FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Tranquil Waters: The Lead Crown Ch 7.6, Forgotten Promises Malcom, part A

During on first day among the Wyranese they were shown to a pavilion set up "specifically for the Prince and his companions"... which meant it was a reinforced leather canvass tent with guards posted. They were "guests", which, apparently to the Wyranese was just one step above prisoners; they weren't tortured. Brother Rhys' confidence that they could reach a comfortable solution with the Wyranese forces eroded gradually thereafter, especially when nobody came to speak with them.

They had been separated from Among-the-Reeds, who had been taken from them and returned to her people. The soldiers were about to do the same with Runs-on-Air but, thankfully, Prince Malcom was able to get them to listen to reason by explaining that they were not from the same tribe; it would have been like dropping an Ilyese merchant into their armada. Rhys realized that the Prince was far over exaggerating but he wasn't about to call him out on it... not when it meant the Buck being able to stay with them... with him.

The only other positive point on their increasingly lengthy stay was when one of the captains in charge finally gave into Prince Malcom's constant request to let Dr. Brownell return to Vallara using Barro as a riding mount; he explained quite eloquently that she was in charge of handling the medical needs of the community. Brother Rhys hadn't expected it to work because, in fact, who would have believed that a female was a doctor?

Prince Malcom explained it shortly thereafter that in Wyra women often served on the battlefield as nurses, orderlies, and mobile medics. Once again, Brother Rhys was astouded at the Wolf's knowledge of the world despite having spent so much of his life with the Tribesmen. In the end, it was that world knowledge that finally allowed them to speak with the leader of the men that were "hosting" them.

It was the morning of the third day when one of the sentries came into the tent with their morning repast: several pieces of unleavened bread, hard cheese, some hunks of salted meat, and several cups of a dark, bitter tea. Prince Malcom had looked to Runs-on-Air and said something in the language of the Tribes before he glanced at the Priest and said in no uncertain terms, "Stay where you are and do not interfere."

The Wolf then stood up and moved to stand in front of the guard who was carrying their food. The soldier, a tall, lanky Stork gave him very specific orders to "Get outta mah way an' sit down."

The Priest had trouble tracking exactly what happened next once Prince Malcom stepped closer, but the Wolf ended up with the food all over him after being thrown to the ground. Sitting up calmly, Prince Malcom spoke. "In accordance with the Wyranese Standard Battle Code I am invoking my right to speak with the man commanding this maneuver."

The stork's beak didn't have the ability to sneer but Brother Rhys could tell it merely by the sound of his voice. "Yeu don't getta make demands, curr, yeu gotta be--"

Prince Malcom stood up to his full height and, even though the Stork was tall, Malcom easily had him by several inches... and probably nearly twice the weight. "Nobility? Would Prince Malcom of the Lehsunian line have the right to qualify as a priority dignitary under your Battle Code?"

The Stork seemed uncertain at first, his ire tempered by indecision. "Prince Malcom, huh? Yeu don't look like no prince."

The Wolf reached into a pouch and pulled out a ring, sliding it onto his finger before raising his paw for the Stork to see. "Perhaps you should ask your Lieutenant who your guests are next time. Now, in accordance with the Wyranese Standard Battle Code I am entited to speak with the highest ranking official you have with you in order to lodge my complaint regarding the mistreatment I have suffered in your care."

With a shortage of Birds among the population of Lehsunia, Brother Rhys hadn't had many opportunities to see a Stork go pale, but the draining in color from anywhere not covered in feathers was unmistakable. "Ey, ah... beggin'... ah... yer... Highness?"

Prince Malcom folded his arms across his chest. "And now I assume we're to go hungry as well..."

The soldier's feathers puffed out as he fell to his knees, "Mercy, Prince Malcom... how'd you think I'd know yeu from Marehbell?"

Brother Rhys wasn't familiar with Wyraenese turns-of-phrase but he assumed that he just experienced one. Regardless, the Wolf seemed unmoved. "Stand up, and go fetch the man in charge. If he is not here before noon, and if we are not provisioned before he arrives you can rest assured that, by the time I explain your misdeeds to him the most you could hope for was that you'd wouldn't live long enough to wish that you WERE Marybell."

The Rat waited until the groveling Stork had backed his way out of the pavilion before he spoke up. "Your Highness... what was all of that about? A Standard Battle Code? Highest Ranking Official? ...Marybell?"

The Wolf brushed at several errant drops of tea still clinging to his fur. "Wyra is a nation of order and law... they have rules for everything, even war. The Wyraense Standard Battle Code explains everything from what soldiers should wear to how formal acts of war and peace are to be presented. In this case, the man who just visited us thought we were prisoners while, according to the Wyranese SBC we are, in fact Detained Dignitaries... which means we are entitled to file a grievance with the highest ranking officer available if we believe we are the subject of mistreatment or undeserved harassment."

Prince Malcom went on to explain more about the Wyranese people... so much insight in fact that it seemed surreal to hear such worldly information from a Wolf who was dressed like a savage living in the forest. It opened up Brother Rhys' eyes in understanding that there was still so much more that he himself didn't know. The introspection was paused when the Stork returned with a lavish place setting for all three of them with some fresh fish included with their bread and cheese. Without another word he made himself scarce, bowing as he exited. Prince Malcom didn't react to the adoration, but Runs-on-Air seemed bemused by it all.

The three ate quietly and, all the while, the Prince instructed both Rhys and Runs-on-Air, taking turns in speaking the common tongue and the one of the tribes people. Although the Priest knew nothing about the man in charge, one Lord O'Dell, Prince Malcom was more than familiar with him, which turned out to be incredibly helpful, and it included some thoughts about how they should each proceed.

During his discussion with Brother Rhys, Prince Malcom explained their 'host'. "Lord Brektyr O'Dell is from a noble Wyranese line, and probably the third most powerful family in Wyra. His clan has claimed the Green Valley their home for the past eleven generations and he was appointed the Admiral of the 8th Armada while I was still learning my letters. He is not a man to be trifled with."

Brother Rhys knew his way around the court almost as well as the social conventions of the clergy, but, considering the military power of Wyra and the audacity with which they invaded the coast, the Rat was not particularly inclined to test his talents. Still, he had to ask. "Prince Malcom... why do you think he would come all this way and threaten the people here? What would he have to gain?"

The Prince shook his head. "I could not say, Brother Rhys... but what I do know is that he has gathered up the Grass Tribe and is not allowing them to leave their village. He has us here by his command and is keeping us as 'guests'. He is unwilling to follow traditional channels for diplomacy and has instead insisted that I come here to--"

A commanding voice with only a hint of the Wyranese accent spoke from the other side of the tent flap. "Perhaps it is because the traditional channels were not the most hospitable waters, Your Highness."

Brother Rhys looked to the entryway as a regal red Wolf pulled the leather drape aside and stepped in. He was remarkably fit for someone the Priest guessed was in his mid thirties, and he managed to exceed Prince Malcom in both height and mass. Lord O'Dell wore no armor, giving the Rat a very clear view of his sculpted physique; it was more than a little intimidating, and his litany of scars showed that he was no stranger to battle. Prince Malcom wasted no time. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, your Lordship."

It was a strangely pleasant greeting despite the situation, but, then again, the Priest was well versed in the beating-around-the-bush style of nobility... it really wasn't that far different than the way the Church handled formal meetings. Lord O'Dell responded in kind. "And thank you for making the trip. I hope the wait hasn't inconvenienced you."

Prince Malcom smiled warmly, but his words held quite the double meaning. "No more than the journey, I assure you."

There was an immediate and distinct change in Lord O'Dell; the red Wolf actually seemed even more relaxed than he had upon entrance, and managed a hearty, seemingly natural laugh. The expression on Prince Malcom's muzzle suggested that he was genuinely surprised by the reaction. The Wyranese Duke unceremoniously sat down on the floor of the tent, crossing his legs and placing a paw on either knee. "Now THIS, I like."

Prince Malcom remained standing. "I beg your pardon, Lord O'Dell?"

The red Wolf motioned to the ground, tail casually swaying behind him. "Please... let's dispense with the formalities... you seem like a man who can be genuine, Malcom. Call me Brektyr and we can speak as normal men, not like nobles."

Brother Rhys was not surprised in the least when Prince Malcom didn't accept the invitation. "You'll forgive my hesitance for familiarity, Lord O'Dell, but I was under the impression that you called me all the way here so you could speak with a Prince of Lehsunia... not a 'normal man'."

Lord O'Dell's expression shifted from pleasant discourse to reserved frustration. "Apparently the quality of dense complexity runs in your family... I had just as much difficulty with your sister."

Prince Malcom's ears raised. "You have already spoken with Noriene? Why bother involving me in this then?"

The red Wolf's scowl disappeared behind a veneer of courtley civility. "Because, your Highness... she was being difficult."

The Prince's expression never waivered. "As is the way of royalty, as I'm sure you well know, Lord O'Dell... we have a way of complicating things far more than necessary and we tend to make it difficult for others."

The next words out of the Wyranese Wolf's mouth chilled Brother Rhys to the bone, and seemed to have a similar effect on Prince Malcom. "I was hoping you'd be more reasonable... and provide a better solution than marrying off your brother to my little sister."

There was silence for a long while. Runs-on-Air spoke up quietly in the tribal tongue but he fell silent at a withering glare from Lord O'Dell. The red Wolf's gaze eventually found its way back to the Prince. "No? That IS a pity... I was hoping YOU might be more reasonable in seeing that your sister and I would make a finer match."

Their host stood up to leave but Prince Malcom reached out and grabbed the Wyranese Wolf by the wrist. "Stop."

Lord O'Dell was all welcoming smiles as he took a seat once again. With an expression of victory on his broad muzzle, he bowed his head lightly. "As you wish, your Highness... I would love to hear any input you might have on the situation."