Pillar of White Flame

© 2017 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  whitearabmare


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Part 57.



A small sea of tents surrounded the bridge and ford over the Ruyon, with picket-lines for the lizards downstream a short distance away. Scouts and patrols had been set up to a mile away from the encampment, in case anyone should wish to appear unannounced.

“I’ve not heard a whisper from the Royal Keep in several days,” Rebani said, the ferret gazing moodily into his empty wine cup. He glanced up at the raccoon boar seated across the table. “I am glad that you’re here, my Lord. Maybe we can talk some sense into the Crown Prince.”

Thegn Ranol snorted. “I wouldn’t hold out much hope of that, although I pray to all of the Pantheon that his eyes will be opened.” He ran a paw over his headfur and sighed as he studied the map of the surrounding area. “Part of the Issem domains are south of our position here. If Meki’s raised his House levies, they could cut off our supply lines or harry our flank as we march on the capital.”

Rebani nodded. “I have scouts keeping their eyes open down there. So far, the only Issem force we have to concern ourselves about are the levies in the city and besieging the Cloister.”

“Hmm, good job. And you say that the Crown Prince has most of the force committed to the siege?”

“According to my sources, yes.” The ferret shook his head as if trying to clear it. “It’s sad to see a scion of the High House trying to bring down the realm.”

Ranol got to his feet and circled around the table, resting a paw on the ferret’s shoulder. “That’s why we’re going to Shuganath. The Issem have maintained the peace for generations.” The raccoon’s muzzle twisted into a determined frown. “The Gods have not let me live this long, and lifted my Denunciation, to not have some purpose for me. With your help, we will try to set things right.”


***


Her presence in the Writ alerted her first. Her body stirred, the breathing rhythm changing slightly, but remained asleep to mundane eyes.

Dawn had just started to touch the rolling hills and tilled fields around the barn, and her ears twitched at the sound of voices. Of course; these were farm folk, just like her parents. Halvrika left her body sleeping and used her Sight as the farmer, a thickset ram, and two younger copies of himself emerged from the farmhouse.

She tightened the wards around her hiding place, and added a glamor to blend herself into the surroundings as the trio headed for the barn.

Luckily, they weren’t interested in the hayloft, selecting tools and getting ready for the day’s work. The youngest paused at the threshold and turned to look back inside. “What’re you waitin’ for, Zurati?” his father asked.

“Thought I smelled something, Papa.”

“Probably a rat. Come on; those weeds won’t hoe themselves,” and the young ram yelped as his father grabbed him by the ear and started dragging him. The boy managed to pull clear and began to run as his father aimed a kick at his backside.

Halvrika watched them go and sighed in relief at not being discovered, a sigh that turned into an unvoiced groan as her body twitched. The last thing she needed was to make noise or have someone catch a nose-full of her arousal. Right. Let’s try this, and she drove the body into a deeper sleep. There, that should hold you until tonight.

She needed the rest, after all.

The raccoon slowly centered herself, summoned power from the Writ and wrenched it to her will. ”Arch-Adept Dinest? ‘Tis Adept Hringurhali calls to thee.”

”Adept Hringurhali?” She would have smiled at the familiar touch of the bear’s mind. ”I have been worried for th – Halvrika, what has happened to thee?” and she sensed his shock at the network of dark tendrils that showed out as a black thicket in the Writ. His mental ‘tone’ altered to one of stern determination. ”Tell me, Adept. What has happened to thee in Lem?”

She shuddered, wanting nothing more to curl up and cry. ”It is . . . Arch-Adept, Duke Evoli was the descendant of Jeresh son of Jogon, named The Black. He, like those before him, were trained in the Writ and magic.” She mentally took a breath before continuing. ”I had no reason to suspect him, as he concealed his power, and I did not detect him until it was too late,” and she continued to tell the story.

”Hold, Adept,” Marok said, taking in her ruined left eye and the fur growing back on her tail. ”Evoli did this to thee?”

”Of a truth, Master. He . . . betrayed my trust and imbued me with the spell. Arch-Adept Jerofer was correct in this regard; the full manifestation permits the one wielding control full access to the victim. He . . . made me say things, do things . . . “ There was a pause as she regained control of herself.

”I confess to surprise, Adept. The Duke did never manifest any use of the Writ, apart from thy observation that he was aware of it.”

Halvrika’s ghostly form in the Writ nodded. ”Yes, Master. I did not know the way of it until I found where the full knowledge of Jeresh son of Jogon was safeguarded. Jeresh called it Concealment, and the spell worked thusly,” and she demonstrated it to the bear by using her power to essentially fold the fabric of the Writ and hide within it. ”Didst thou see that?”

”Indeed I have, my dear student. To what end did he do these things to thee?”

Halvrika glanced back at her body, which was starting to stir. ”Revenge, Master. Revenge for the death of Jeresh son of Jogon. The Kojarran have sought to topple the Issem and the Order for four centuries, building their power and honing their abilities. The Duke had the desire to set the High House and the Order at odds and to shatter the Kingdom. I was to teach his son, who Evoli would offer as a new King.”

Marok said, ”That explains much, Adept. How didst thou escape?”

”I . . . I beg thy forgiveness, Master, and will beg forgiveness of Arch-Adept Jesko, for I killed Duke Evoli, and his son, ere I destroyed the archive that held all works of Jeresh son of Jogon and his heirs. I have escaped Karbur, but the land has been raised against me. I slew several of my pursuers, and am hiding now until the night.”

”I shall rely upon my Sight, young Halvrika, and I sense there is no dissimulation in thee. I therefore forgive thee, for thou didst what thou hast thought right and proper to do. Arch-Adept Jesko must, I fear wait until the present matter is over ere she pass judgement upon thee,” and the bear quickly filled the raccoon in regarding his imprisonment and the siege of the Cloister. ”Is it possible that the Duke had – nay, it would not be possible for the Duke to have imbued the Prince Meki with this fell geas, I think, although others might have.”

”Priest Gond, Master?”

”Is dead, so I hear. He spoke of hearing voices, aye, so the possibility must be considered. It also explains the bright manifestations in the Writ – Evoli contacting his various thralls. There is one thing I would know now.” She waited and he asked, ”I had tried to contact thee, but could discern thee in the Writ, young one.”

She tried to avoid gloating at the word that the fox was dead. Getting too excited, or happy, or anything, might be enough . . . oh, great. ”It is a consequence of this geas, Master. The grimoires I found told me so, yet I have found a way to step around the power that blocked me from thee.”

”Ah, I see. In thy dissociated form, thou art not touched.”

”I am not wholly free of it, Master, but this flesh is deep asleep, lest the spell arouse me such that it pulls me back to my body to satisfy myself.” Both of them, Master and Adept, could See the raccoon’s sleeping form growing damp between her legs as she spoke. ”As I have said, the Duchess hath raised the land against me, so I shall sleep the day here, and steal forth by night.”

”Thou art staying away from the roads.”

”Of a truth, Master.”

”It is well. Make what speed thou canst, avoiding those who hunt thee. Keep thyself safe, until thou reachest thy parents’ home. Stay there, till this present conflict resolves itself.” She thought she could almost feel his hug. ”Take no thought for this old lecher, but keep thyself safe, and the Writ’s Eternal Balance guide thee.” He released the connection then, and Halvrika resumed her vigil over her body.


***


“I’m told that you wanted to speak to me,” Princess Trasta said as she set aside her tankard. Seni had brought the hooded and cloaked man to the back room of a taphouse a short distance from the Royal Keep after the figure had told the feline squire a certain password. At the Princess’ question he glanced at Seni, who silently nodded at his mistress and left the room. “Well?” the elk doe asked.

The stallion brought the hood back and Thegn Stolipi said, “I come with news, Highness.”

She rested one elbow on the stout wooden table. “Yes?”

“The Regent has decided that a demonstration is required, in retaliation for the death of Gond Meras and to convince the Order to surrender.” The equine looked deeply troubled, and Trasta sighed and poured him a tankard of ale, sliding it across the scarred wood to the stallion. Stolipi took a deep drink and said, “He is having a scaffold built, and firewood gathered.”

“For Marok Dinest?” At Stolipi’s nod, her lips pulled back from her teeth. “Valla’s armored cunt, what is that idiot thinking of?” She drank some of her beer and glared at the thegn. “Are you able to get word to the Cloister?”

Stolipi shook his head. “The troops investing the Cloister are Issem levies, loyal to Meki. I can’t stay away from the Keep for very long, or he’ll start suspecting me.”

“I see. Then find a way to get word to Master Dinest.”

“But he’s in the dungeons.”

“He might know a way.” She gave a sour a smile as she lifted her tankard again. “The Order are clever like that, you know.” There was a pause as she drank, and when she lowered the tankard she asked, “Have you given any thought to what we’ve spoken about?”

“It’s – it’s very hard, Highness, to go against generations of tradition and service.”

“I know. How do you think I feel? I’m raising my paw against my brother, and through him my nephew, the King.”

Stolipi nodded. “We have the same set of dilemmas.”


***


The sheep who tilled the fields and owned the barn she sheltered in were typical farm folk, early to rise in order to get the maximum amount of work done, and early to bed so they would have some rest prior to starting the cycle again. It reminded her of her childhood, as far as she could recall it. Halvrika watched as the last candle was extinguished, and used her Sight to make sure that the entire household was asleep, before she released the glamor and the wards that had guarded her throughout the day.

Her first order of business was to use the well, and refill her water flask; the second was to find a spot where she could empty her bladder and bowels without it being found easily. Those tasks done, she slung her pack and shouldered her guisarme and set off southward, using the stars to guide her.

Sometime after midnight the raccoon sow paused to eat and drink, still not daring to light a fire and having little idea where Lem ended and Shuga began. It was best to travel as quietly and stealthily as possible, anyway; Duchess Ureffa had likely sent Lem’s entire army out to find her, not just the Anchak skunks.

Her ears perked at the sound of a voice singing, borne on the wind from the east, and she opened her Sight and sought the source. Perhaps a quarter-mile away she found it – there was a trio of soldiers gathered around a campfire, two bears reclining on their packs while the third, an antelope, sang a hymn to Yeravi. Nice voice, too.

Halvrika did her best to tear her Sight away from the three men and concentrated on searching for some sign of their allegiance. Finally she found it, a crest she didn’t recognize, charged with the Lem arms of three eagle’s talons on a blue field.

Not friendly, then. She set a glamor around herself to mask her from view and continued on her way, the easterly breeze keeping either of them from catching her scent. She would keep going, and find a spot to rest before dawn.


***


“Wake up!”

Marok complied, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he came up to the open window, and blinked. “Well, bless me! Thegn Stolipi! How are you this fine morning, my Lord?”

Just behind the equine was the usual jailer, giving Duchess Rolna her breakfast and removing her honey bucket. “I am well, Master Dinest,” the stallion replied. “I’ve come down here to see how you and Her Grace are doing.”

“I could stand to have my bucket emptied,” the bear replied, “or all of these empty bottles will end up filled with something rather less pleasant than spring wine.” The Master and the Thegn chuckled together.

Marok retreated to the far side of the cell, sat on the bed and waited as his cell was cleared out, cleaned, and his breakfast and a fresh bottle of wine were set out for him. Stolipi himself carried in the tray, which bore smoked fish, fresh-baked flatbread and cheese. “Here’s your food,” the stallion said, giving the bear a harsh gaze as he set it down.

If Marok was puzzled by the look, he didn’t betray it. “Thank you, my Lord.” He sat placidly as the door was closed and locked. The jailer gave him a parting glare, and spit on the floor before following Thegn Stolipi down the hallway.

“That’s rather odd,” Marok heard Rolna say with her mouth full. “Stolipi’s never come down here before.”

“Hmm, yes, and he gave me some cause to think that he had an ulterior motive.” He lifted the flatbread and blinked at the sight of a small and tightly-folded square of parchment bearing the Drof family crest drawn on it in ink. “A message, it seems.”

The canine femme’s appeared at her door. “What’s it say?”

Marok opened it, read it, and replied, “I’m going to be executed.”