A Night of Burns
A story of Elfhame
© 2026 by Walter Reimer
Blame assigned to  EOCostello
Thumbnail by  tegerio, color by  Major Matt Mason

Three



“. . . THEREFORE KNOW THAT

WE, ADLER SARTORIUSSON, HIGH KING OF FAERIE, having received and considered the request and humble petition of Our right trusty servant WESTERSLOE WINTERBOUGH, Fifth of His Name, V.M. and by Our Grace Master of Elfhame, to establish a village south of the Coldwater River on the borders of Our Duchy of Elfhame, do hereby grant his request and by Our Authority charter the Village of GLENALLID, to provide for the habitation of Our Subjects and the advancement of the Realm’s industries and trade.

DONE in Our Palace of Persoc Tor upon this date.

WITNESS, THEREFORE, Our Paw and Seal.

ADLER”

When I got the charter from the I&R Post almost exactly three weeks after sending it off, I stopped off at the Temple to thank the Lady. After kneeling before the altar and giving myself the Benedictio Interphalangeal, I was just starting to rise to my hooves when Brother Cellini came into the sanctuary. “Hiya, Master! Wassup?” the turtle asked.

I told him what caused me to come in to give thanks, and he administered a vigorous Benedictio on me before doing one himself. “That’s th’ goods, right there, Master. Nuthin’ pleases th’ Lady more’n seeing Her people thrivin’.”

I thanked him and then went to the building housing the [Bank of Elfhame] and Dennis Horne’s office, and after telling him what I had in my paw the two of us headed for the Lodge to break the news to Anastasia.

My mate did a double-take and scowled when I told her. “It’s been – what? - three weeks?” she asked with a suspicious look at the message-tube.

“Is that wrong?” I asked. I’ll readily confess that Statecraft’s quite beyond me.

Anastasia gave a most unladylike snort. “There are a few villages in Licksburg that asked for an Imperial charter back in Adler’s father’s time – and they’re cities now, and still waiting,” she said as I blinked. “Either someone’s doing you a massive favor, or as Brother Cellini might say, ‘Da fix is in.’”

“Maybe somefur kicked a bureaucrat under the tail.”

My mate shook her head. “The one object harder to shake than Mount Humbert is the Imperial bureaucracy. I know this. Trust me, Westersloe.” She opened the message tube and took out the three-page document. She glanced at the top page with the King’s name and seal. “Hmm. A basic rewording of your petition, spelling out why you want the charter, followed by the Royal Skunk granting it.” She set the cover page aside and started to read the second page.

She looked up at me, and she started to smile.

Uh-oh.

“What?” I asked warily.

“You are going to love this, Westersloe.” My ears went straight out as she read aloud, “’Authority over Glenallid, to administer the laws of the Empire, and the right to mete petty justice there, shall be vested in the Master of Elfhame or such a designee he shall assign should he be absent.’”

I blinked. “That doesn’t sound too bad, actually.” It was a smart move, and I suspected my liege-lord Prince Roland’s meaty paw in that qualification. I was still a member of the Imperial & Royal Army and a Blood Seal bearer; there was every possibility that something might come up requiring the King’s Blunt Instrument.

“Oh? ‘In accordance and in alignment with those powers and authority already delineated and described in the Master of Elfhame’s Deed of Gift.’” Anastasia lowered the parchment and gave me a grin.

“The Deed of – oh, by the Lady,” I said as I put my paws over my face.

I should explain. You see, the Deed of Gift is the royal grant of authority to the Master of Elfhame, making him responsible for ruling the seven villages in the Vale in the name of the [King Upon the Mountain]. Pretty straightforward, but King Adler’s father, Sartorious Winesack, and his appointee as Master, Fumasgift Bowyer, had added over a hundred further items as a colossal joke.

I still considered their requirement that if my scapegrace grandfather, the Third of His Name, returned to Elfhame he was to be held there as long as possible so – and I quote – ‘so that we in the rest of the Empire can have a chance at nailing the few femmes he hasn't’ to be libelous against my family. Not necessarily Third, who arrived at his cognomen of ‘Skirt-Chaser’ very honestly.

To be active, the Deed of Gift had to be read aloud, and that had been done – but only for Elfhame. And the ex-Prisoners (and some of the Wanderers) had been present when Dennis and I had read it out, so they knew.

“Well, at least I don’t have to read it out – I have to read it out again,” I said as Anastasia snickered.

“Thankfully, just in Glenallid,” she said, “as well as posting it in the village square.”

“Thank the Lady for small mercies,” I muttered. As I get older, I am more and more convinced that The Lady Fuma has a wicked sense of humor, and uses me as Her jester. I eyed Dennis. “Don’t think you get off lightly,” I said. “It says ‘designee,’ which means someone I name.”

“What about the [First-of-Eldest]?” my steward asked.

“One, you’re my steward. My wife is not.” I glanced at Anastasia, who was trying to smother her laughter. “Two, while the wolfesses in Glenallid have the option of either curtsying or flashing their bosoms at me, do you really think they’ll simply curtsy?”

Dennis winced, no doubt imagining what would happen to him if his wife, who had wholly gone over to the ways of the Elfhamian does, caught him looking at a bare-breasted and giggling wolfess. And I was certain that they’d be giggling. The wolfesses among the Wandering Wolves had flashing dark eyes, lustrous black headfur, and excessively fluffy tails, and knew it.

The only two ex-Prisoners who had been resistant to their Wiles had been Sylvester Ashearth, who’d been claimed by the Winger Sisters before the others could see him, and Prince Erik. I had wondered why (and how) the Prince was apparently immune until I escorted him back to the Grand Duchy of the Gray Horde, where he married his younger sister Lucretia.

I’ll never understand wolves.

“Dennis,” I said with a mixture of resignation and dread.

“Master?”

“Make a copy of the Charter,” I said, passing him the document and the empty message-tube, “make a copy of the Deed of Gift, and come back here. I should get this done quickly, I suppose.”

To his credit, Dennis nodded and left.

“What will you be doing while you wait for him, Westersloe?” Anastasia asked.

In reply, I moved my grandfather’s skull aside on the shelf where I keep my decanter of persimmon brandy, and poured myself a generous tot of [Tears of the Trees]. “I’m going to fortify myself,” I told her as I took a long sip.





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