Middenly Charms

© 2017 by Walter Reimer

A hearty thank you for the use of characters by  eocostello set in  tegerio’s Realm of Faerie universe!
Thumbnail arts are by  tegerio, with color by  marmelmm!



Part 9.



“Why are we headed there?” I asked as we got back into the coaches. The Wolf Queen manifested her wings and headed up into the sky, and Prince Erik was watching her flight as she caught a thermal and rose in lazy circles. A brief glint of sunlight on metal told me that she’d drawn her double-bardiche.

He glanced back at me. “Hm? Why? Well, having that boulder come down made me start thinking.”

“That the Grand Duchess may not have your best interests in mind?”

The wolf chuckled. “Something like that, yes. If you include ‘being alive’ among my best interests.” The coach jerked into motion to the gronking of the ants. “If Lucretia is truly the Grand Duchess, then something quite . . . unfortunate’s happened to my family, and I want some information before we get to High Rock and Creig de chuirn.” I guess my expression prompted him to add, “That’s our capital city, Crag of Dens in Imperial.”

“Ah.” I nodded. I was going to pull my chap-book out of Elfintory and jot a quick note, but stopped when I recalled that the King had sent heralds to the Gray Horde before. They surely knew where the capital was.

After about an hour we turned off the main road and started heading up. The road was of slightly lesser quality, with cracks in the pavement and actual potholes that made for a bouncy ride. The ants gronked a bit at the effort, but the drivers knew their business and part of our escort rode ahead.

Prince Erik gestured at the window. “Have a look, Master. That’s Fog-Run River.”

The river at this point up the side of the mountain could just be seen through a thin screen of trees, and it looked to be about ten feet from bank to bank. I say “seemed,” because the spray kicked up from its course over rocks looked obscured the exact size of it. “It certainly looks like fog,” I said.

“You may recall that I told you it’s very cold,” Prince Erik remarked. “This is just spray, yes, but it’ll be fog before long. Makes riding or driving on this road treacherous at night without a sure-footed ant.” His ears dipped. “Even then, a few people die every year or so.”

We passed a farm couple – or, rather, a trio – walking up the road. One of the fems was visibly pregnant, but the farmer had his paws around two waists. One of the women waved to us as our group of coaches and ant-cavalry rode by. I asked Prince Erik, “Are men allowed two wives?”

The wolf didn’t meet my gaze. “After what you call the Battle of Mossford – we call it Dh'adhbhraich am failligeadh, The Debacle – Grand Duke Malcolm decreed that we had to rebuild our population. He told the lairds that the only way we could was by taking two wives.” He smiled thinly. “Needless to say, it was embraced, literally in some cases, because those women left bereft wanted fathers for their cubs.” He glanced at me. “I suppose that’s not unusual in the Empire, considering your skunk-goddess’ love of venery.”

“I’ve heard of it being practiced in the Southlands,” I replied, “and even in some parts of the Empire you might see polygamy – “

“Like your den, Master?”

I swallowed. Hard. “Well, leaving aside Private Ashearth and his wives, of course. With three exceptions, my two fawns and Zonya Wetcheeks’ cub, all of the children under my roof are adopted. And I daily thank Fuma for that fact.” I eyed him. “Were you given an option?”

“I was down far enough in the succession to avoid it without too much notice being taken. And much to the dismay of the Travelers in your demesne, I simply haven’t found the right girl yet.” I nodded. “Before I left for the Glittering Isle, I had heard that the female population was going to start insisting on a husband of their own as soon as the next generation or so comes of age.”

I preferred our name for the battle, actually; their name for it sounded like a post-ball landing in a mud-puddle. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though.

The road started a series of steep switchback curves, zigzagging its way up the mountain with the river cascading down near it. Sure enough, the farther up we went, the colder the river seemed to get and fog started to appear. Wisps of it drifted through the trees and across the road at each curve.

As the going got rougher and the fog thickened, we started going a bit slower to make sure that we didn’t go over a precipice. Prince Erik and I looked up as something heavy landed on the roof of the coach, and we could hear the Wolf Queen and the driver exchanging uncomplimentary compliments. The hatch in the roof flipped open, and the wolfess clambered in and took a seat.

“Are you all right?” Prince Erik asked, beating me to it by about a heartbeat.

She nodded. “There was a small fort at the summit,” she said, “but it looked deserted.”

“Abandoned?” I asked. It wasn’t a good idea to just up and leave a defensive position like that.

“No, not abandoned, just deserted. I cast detect-magics, and there’s a Gate within the walls.” A bit of good old light started to dawn, even as our road placed the mountain between us and the sunlight. A force could easily take advantage of a Gate to man the fort and prepare any number of nasty surprises for anyone coming down the main road.

Perhaps the Wolf Queen shouldn’t have revealed what she learned in front of Prince Erik, who had been listening her with his ears tipped toward her to catch everything she had said. Blabbing what you just found out about a hostile power’s military, while in his territory and in the presence of a noble (not to mention a recently-promoted general) could prove to be a liability.

The Wolf Queen, of course, noticed the prince’s attentive look. “What?” she demanded.

“I’m just listening,” the Prince said, “and I would ask you, Wolf Queen, to refrain from discussing anything about what you found.”

The wolfess smirked (her favorite expression, and one she does well). “Prince Erik, what I learn and discuss is not your, or any other male’s, concern. I have no part in any of the childish squabbles between the Master’s Empire and your Grand Duchy, nor will I be drawn into them.” With that, she sat back with her arms crossed over her chest. Catching me looking at her, she barked, “What!?”

“Nothing,” I said hastily. “You’ve made yourself abundantly clear.” I was going to say something else, but my ears went up as the coach came to a halt.

I stuck my head out of the door and asked one of the ant-riders, “Why have we stopped?”

He pointed. “Road stops here, ye wee horned nuisance.”

I looked past him. My ears went straight up in surprise, because the road stopped at a stout wooden gate reinforced with a latticework of iron bands. Through the wisps of fog I could see a stone wall some twenty feet high. The stone was roughly the same color of the fog, so an enemy advancing up the road would run headlong into the wall.

There was no way of seeing the top of the wall, but experience has taught me that people on top of walls have a nasty propensity for raining all sorts of nasty surprises on uninvited guests. Not being able to see what might be up on the parapet, my imagination stepped up. Fuma’s Leathery Labia, I thought to myself.

The Wolf Queen gave a deliberately fake shocked gasp and asked in Elf-Mind, ”Master! Do you think at your children with that mind?”

”Do you think at Ooo-er with yours?” I shot back, noting that Prince Erik was glancing out at the gate with a somewhat pensive look on his face – a look that only increased as the gates started to swing open.

I sent a silent and heartfelt Thank You to the Lady as I saw that the servants who had opened the gates for us weren’t armed, and our escort waved the coaches forward into the Keep’s courtyard. As we rode in, the Prince seemed to relax just a bit, and opened the door and stepped out before our coach came to a complete stop. The Wolf Queen and I followed him as the wolf settled a paw on the sword at his hip and walked forward to where two figures were standing.

One was the commander of our escort, who turned and saluted as Prince Erik walked up. The other was an elderly Wolf-Elf who would have been an easy five inches or so taller than his grandson had he not been stooped over and supporting himself with a cane.

He turned and glared at the Prince. “Why aren’t ye deed, ye braw ninny?”

Erik smiled. "I'm pleased to see you too, Grandfather, and I might ask you the same question."

There was one of those awkward pauses, like when you’re at a banquet with a beautiful noblewoman and you’re trying to think of a tactful way to tell her she’s got a huge lump of something green and unidentifiable in her teeth. The old wolf suddenly straightened up a bit and held his arms open as his grandson came forward, and the two men embraced. From the way his shoulders trembled, I thought that the old man was trying not to weep.

They broke the embrace and stood looking at each other.

And the older wolf slugged the younger one right in the chops. Prince Erik spun partway around and staggered to one side, but didn’t fall down. He was facing me and the Wolf Queen, and we could see that he had started to smile.

The Prince turned, stepped back over to his grandfather, and gave him a hard right to the jaw that sent the old fellow straight to the cobbled courtyard, his walking stick clattering against the stones. Several of the escort officers and servants laughed as the old mel laboriously got to his feet. “Ye’ve a guid punch, m’wee lad, fer a daed fur. C’mere an’ greet yer ol’ Gramp,” and this time the two embraced with genuine affection.

I’ll never understand wolves.

“I’d like to introduce you to my friends, Gran,” Prince Erik said. “Laird Cuthred the Execrable of Fog-Run Hold. Gramp, these are – “

“By the Great Alpha’s tits, boy! Ye couldna find yerself a better-looking concubine?”

Prince Erik gaped at his grandfather in shock. I immediately started telling the Wolf Queen via Elf-Mind that we were on a diplomatic mission and it’d be terribly un-neighborly, if not un-Elfly, to slaughter an old mel in his own courtyard.

“Gramp,” Erik said hastily, “that’s the Wolf Queen.”

“What? Rubbish!” Laird Cuthred scoffed as the Wolf Queen seethed. “There’s a tapestry of her in Creig Madainn, boy, and she looks nothing like that! But if ye want ta think that’s Herself, ye’re tetched in’t haid. Her tits are too small an’ her arse’s too braid. ‘Course, if that’s yer fancy, it’s aboot time. There’s many who tho’t ye’d ne’er start noticin’ fems – “ He raised an eyebrow as the wolfess brought Sun-and-Moon out of her Elfintory. “Nice trick, lassie. Ye use it t’trim yer tailfur?”

She growled. “For an old fart, you should know better manners.”

“Arrah, tell a laird t’use courtoisie in his own den? Put yon sticker awa’, lass, ‘fore I tak ye o’er m’knee and spank ye with it,” and he turned away from her dismissively.

I thought the Wolf Queen was going to imitate Mount Kodak, so I stepped out from behind her. “See here,” I said, “this fem is the Wolf Queen, and she – “

Laird Cuthred goggled at me.

And started to laugh.

“Diplomats, ye tell me!” he whooped. “Me ain daed grandson, his concubine, an’ her dwarf!” He slapped at his thigh as he laughed again. “With those antlers, d’ye use him as a toast rack fer yer breakfast?”

Now it was the Wolf Queen’s turn to remind me that it wouldn’t be a friendly act to deck the old man. Although privately I had to admit to myself that I’d put quite a few gold bravoes toward watching Laird Cuthred spank the Wolf Queen.

Still laughing, the old mel threw an arm around his grandson’s shoulders and started toward the entrance of the Keep’s main building. “Yer escort’s told me yer needs, Erik m’lad. We’ll get all bestowed proper-like. Yer concubine an’ her dwarf – they’ll be stayin’ in yer rooms, then? Or does she hide him in her Elfintory with yon toothpick?” He laughed again as they went inside, and the Wolf Queen and I looked at each other.

“I want you to know,” the wolfess growled, “that it’s only out of concern for the mission that your liege-lord’s imposed on us that I haven’t taken that moron’s head off.” She glared at me. “YOU didn’t seem too worked up by his insults.”

I shrugged. “I think I’ve heard every short joke ever thought of throughout Fuma’s Shining Land – although the thing about the toast-rack was original.” I gave her a sidelong look. “I wouldn’t give too much credence to his talk about a tapestry depicting the Wolf Queen.” Her ears perked and I added, “I recall something Estvan Silverbrush said after seeing a portrait in Persoc Tor.”

“That old fart,” she snorted. “What did he say?”

“He said that he's heard that all portraits look the same these days, because they're painted to a romantic ideal rather than as a true depiction of the idiosyncratic facial qualities of the person in question.”

The wolfess looked a bit impressed, clearly in spite of herself. She sighed and looked at the Keep. “I suppose we should go in.”

I nodded, keeping to myself the thought that I’d been trying for years to take the piss out of the Wolf Queen, and this elderly wolf had managed it in seconds. The escort and the coach-drivers were helping the Laird’s men with moving the ants to the stables, and the ants were gronking happily at the thought of food, water, and comfortable lodgings for the night.

I was a bit a doubtful about our accommodations, though.


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