Family Matters
© 2022 by M. Mitch Marmel

Thumbnail art by  tegerio, color by  Major Matt Mason

Part Twenty-nine


Matt:

I’ll say one thing for Prince Roland, he can pack away the groceries. If I have to sit through another session with him, I may have to consider going on a diet to compensate.

With additional aerobics, courtesy of Low and Tali. Mrowr.

Still, I have to concede that Faerie’s GHQ Mess makes excellent fruit scones.

We’d discussed the various pros and cons of the two options I laid out, before the Marshal called his aide, Sergeant Wing, in to write down everything we had agreed to. It would be up to His Majesty to agree to one option or another.

I watched with a great deal of interest as His Highness magically created a copy of the proposal “To submit to the Commodore for her approval.” Not that I needed a copy; the biocybernetics suite in my skull would guarantee that I wouldn’t forget anything. Still, I assured him that I’d deliver it to her personally, and was then escorted out of the building to the spot where I’d teleported in.

The street in front of the Royal Palace was replaced by the Musashi’s main teleportation center and one of the ship’s junior officers saluted. “Welcome back, Colonel.”

I returned the salute. Despite being retired for a while, it actually felt good being back in harness, although the high collar of this coat made me feel like I was wearing a Cone of Shame. “Thanks. Do you know if the Commodore’s on the Bridge?”

“She may be, Sir. I haven’t seen her.”

“Hmm. I’ll head up there and see,” and I headed for the lift.

Sure enough, my darling wife was seated in her big chair overlooking the various Bridge stations. “Commodore.”

“Colonel,” she said, giving me a slight smile. Low takes command very seriously. “How did it go?”

“Pretty good. I have two options, and we’ll just wait to see what the Big Boss has to say.”


***


Winterbough:

Windimere was indeed outside the temple, stretched out on the largest bit of open space in Greytor-village. Which was a bit of a tight fit for her, and she had obviously taken care not to knock over a dwelling or a workshop in the course of her landing.

Dragon-kind gets what the Auld Sweats would call a "bad rap," and I've often thought they didn't deserve it. Granted, I'm going off Windy's reputation largely for that. And I am biased.

Seeing me, she very carefully and slowly extended one of her wings, such that the finger-claw in the middle of it was at my antler-level. The scroll-tube was still there, tied securely to one of her fingers.

I reached up, freed the tube, and before I unsealed it, I walked over and stroked the scales in front of the wyrm's nostrils. By way of appreciation for her part in the whole process. She closed her eyes and there was a loud, rhythmic rumbling that caused a nearby building to shed a tile or two.

Turning to the crowd of deer (and wolves) (and Estvan), I held aloft the scroll tube. "[Know ye of Elfhame,]" I said, "[that the paw of myself grasps the tube in which is contained the Challenge that shall determine the paw of whom shall join the paw of the Sixth of His Name, Westersloe Winterbough. Hark ye and give me the ears of yourselves, ere that I read it.]"

[Note appended to manuscript: "Sis boom bah!"]

[Note appended to manuscript: "Eh?" ]

[Note appended to manuscript: "What is the sound of an exploding feral sheep?"]

[Note appended to manuscript: "Sharrap, wolfess."]

There were a number of confused looks among the wolves, at any rate, and a few of the more kindly roebucks translated into Standard for their benefit. Windimere was less lost (I think Sixth had clewed her in to what was happening), but for her benefit (or out of sheer politeness) Sixth gave her a running translation.

In the meantime, my mate Anastasia and a few of the [Eldest] had turned around and were casting worried looks at Mount Humbert, some distance off to the north of the Vale. The summit, all the way down near to the roots of that great eminence were nearly hidden by mist, which was always something of a dangerous sign that the weather was about to get brisk. Already, low-lying, steel-grey clouds were scudding overhead, as if fleeing south from the wrath of the weather.

I'd labored long and hard over the wording of the Challenge, and I wasn't in any mood to be rushed. The Challenge had been even set to poetic meter in Elfhamian, and when you consider the syntax of my native tongue, that's saying something. I'll spare you that, and more or less paraphrase what I said.

In Standard.

"Hear ye young Sawyer, and young Sumac. That I am reading this out to you indicates that in fair combat of wits, you have each taken one event, and it falls now to the last Challenge to decide the fate of my heart's-keep, the buck that also bears my name. It is possible to create many different challenges that would speak to your Elf-ly natures, and to honor the Lady . . . "

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see both of Estvan's eyebrows lift, and a broad grin cross his face. Clearly, he was hoping for one Aspect of the Lady to be honored.

I gave him the Eye, which indicated to him the Fun was going To Be Kept Clean.

For that matter, Brother Cellini seemed to be holding out some kind of hope that I'd gone all Muscular Mephitist, and that there was going to be a three-round exhibition that he could referee. I had to disappoint him in that, too.

This was a great deal of fun.

"Know that all who wish to view the events of the final Challenge are invited to the shores of the [Star-Mirror], where the Challenge shall take place."

This mystified everyone, to be sure. I think a few may have had notions of a swimming competition, which would have been interesting, given the fact that not all that many of the Vale (and, indeed, Faerie) could swim. Certainly, it would have been novel.

But I had my reasons. And Windimere had guessed at them, for with a great deal of care, she launched herself into the air, circled over Greytor-village, and then flew off the few leagues to the [Star-Mirror]. It will be recalled that her lair had been carved out of a cliff-face right on that great lake, in part to give her shelter, and in part to be near her food sources of giant frogs and feral Elfhamian sheep.

Hopefully, Una's ram Triumph was going to be well out of temptation's way.

I gave a few orders for Una and Belladonna to be placed in a cart and brought to the site. For my own self, I changed into Elfhamian hawk form (something that still startled quite a few, transmogrification not being something used in the Vale) and flew off to wait events.

It was an hour or so before the Challengers, and the vanguard of the spectators, appeared at the [Star-Mirror]. In the cart with Una and Belladonna was Anastasia, of course, in her role as [First of Eldest]. And, to be sure, the mother of Sixth (remember him?). I was the recipient of a somewhat impatient look, the more so since the clouds had gotten even lower, and the waters of the [Star-Mirror] were starting to turn dark-grey and were continually ruffled by stiff breezes.

I was in no rush, however, and I cheerfully waited while the crowds assembled. Granted, I was sitting on Windimere's head, and she was mostly inside her lair, out of the wind. It was an excellent vantage point.
Finally, it looked like every fur that wanted to be present, was present, so I magicked up my throat, and bade the Challengers to step forward, which they did.

Two large rocks were pointed out. These were each stacked upon larger rocks, though it was apparent that they were a bit on the wobbly side.

"[Do you each select a rock of the choice of yourself and stand upon it as tall as the mountain named Humbert.]"

For the first time, I saw Una Sawyer with a slightly doubtful, worried look. Belladonna Sumac looked even more worried, but then, she was wearing a long skirt. Not exactly climbing clothes. Both of them, though, in obedience to my command, got to it, and climbed the rocks. A slow job, since the piles were not particularly steady.

Windimere rumbled in satisfaction. After all, it was she who had taken care to place the rocks in accordance with my instructions.

When each of the young roe-does were standing on their respective platforms, I spoke once again. “[Herewith the Challenge. Each of you is to recite song, prose and poetry. Not in the tongue of the skunks of the Mountain, but only in the learned smooth Elfhamian. No repeats shall ye make of the speech of the tongue of yourself, nor any repeat of the speech of the tongue of the other Challenger. No pause shall ye make longer than the beats of the heart above three. No liquid refreshment, nor solid refreshment, shall pass the lips of yourselves; be ye nourished by the sweet words ye utter. Should the hooves of yourselves falter in the posture of yourselves, ye shall forfeit the Challenge.]"

I turned to the audience. "[The giving of advice, with the tongues of yourselves or of the mind-speech of yourselves, is a foul.]"

Both of the Challengers looked surprised. They hadn't prepared for this. I could see the [Doe-Moot] in hurried conclave. There was agitated whispering for a minute or so, but at the end of it, the [Eldest] all nodded at me. They had no basis for a challenge to the Challenge.

"[Be ye ready and willing to undertake the task?]"

Both of the does set their jaws and nodded at me. As they did so, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

"[Speak, I bid ye, the learned smooth Elfhamian.]"

And so it began. Una Sawyer immediately took the offence and began to recite from memory The Princess and the Seven Stars, the Elfhamian national epic. A shrewd move, as that would not only take it away from Belladonna Sumac, but it was good for at least a number of hours. The darker roe-doe was thus forced to relate more traditional poetry.

Estvan had attempted to slip into Windy's lair, but a flick of dragon claws deposited him slightly outside it. Wisely, he did not try the old "elders and betters" argument with her. Arguments with wyrms rarely end well. He thus had to light his pipe in the increasing wind and wet. He grinned up at me. "'Tis warming of the heart, me boyo," he said, "that ye have looked to the loikes of me own self for inspiryation."

"Actually," I replied, from the nice dry perch I had well above him, "I borrowed the idea from one of Lucian Ravenmad's poems. Will you tell him or shall I?"

Uncharacteristically, Estvan was in moody silence for the next period of time. About ten minutes, which is a near-eternity for him.

Elves Don’t Lie, I was certain that Sir Ravenmad would have loved to be present to hear this.

Around about the second hour, the storm blew in, full force. One could barely see the black head-fur flag, and even the ginger head-fur flag, that were snapping in the gale. Each of the Challengers could barely stay upon their hooves, and they were constantly having to shift their knees, legs and hips to stay balanced.

All the while, keeping up the flow of learned smooth Elfhamian.

Some of the audience had fled, but by no means even a great fraction. Some were merely entertained, while others (mostly the [Doe-Moot]) were present to make sure that the rules of the Challenge were being obeyed to the letter. They weren't going to give an inch to Una Sawyer, if they could help it.

Sixth joined me in Windimere's lair. As he was a very good friend of hers, he was allowed in. She did give him the Eye when he brought out some sandwiches. I was astonished: he'd just had, a few hours before, a vast meal. Where did he put all of it?

As many had suspected, it was one of those brisk storms from the Wild Snows, and when those come in, normally one stays in one's workshop or home for a while. The Challengers had no such opportunity, and kept at their work of declaiming the learned smooth Elfhamian hour upon hour. Even as it started turning dark, and then became full-on night, as the tempest continued to blow. It was hard work to keep audible above the storm, but both of them did it.

Una had switched over to some classic accounts of battles, while Belladonna, in a move that few expected, began to reach into the vast store of bawdy Rangers literature and recite a number of jokes and ballads. I could tell that a number in the [Doe-Moot] weren't thrilled by her choices, but otherwise, since it kept her in the match, they didn't seem to take that much offence.

Hour upon hour, through the night, they continued. Neither of them cast any magick-lights, and there were none projected by the audience, which stayed put. The moon, of course, was not visible on such an evening.

Dawn broke, some time later, to find two very tired and bedraggled does still standing upon their rocks, still declaiming the learned smooth Elfhamian, and still glaring at one another, as if trying to will the other to fail. They might have slaked their thirst with the rain, which only now was starting to ease up, but exhaustion must have been setting in, even for Elves.

The competition, though, didn't slacken through the breakfast hours, and even into the lunch hour. With voices cracking, each were giving voice to ballads. I could tell, though, that they were taking advantage of the three-heartbeat rule to try to catch their respective breaths and conserve what little energy they had left.

Came the hour where they would have been at it for a full day, and you could see both sets of legs starting to wobble, with the breath coming in sharp pants. The wolves and deer that had gone away to refresh themselves (no one had the heart to have a meal in front of the Challengers, which I thought showed some sensitivity) returned, and indeed, the audience seemed more energetic and intent, leaning in to catch each word of the learned smooth Elfhamian.

At long last, just before the second dusk began to descend, it happened. Belladonna Sumac had just finished a particularly ribald anecdote, one that made the old gaffers in the audience cheer (they'd likely heard it when they'd worn the green of the Rangers centuries before), when she dropped to one knee, and then both of them, and braced herself with her paws. She fell silent.

One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats. Four.

Belladonna Sumac dropped her head, weakly raised one of her paws in acknowledgment, and let it drop.

Una Sawyer finished the sonnet she'd been reciting, and then bowed in response to the gesture. As she climbed down from her rock, Sixth came out from Windy's lair, to the applause of the crowd, even the [Eldest].

The ginger-doe put two fingers to her lips, and emitted a piercing whistle. Whereupon Triumph galloped into view.

Before I could do anything, Una Sawyer scrambled upon her ride, with Sixth clambering on behind her, gripping her around her midsection. She grasped the ram's horns, and hit his flanks with her hooves.

"[BaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEE!!]"

With a loud noise, the ram reared back on his hind hooves, thudded back on all fours, and with a vast spray of shore-sand, turned around, and then sped off toward the North, and Mount Humbert. It wasn't more than a minute or so when the two were lost to sight.

Anastasia and I each walked over to where Belladonna was, still on all fours on top of her rock. Slightly to my surprise, it was my mate who clambered up and assisted the defeated Challenger to her hooves, and then down from the rock.

Once down on the ground, Sumac turned, wordlessly acknowledged me (I imagine she was out of words by then), and under her own power, walked unsteadily, but upright and head held high, through the crowd, which parted in respect for her.

In a minute or so, she was lost to sight, having taken the road that led eventually to Greytor-village.

A pair of elderly roebucks made their way past me, and one began to sing in Standard.

“It was an Elfhame wedding, and the old furs wished them well
It may not be love at first, but we all know that time will tell
And after marrying under the Stars they both will ring the Temple bell
That’s the way, say the old furs, it goes to show you never can tell.”



<NEXT>

<PREVIOUS>

<FIRST>