Pillar of White Flame

© 2016 by Walter Reimer


This is a sequel to The Gray Tower, which is a sequel to The Black Chapel. It’s not really necessary to read the previous two stories, but they provide important plot points and great yiff, so you’re missing out if you don’t. Just saying.

Art by  rabbi-tom

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Part 51.



An ordinary fur might be forgiven for thinking that Crown Prince Meki, being an elk, would dash off at the remarkable speed cervines are known for to be by his mate’s side as she gave birth.

An ordinary fur, on the other paw, may be forgiven for not knowing Prince Meki at all.

The news that Princess Seffa was giving birth finally reached Prince Meki in his office, and he dismissed the servant with an irritated flip of one paw. He finished reading the report in front of him before picking up a quill and scrawling a letter ‘M’ to show that he’d read it, grumbling as he sanded the document, “About damned time.”

He laboriously heaved himself out of the chair, to balance on his good left hoof as he unlocked the brace on his right leg. The right hoof swung down to the floor and the buck locked it in place before grabbing his staff and hobbling out of the room with his valet, Sarti, in tow.

“Fine time for that stupid cow to have the fawn,” Meki grumbled as he started to make his way up the stairs. “My idiot sister lounging about at my gates and those damned perverts at the Order still daring to resist my troops.” He paused halfway up the stairs to growl, “Damn them for crippling me! Sarti!”

“Your Highness,” the bull said.

The elk’s tone was sullen. “I hate to ask, but – “

“Gladly, my Prince,” and the bull scooped the Crown Prince up and started up the stairs. It was embarrassing, but Sarti had done it whenever Meki needed to get somewhere in a hurry.

Or was too drunk to stand.

Seffa’s bedroom was three floors above Meki’s office, and he gave a grunt as Sarti set him on his hooves and steadied him until the elk buck regained his balance. “Thank you, Sarti,” he said. He started down the hallway, but paused as the bull rested a meaty paw on his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Congratulations, Your Highness,” the bull said. “I’ll go to the Temple and offer thanks tonight.”

The buck looked at the bull for a moment, and Meki gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you. Let’s go see if you have anything to be thankful about,” and he pivoted on his braced leg and limped down the hallway. Sarti watched him, then shrugged and walked after him.

“What do you mean, I can’t go in?” The bull’s ears swiveled as he heard his master’s voice raised in a queruluous shout. He rounded a corner and stopped, seeing Meki confronted by a priestess-midwife of Regali, a cow easily his height and strength.

Hmm, nice tits, the bull thought admiringly.

The Crown Prince, however, didn’t seem in the mood to admire the priestess’ bovine charms. “Well?” Meki demanded.

The priestess had her arms crossed over her chest, supporting her breasts as she said sternly, “This is a sacred time, Highness. The Princess must be attended by us, or Regali will be displeased – “

“Fuck Regali,” Meki snarled, and the cow’s ears went straight down at the blasphemy. “That’s my son being born in there!”

“You won’t get in to see him until he leaves his mother’s womb,” the woman said.

“Dammit, let me pass – urk!” Sarti took a step forward and eyed the priestess, who had put out a beefy paw and caught the elk buck by his neck. Meki grabbed at the arm and tried to fight free, but the woman might as well have been made of iron.

Holding the Crown Prince at arm’s length, she glanced at Sarti. “And you, sirrah?”

Sarti smiled and bowed slightly. “I am content to obey you, Priestess.” The cow nodded and released her grip on Meki’s throat, and while he coughed the bull said, “Shall I have a chair and some wine brought for you, Highness?”

Meki growled as he rubbed his neck. “Yes. See to it. I’ll wait here,” he grated, glaring at the priestess. “Sarti!” he called as the bull started back down the hall. “Bring me my copy of the Book of Skulls. I want to see if this woman’s lying to me.”

Chances were excellent that the priestess was in the right, but Sarti nodded and went to carry out his master’s instructions.

An hour later, Meki was seated comfortably and a small camp table bore wine and a plate of seasoned flatbread. The elk buck had the holy book in his lap, reading and rereading the relevant passages about the duties of the priestesses of Regali, and the part they were commanded to play at the birth of a child.

So far, he was forced to admit to himself, the cow was wholly in the right.

An hour after that, he had closed the book and was praying quietly when his ears perked straight up at the birth-wail of an infant.

He set the book aside and, struggling to his hooves, went up to the priestess. “Priestess, I ask your forgiveness,” he said hesitantly, “as well as that of Regali. I have erred, and blasphemed Dator’s Honored Mate. I – I am sorry.”

The cow smiled. “I forgave you the instant you said it, Highness, but I charge you to pray to Regali this night with a penitent heart,” and her smile widened, “after you see your child.” She opened the door and stepped aside.

Meki gulped and limped past her, pausing only to thank her as he entered Seffa’s apartments. Priestesses and acolytes were leaving, bearing bed-linens and towels soiled with blood and fluids, and they nodded to him as he made his way past them.

The Hierarch of Regali, a gaunt antelope femme, was standing by the foot of the bed wiping her paws as Seffa sat propped up by pillows and nursing something in a bundle of cloth.

His wife spotted him first. “Meki,” she said breathlessly, her voice hoarse from her labor. “It’s – he’s – a buck-fawn.”

Meki froze, dumbstruck. He swayed a bit and put out a paw to steady himself against the door frame. “A – A buck?” he whispered.

Seffa nodded. “Come and see him, Meki. He’s beautiful,” she said.

He suddenly swallowed hard, and looked at the Hierarch. “Is – Is he healthy?” he asked, hardly daring to raise his voice above a whisper.

The antelope beamed. “A healthy and lively buck-fawn, praised be Regali. Congratulations, Your Highness. May I have the news proclaimed?”

“Hm? Yes, yes, please,” the elk buck said as he moved to the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he looked down as Seffa drew aside a fold of the blanket to reveal the still-nursing child. Despite himself, he found himself smiling. “He has a good appetite?”

Seffa nodded. “Oh yes.” The doe looked up at him. “I love you, Meki.”

Her mate nodded, thinking as he looked down at the newborn King.


***


Thegn Jarri Ti traced a stubby finger missing its tip along the map. “The Astat forces hold the pass and the hills to the west,” the caracal said to the others in the tent, “and since his body was not found – “

“We must assume that Earl Chassi is still alive, but a prisoner,” another thegn said. “It’ll be a moonless night,” he said to the de facto commander of the Repor army.

Ti grinned.


***


So, that’s what this is all about . . .

Halvrika’s self emerged from the book she had been reading and immediately dipped into another. She spurned it and tried another, her awareness seeping into the pages as she quickly scanned what was written. The Kojarran Family had been working toward this for centuries.

The sheer scope of their plan terrified her.

She learned off ten spells (but not one that would neutralize the spells Evoli had put on her, damn him) before exiting the secret library and retracing her path up to her chambers, where her infected body lay asleep, occasionally twitching in a dream. The raccoon sow fitted herself partway back into her flesh, thinking about what she had learned.

Sometime before midnight, she had managed to sort what she had learned into some semblance of order. Ignoring the soft, cramping heat in her sex, Halvrika snuggled under her blanket, the brief outline of a plan forming in her mind.


***


“D’you hear something?” the gray feline asked in a hissed whisper as he reached for his spear.

Across the small campfire from him, his companion closed his eyes as he swiveled his ears. “Bats,” the fox replied. “Crickets. You’re jumpy,” he remarked as he stretched out facing the fire.

“We’re supposed to be jumpy. We’re on sentry duty, you lout.”

The fox snorted and pulled a waterskin from his pack. “You saw them lowlanders running. I fancy they ran all the way back to Repor.” He took a swig from the skin, which sloshed as he held it out to the feline. “Want some?”

“Water?”

A snort. “Not hardly. Sneaked some wine from the Earl’s own provisioner, I did.”

The cat reached around the fire and took the skin from the fox’s paw. He sniffed at the contents and took a swig from it before giving it back. “That’s good. Stole it from the Earl, hey? You’ll get your nose slit for that.” His eyes gleamed in the firelight. “How’d you get it?”

“Well,” the fox said, “one of his maids is a vixen, and she likes sausage,” and the cat chuckled as the tod grabbed his crotch suggestively. “In exchange for a little tumble, she filled that up for me. Just a bit of business.”

“Just be careful that that business doesn’t end up with you getting the business,” the cat pointed out.

“Heh. The Earl’s still sleeping – “ His ears had time to twitch before a barbed arrowhead appeared protruding from his throat, followed by another sprouting from the cat’s right eye. The feline pitched backward, already dead, while the fox choked and threshed on the ground, paws clawing at his throat.

A slim bat dressed in black and dark gray rags emerged into the firelight, slinging his bow across his back. He drew a soot-blackened blade the length of his forearm (what the crazy giraffe tribesmen in the Libars savannas called a “knife”) and slipped it into the fox’s ribs, quieting the tod. The man straightened up, tall and broad ears listening for any indication that an alarm had been raised, and as his partner came close to the circle of firelight the bat propped the fox up into a sitting position, leaning on his spear. He did the same for the feline as his companion suddenly looked to the west and whispered, “Another sentry post’s been taken.”

“Right,” the first bat whispered, and the two melted back into the shadows before heading deeper into the Astat camp.

A sound, and both bats laid down flat, their ragged clothes helping to break up their outlines in the darkness. The weasel opened his trousers and pissed, the bat he was unknowingly urinating on holding very still until the soldier went about his business.

The one bat growled softly and the other whispered, “Be glad he didn’t shit.”

“Next time I hope he waters you,” the bat hissed, and they returned to creeping into the enemy’s encampment.

Other furs were slinking through the shadows, following the paths cleared through the sentry posts, knives at the ready. Guards posted at commanders’ tents were lured away and killed or ambushed as they drowsed, and the thegns they were assigned to protect were killed in their sleep. Lone soldiers stumbling through the moonless night made easier targets.

The biggest tent, where Earl Besi snored and spooned closer to the young serving-wench he had picked to slake his lusts, was carefully avoided. The areas around it were too brightly lit, and too well-patrolled. Nearby, a single one-man tent with eight guards around it may as well have had a sign posted: Prisoner Here. Here the two bats stopped, hunkering down in the shadows. “Where’re the others?” one asked the other.

“How the fuck should I know?” the other said. “I can’t smell anything – what was that fucker drinking to make his piss stink so bad?”

“Dunno.” After a pause he asked, “Knives?”

“Hmm . . . too many torches. They’d spot us sneaking up on ‘em, sure.” The two unslung their bows and nocked arrows as two Hasant soldiers circled around the guarded tent.

One died, an arrow in his eye; the other arrow missed its mark and struck its target in the right shoulder. The mastiff roared in pain and awkwardly drew his sword with his left paw.

“Fuck,” the bat swore, and drew his knife. The other one nocked another arrow and put it into the mastiff’s chest. “Now we’re for it.”

“Not my fault you can’t aim for shit,” the bowfur said as he slung his bow and drew his Libars blade. “C’mon and let’s see if the Earl’s in there.”

“Right.” They ducked into the tent as the commotion started, soldiers shouting and others being awakened, only to find that some of their commanders were unable to answer any summons save that of Dator, and several dozen Repor soldiers in their midst.

One bat stayed by the tent-flap, knife at the ready as the other moved to the figure lying prone beside the tent’s center pole. “My Lord?” he asked, closing his mind to the stink coming off the buck as he shook him. “Earl Chassi?”

“Huh?” the red deer buck flinched, then curled up into a ball. “Haven’t you had enough?”

The bat shook him harder. “My Lord! Don’t you want to get out of here?”

Chassi squinted up through two swollen eyes as the bat started tugging at the chain holding his ruler to the tent pole. “Out of here?” he asked.

“Yeah. Hold still; I think the chain’s starting to give.”

The pole shifted, and fell as the canvas structure fell down on them.

“Well, this is embarrassing.”

Meanwhile arrows zipped from the shadows, cutting down Astat soldiers running about leaderless or as they stumbled in various states of undress from their tents. Infantry charged out of the night, making for the most brightly-lit area of the enemy encampment. Shouts, screams and the clash of swords reverberated among the tents.

The collapsed tent rustled and the two bats hauled the half-clad and bespattered buck from under the canvas. “C’mon, m’Lord, get up on your hooves,” one urged. “We’re rescuing you.”

Chassi managed to steady himself as the other bat, the one that smelled of urine, said sarcastically, “Yeah, some rescue. You pulled the damned tent down around our heads.”

“All according to plan.”

“What plan? You wouldn’t know a plan if it sat in your lap.”

“It’d have to wait until your sister gave it some room.”

“Why, you little – “

“Can it wait until we get out of here?” Chassi suddenly asked. His voice was hoarse from his earlier screaming.

“Right you are, m’Lord. C’mon, it’s this way.”

“No, it’s this way.” The first bat looked about to resume the argument, but as the red deer sagged a bit he shook his head and the two bats half-helped, half-carried the Earl into the shadows and back toward the Repor lines.

They had to stop, finding cover as groups of Hasant soldiers rushed here and there. Some were throwing water or dirt on tents that had been set alight by fire arrows shot into the camp by Repor archers. “Quick, this way!” one of the bats said, and the trio ducked into the shadow of a tent that hadn’t been set afire yet.

“This is the strangest rescue,” Chassi said.

“You didn’t want to stay there, did you?” the other bat asked.

“By Molluta’s Wheel, I most certainly did not,” the red deer buck said feelingly. He squinted past the two bats at the fighting going on. “I count four. Not ours. You two have your bows; you, give me that knife.”

The long-bladed knife was slipped from its sheath. “I got it off a dead giraffe,” the man said proudly.

Chassi nodded, tested the heft of it in his paw, and looked again. “Half a dozen now, which must mean that our people are getting closer. Take down as many as you can.”

“Right.” Arrows flew, and two of the men-at-arms fell with arrows in their backs.

Chassi took to his hooves. “Charge!” he shouted, with his two rescuers in tow.

The four remaining Hasant soldiers, surprised by the attack from behind, looked confused as they ran to meet the attack. Arrows continued to fall as Chassi faked a slash across one man’s eyes and parried a downward slash of his sword. The buck closed up against the canine and stabbed him, the long knife emerging from the man’s kidney. The canine went down, bleeding to death as one bat shouted, ”Repor! We’ve got the Earl!”

“Repor!” came a bellow from about twenty feet away, and the sounds of fighting drew closer.

The bat who had shouted was scavenging an arrow from a dead Hasant soldier when his partner smacked him across the head. “Ow! What was that for?”

“That’s for giving our position away.”

“I had to let our people know where we were.”

“And you let those Hasant toad-lickers know where we were, too, you fucking idiot.”

“Oh.” He cocked an ear as Chassi readied his knife. “Should we go meet our people partway?

“That actually sounds like a plan,” Chassi agreed, and the three started forward.