given an escort of ant-cavalry. (“Bloodtooth’s Cataphract,” their commander announced them proudly. Ever notice they never call a unit simply “Fred’s Ants?”) We were waved through the gate across the road, and I headed into the demesne of an enemy I’d already fought twice.
Hopefully, a third time being the charm would not be necessary.
(NEXT)
(PREVIOUS)
(FIRST)
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Cervine (Other)
Size 120 x 106px
File Size 62.1 kB
Listed in Folders
Hmm. Prince Erik for inside knowledge of the ways of wolvelfin military & aristocracy culture, The Wolf-Queen for channeling diva-level wolf-wa. The Corporal to be a corporeal representation of fine dining and wolvelfin cuisine.... Or does he have another role in exploring predator-prey relationships?
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