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  aspenbear

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Part 61.


She was still cleaning herself up when she noticed the dried blood on the blade of her guisarme. The streaks and blotches had dried enough to make the blood look like rust stains on the steel. “Damn,” she muttered, and ignoring her still-damp fur she crawled on her paws and knees over to her rucksack. Rooting around in it for a moment, the raccoon sow found a small bundle and carried it back to the brush-axe.

The bundle was an oily rag wrapped around a whetstone and a small flask of oil. Sitting crosslegged on the floor, she started to clean the blade before sharpening it. Her father would have put her over his knee for mistreating the guisarme.

Just thinking of it caused her skin to flush and a moist heat rose in her loins. Gods damn it, she thought, and concentrated to damp the incipient lust down. The idea of having sex with my own father . . . ew. She managed to get her mind off the subject by keeping her attention on her work.

To her dismay, some of the rusty red spots on the broad, curved blade were actually rust, and not dried blood. Halvrika sighed and worked to get rid of the worst of the corrosion, oiling the steel before honing the edge. Thanks to the rust, the weapon still looked like it was streaked with old blood. When her task was done the raccoon cleaned up again, got dressed, and packed her belongings before going downstairs for breakfast.

The inn’s breakfast was smoked fish, with wheatcakes and blackberry preserves, with either watered ale or buttermilk to wash it down. Halvrika chose buttermilk, and ate and drank heartily. Having the spell still in her was affecting her appetite, probably because it was taking a lot of energy to keep them functioning. She glanced up as a serving-wench refilled her cup. “Thank you,” she said around a mouthful of fish. The otter femme smiled and moved on to another table.

“Sure you don’t want to stay longer?” the innkeeper asked as she started to leave. For another half-silver of her dwindling supply of money, she’d had her waterskin refilled with watered ale and had a wrapped half-dozen wheatcakes secured in her rucksack.

“You’ve been more than kind, sir,” Halvrika replied. “Greva and Molluta bless you.”

The otter gave a broad smile. “Azos protect you on your travels, young woman,” and he went about his business as she walked out, shouldering her guisarme and squinting a bit in the morning sunlight.

At least the weather was nice, and the raccoon had to resist humming a song to herself. She didn’t dare lower her guard and kept herself partly in Writ, searching for any sign of anyone or anything that could pose a threat to her.

This is what Master Maffa does, every day and night, she thought. I guess it explains a lot about the way she treats her students.

After a few hours she reached the crest of a hill, noting that the two cairns marking the border had gotten a great deal closer. Small prayer flags bearing the triskelion symbol of the Pantheon were wound around one of them. Her Sight reached out, and she saw two groups of soldiers.

One was on the Shugan side of the border, four equines armed with swords and spears; their border fort was a league further to the southwest. There was a smaller trio of armed cougars on the Lem side of the boundary, closer to the road. Their quarters were a bit further back, due north of where she stood. Neither group seemed to be toward her, but were instead following meandering paths.

Thank the Writ, she said happily to herself, and a slight exertion of power hid her from view as she moved away from the road and into a broad field of tall grass.

Her Sight suddenly veered and she stopped, crouching in the grass as one of the equines moved away from the others. He dropped his pants and started to urinate.

The raccoon sow found herself staring at his cock.

She smacked herself in the head with the flat of the guisarme’s blade as the stallion finished pissing, tucked his member away and rejoined his fellows. Halvrika moaned in a mixture of lust and frustration before smacking herself in the head again, trying to clear the influence that threatened – again - to make her wits leak out between her legs.

The raccoon huffed a breath through gritted teeth and stood up, reinforcing her glamor and heading more quickly through the tall grass toward the border.


***


The group of soldiers that had been allowed into the city had found themselves surrounded by crowds of furs begging them for help. Some of the soldiers were hard-pressed to stay in their ranks, while others formed a cordon around Thegn Ranol and Seneschal Rebani.

The raccoon boar grimaced. “They seem happy to see us,” he said, raising his voice.

“More like scared and desperate,” the ferret replied. “Hello! What’s that?” he asked as the street in front of them suddenly appeared to be cleared of citizens. The thegn raised a paw, and the troops with them stopped as a riding-lizard turned the corner from a side street.

The lizard’s rider wore Shugan livery, but held the Blanak banner from a lance that he held high. Beside him on another lizard . . . “Your Grace?” Rebani called out.

“Rebani!” the canine femme called out, waving a paw as she spurred the lizard forward and coming to a halt in front of the troops. “I didn’t expect you to bring an army.”

The ferret grinned. “They wanted to come, Your Grace. Prince Meki released you?”

“No, and I’ll tell you about it later. For now, I have orders for you both,” and she pulled a scroll from a saddlebag. It bore the Issem seal, differenced with a feather for the Heir. “They’re from Princess Trasta.”

“Meki no longer rules, then?” Thegn Ranol asked, looking over Rebani’s shoulder as he read. “We saw fires.”

“Meki no longer rules,” Rolna assured him, “and the fires were thankfully few, and they’ve been either extinguished or brought under control. The Order broke the siege after Meki threatened to execute Master Marok.”

Ranol’s features set into a stony mask. Marok had been the Master to whom Halvrika had been apprenticed to, and the memories of his last encounters with his only daughter were still fresh in his mind. I will have to speak with him when this is all over, he reminded himself. “What are Her Highness’ instructions?” he asked, and the fact that he didn’t say ‘orders’ wasn’t lost on either the canine or the ferret.

“Her Highness asks that you and I go on to the Keep, detailing one cohort each to help maintain order in the city,” Rebani read aloud. “The rest of the troops are to be under Duchess Rolna’s command,” he added, giving Ranol a sidelong glance.

The raccoon boar nodded. “Your Grace is senior in rank to me, of course.” He beckoned to a serjeant. “Head back to the bivouac, Serjeant, and let them know that Her Grace is coming to take command of the Blanak levies and the Western Army.” The buck nodded and took to his hooves, running back through the crowd to the gate.

“You brought the Western Army with you, Thegn Ranol?”

“No, Your Grace. I left strong garrisons at strategic points.” He rested a paw on his sword-hilt. “I was not going to stand by and watch the realm disintegrate.”

“You and I are in complete agreement, my Lord,” the Duchess said, “and I spent some time in a cell for that conviction.” She smiled and added, “Needless to say, I am heartily glad to be out of a cell, thank the Gods. You two had better push on to the Keep, and I’ll go join the army.” She kicked her lizard into motion and started down the road, soldiers making a path for her through the crowd. A few raised a cheer as she rode past.

Thegn Ranol watched her go before raising his voice. “WITH ME! FORWARD!” Called back to their duty, the soldiers closed ranks around the thegn and the seneschal, and started off at a smart marching pace toward the looming walls of the Royal Keep.


***


Trasta ran as fast as her hooves could take her across a grassy field half-churned into mud. She looked behind her and almost laughed as her pigtails streamed in the wind. A few paces back, her older brother labored after her. His brace clanked and squeaked as he tried to speed up. “Come on, Meki, keep up!”

The buck put on a spurt and almost drew even with her before the brace on his right leg buckled and down the young buck went.

Trasta saw him fall – Underworld, it was a wonderful face-plant, right in the mud – and she circled back as he rolled over and sat up. “What’s the matter, Meki?” the ten-year old teased. “Can’t keep up with a doe?” She tossed her head and started laughing at him as he wiped the mud from his face and eyes.

The pawful of mud caught her dead in the face and as she stood blinking at him Meki said, “See how you like it.” His laugh was nastier as the muck slid off her face, some of it getting under her shift. With loud, inarticulate cries of rage, the two siblings dove at each other and for a few minutes there was a flurry of thrown mud as fists and hooves lashed out.

Trasta felt a strong paw on the back of her clothes and she was lifted up and out of the way. She turned in midair to see her Uncle Meki’s face. The old buck was glaring at her, and she glanced away.

She didn’t like getting Uncle Meki angry, because he was a soldier and teaching her how to use a sword and that made him the best uncle ever.

Her brother had been hoisted up off the ground by their father, and the King looked furious. “Just what is going on?” Aroki IV demanded.

“She laughed at me!” Meki yelled. He glared at his sister and shouted, “I HATE YOU!”


***


“Where the fuck is he?” Trasta growled wearily, coming to a halt and throwing her helmet across the room in frustration. Down the hallway came a smithy’s worth of noise as her troops fought a group still loyal to the Crown Prince and Regent. She had ordered her soldiers to avoid killing anyone, but the pristine white-gray marble floors were stained with blood here and there. There would have to be an accounting for those dead troops, and she dreaded what would happen when she finally did encounter Meki. None of the Gods, not even Luli and Valla, favored kinslayers, and she was determined to not have her brother’s blood on her paws if she could possibly help it.

A further cause of her short temper was the repeated reminders of their childhood together. Azos and Perin, she prayed silently, I do not want my brother dead. Please don’t think I do. Judge the truth of my words.

“Pardon, Highness?”

The elk doe’s eyes opened. “What?”

The wolf held out her helmet to her. “He’s been found.”

“Where?” He started walking and she followed while she put her helm on.

“The Queen’s Tower, Highness,” and he picked up his pace as she started to run.

The tower was named because the first King to inhabit the Royal Keep after it had been built wanted a secure fastness to house his wife and fawns. It was well-guarded on three sides by the Holy Mountain itself, and had a gatehouse between it and the rest of the fortress. It was the perfect place for a last stand.

To make matters worse, none of the Masters of the Order could help her. The wards woven into the stones of the tower were ancient and always active. Not even Master Maffa could get through or around them.

Crazy he might be, but her brother was no fool.

Her ears perked as she and the wolf ran through the hallways, hearing a heavy, rhythmic drumbeat of something heavy crashing against a wooden surface. Trasta put on a burst of speed despite her weariness, and pulled up short in a skitter of hooves on stone as she rounded a corner.

The doorway that connected the rest of the Royal Keep to the Queen’s Tower had a wooden canopy over it, but it was designed to fold down (collapse, actually) over the door to act as a first line of defense. That had been breached fairly easily, and the stone pathway led straight to the gate with the square tower looming over it. A platoon of soldiers was using a battering ram on the gate, while another detail held their shields over their heads in case the defenders decided to drop something on them.

One young rabbit doe in blue-washed chain mail sat cowering by the open doorway. “What’s wrong?” Trasta asked, bending near. “Are you all right, Adept?”

The woman jerked and stared up unseeing at the elk. “Fffff . . . f-flames . . . “ she whimpered.

The elk glanced at the gate as the sound of splintering wood began to be heard, and looked back at the rabbit. “The wards?” she asked. The doe gave a shaky nod, and Trasta said, “Get you gone, then. Go tell Master Jesko that I don’t want her or any of you near these wards. Got it?” The rabbit nodded again before scrambling to her feet and retreating back into the Keep.

After another hour, the gate to the Queen’s Tower finally buckled and splintered enough for a weasel to slip inside and open the portal from the inside. Trasta walked in, two soldiers holding shields over her in case there were any nasty surprises coming from the murder-holes in the ceiling. One of her own soldiers clattered down the stairs to her left and touched a finger to his eyebrow. “No one upstairs, Highness,” the feline said. “Funny, that.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, Highness, your brother’s known you were coming. He should’ve had the place set up for a siege.”

Trasta nodded. “I agree, but he probably didn’t think things would go sour for him so quick.”

“Hmm, hadn’t thought of that. Sorry, Highness.”

You’re not paid to think, Trasta thought. Aloud she said, “Finish searching the gatehouse and start into the Tower – what?” Her ears perked at the clash of steel against steel, and a scream, swiftly cut off, that told her that a man had died. The elk doe drew her sword and ran forward.

Meki’s valet Sarti stood at the base of the broad flight of steps that led to the tower’s upper floors, with two dead soldiers sprawled at his hooves. The bull was wearing mail and swinging a war-axe as he kept two more swordsfurs at bay. He glanced at the newcomer, and his eyes widened.

“Sarti!” Trasta shouted. “Time to dance.”

“Time to die,” the bull growled, and charged at her, bringing his axe up to strike.

One of the main advantages of a war-axe is that, as a polearm, an experienced wielder can protect himself. One of the disadvantages is that it is heavier than a sword, with all of its mass at a distance from the paws using it. The two soldiers that Sarti had been keeping away from the stairs knew this, and one fell in beside and slightly ahead of Trasta while the other dodged to the left to come up behind the bull.

Trasta judged the angle of Sarti’s downward swing and angled her blade to deflect, not to block; nevertheless, the impact sent a shock from her paw to her shoulder. The buck on her right stabbed at the bull, trying to get to the opening under his left arm where there was no mail. The goat on her left ducked in and fell back hard as the bull pivoted nimbly and kicked the caprine in the midriff.

The buck and the goat exchanged glances and charged, coming at the valet from two sides. For a moment there were few sounds above hoarse breathing, grunts, and the crash of steel against steel.

Luli, guide my blade Trasta prayed as she darted in, using her cervine speed to best advantage. Her sword slashed down hard at Sarti’s left ankle as her own hoof hit him behind the right knee. With a roar, the bull collapsed, hamstrung, and the two soldiers finished him off.

Trasta ground her teeth, then tipped her head back and shouted “MEKI!”

“Up here, bitch,” came a reply from upstairs.

She signaled for the buck to follow her and, leaving the goat to guard the base of the stairs, started up with a slow and deliberate tread. The stairs went up to a landing before continuing up after a right-paw turn, and at the first landing she stopped.

Meki son of Aroki stood at the top of the stairs, a naked sword in his right fist. His left paw held his usual walking-staff, but he still looked a bit unsteady on his hooves. “I’m pleased to see you, sister,” he hissed. “Treason’s not good enough for you, huh? You have to commit murder, too?”

She eyed him warily. “If they had surrendered – “

“’Surrender?’ HAH! They were loyal, you idiot! Loyal to me! Loyal to the King!” He shifted his stance and spit at her. “And the King is my son, not yours! You’ll never have a fawn, because you’ll be too busy fucking that gods-damned ringtailed whore – “

“I’m betrothed, you – “

“SHUT UP!” her brother roared. “You think I’m stupid, Trasta? I saw immediately through your plans, immediately! That buck’s not even strong enough to beat you in a fight! What makes you think he can get his cock hard enough to fuck you?” He smirked. “But for that fucking raccoon, oh yes, you’re all too willing to spread your legs for her. Bet that’ll be a disappointment to Chassi, won’t it?”

She ignored the insults, and planted a hoof on one step. “I’m coming up there, Meki.”

“I’ll take your fucking head off.”

Another step. “You can try.” And another. “Your son’s the King. A King has to have a kingdom, doesn’t he?”

“He will have, yes, one where the Gods are worshiped, not flouted by a pack of magic-mongering whores!”

Another step, the buck staying at the landing but ready to come pounding up the steps if his liege needed his help. “Gond is dead, Meki.”

“I heard, thrown out a window by that unwashed cur you put up for High Priest. Well, I’ll deal with him when I’m put your head over the gate.”

Trasta paused and raised an eyebrow. “You’re welcome to try. Face facts, brother – you’ve lost. Your last guard is bleeding all over the floor behind me.”

Meki’s face twisted into a mask of fury at word that Sarti was dead, and then he laughed. “But I have the one thing you’ll never have, Trasta – I have the King.” He shouted, “SEFFA!”

“Meki?” came the response.

“Bring our King out here,” he ordered, his eyes not leaving Trasta’s. “Let him see what kind of traitor his aunt is.”

The two siblings stood, staring at each other, as Seffa gingerly stepped into view, paws hugging a small bundle of silk and lace that occasionally stirred. “Come here, Seffa,” Meki growled as he threw his walking-staff at Trasta. She dodged it easily and the buck below her gathered it up as it clattered on the stairs.

“What do you want, Meki?” Seffa asked warily.

“I want my son to witness what I do.” Meki pointed his sword at his sister. “I proclaim that you are Denounced, Trasta. You won’t have any noble title, you won’t be welcome in this Keep, you won’t have anything – Seffa, come here I said!” He reached out with his free paw and grabbed her sleeve, trying to drag her to him.

The doe almost lost her hold on the fawn, who bleated querulously, and as she tried to regain her balance she tugged back at him. “Meki! You almost made me drop him!”

Meki turned away from Trasta and grabbed his wife’s arm, gesturing at Trasta with a wave of his sword. “You come when I tell you – “

She pulled away again, as he swung the sword in a wide arc, and he staggered back as he lost his grip.

He tried to keep his balance, but his right hoof and leg wasn’t strong enough to hold his weight.

Seffa screamed as her mate toppled down the stairs, Meki bouncing and tumbling as he went past Trasta and landed in an untidy heap on the landing, practically at the soldier’s hooves.

With the elk’s head at an unnaturally awkward angle.