FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Prince Christophe sat silently in the carriage, resting his head against the window. Two hours had passed since he had been informed of the assigned bodyguard's illness, and he knew not when the replacement would arrive.

Stuck alone with his thoughts, the paperwork he carried with him turned out to be an insufficient distraction. Just one week in the Capital was enough to remind him why he rarely visited. The politicking and demands of the noble houses weighed down on him while he stayed in the palace. In Westgate, he could see with his own eyes the impacts of his decisions on his people, but working from the palace, it was difficult to see who he was truly helping or hurting. Third in line to the throne, Christophe felt thankful that the ambition of his siblings freed him from such business. Let them deal with the Capital, he thought. I can do more good in Westgate than I ever could here.

The week's stresses left him longing to return to the grounded realities of the snowy frontier city. Having to take a caravan back was inconvenient already, but he thought he would at least be out of the Capital by now. He sighed, and the mage-spires of the palace taunted him from outside the window. If the teleportation network wasn't damaged, he would have already left through one of their circles.

Christophe rubbed his eyes. He shouldn't be having such thoughts while sitting in a royal carriage. Most people of the kingdom could never afford such a luxury- let alone ever travel vast distances via magic. He could survive a little discomfort before his return.

A sharp rap on the carriage door interrupted his woolgathering. He looked down and saw the captain of the caravan's guard, a stocky mountain lion with fur slightly graying about the whiskers. Behind the captain stood a soldier dressed in the distinctive masked helm and blue-trimmed armor of the Silver Scale. Christophe opened the door.

"A new bodyguard has been assigned, Your Highness," the captain said.

The prince wondered how much sooner they could have left if they didn't look for such an overqualified replacement.

"Thank you, Captain. Let us depart as soon as we can." The captain nodded and walked towards the rest of the caravan. Christophe eyed the Scaled Guard-- a tall, imposing figure with a gray wolf's ears and tail, standing in place with unusual stiffness. He waved the bodyguard inside.

"Come on in, then. We haven't the time for a formal introduction." Christophe watched as he hesitated before climbing into the carriage. The wolf sat in the opposite corner of the carriage, his back perfectly straight, holding his shield on his lap. Christophe looked at him with an amused smile, eyes lingering on the notched ear that seemed somehow familiar.

"You may be at ease, soldier. We've a long ride ahead of us, and I hope you will at least grant me a little conversation to ease the journey." He returned to leafing through his paperwork. The wolf opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. I've never known a Guard to act nervous, thought Christophe. Perhaps he's a new--

The shock of sudden realization traveled from Christophe's nose to the tip of his tail. He knew this wolf's scent. Intense warmth welled up in his chest and was quenched by the harshness of reality that washed over him in the next instant. Clearing his throat, he looked at the soldier sitting across from him, not quite succeeding at filtering the emotions from his voice.

"Sergeant Ames. What a pleasant surprise to meet you here."

---

Ames swallowed dryly. Christophe stared at him with eyes of burning intensity. What did the prince want him to say? He knew only what he himself wanted to say, words he had dreamed of saying ever since that night. But it could not be. They both knew that.

"The surprise is mutual... Your Highness. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting to be-- I thought you traveled by--"

"Oh, there's no need to apologize," said Christophe through gritted teeth, pointing quickly with his snout to the front of the carriage and the driver who sat there in earshot of their conversation. "Such is the life of a Scaled Guard! Full of surprises. I believe our driver is a soldier from Westgate as well. Perhaps you'd like to share stories?"

Ames felt trapped in the carriage, grateful for any escape. He got up to climb around to the passenger's seat, but Christophe reached forward and grasped the collar of his breastplate, pulling him down to the fox's eye level.

"I do not wish to cause you discomfort," he whispered. "We will get through this if we both remember our duties." Christophe released his grip. The wolf gave a sharp nod and made his way to the seat next to the driver, a long-furred lynx wearing a Vanguard uniform.

"Haybrook!" said Ames, striking up the conversation with surprising ease. Perhaps his mind was desperate for a chance to think about anything else. "They've got you on caravan duty again, eh?"

This would be a long ride indeed.

---

The first day of travel proved uneventful, much to the displeasure to Ames and Christophe, who both hoped for something other than scenery to distract them from their predicament. They turned in for the night with not a conversational word between them.

But one can only spend so much time staring at trees from a carriage before boredom forces change. On the second day, they began to talk to each other in small bits; remarks about the weather, news from Westgate. Still, though, they both walked on eggshells, and they ended each too-short conversation frustrated and anxious. Ames avoided eye contact, fearful of what might happen should he look too long at the fox that he told himself he'd never look at again. Christophe did the same; to see Ames was to see living proof of his own weakness as a leader.

If I just don't look at him, each thought to himself, I'll be able to keep it together.

It didn't work.

---

The tavern door swung shut behind Ames as the hum of late-night merriment was replaced by the crunching of boots in snow and the gentle wind that rustled the evergreens. A shadowed moon hung in the cloudless sky on the second night of the journey, casting a half-light over the mountain village. It must be past midnight now. Ames' eyes adjusted quickly to the low light. Nearly four hours before, Prince Christophe had gone to visit the manor of his cousin, the village's magistrate, insisting to Ames that he needed no guarding while he was there.

"Please, Sergeant, I am among family here. I will send for you at the tavern once I finish catching up."

Reluctantly, Ames let him leave. He could use the break anyway; he hadn't yet had the chance to relax with the other soldiers, away from his charge. The night had stretched on too long, though, without any sign or word from the prince. Growing uneasier with every passing minute, Ames went to check on him.

As he walked on, the manor revealed itself through the trees. It was much like the other houses in the village-- one high-roofed level built solidly of logs. This one, though, was much older. Carved stone lied alongside timber in a presentation that managed to be simultaneously imposing and inviting. Ames imagined it being very warm inside.

He reached out to knock on the heavy front door and nearly fell forward when it swung open before his fist made contact. Two foxes stared up at him, wide-eyed: Christophe, and a female red fox standing in the entryway behind him.

"Oh! Sergeant Ames! What timing, I was just leaving," said Christophe. He looked to the red fox and explained, "My bodyguard." She dropped her startled expression, replacing with a friendly smile.

"How lovely to meet you, Sergeant. I am Eloise, magistrate to this village and cousin to this excuse of a prince." She glanced at Christophe, orange eyes communicating a deep familiarity in spite of her words. Ames saw the resemblance. "Thank goodness you're here. I was about to walk him back myself."

The foxes shared a quick hug and farewells, then Ames and Christophe were alone. The prince stumbled forward a few steps before catching himself. "Woah," he muttered, and started down the path back to the tavern. "I should've sent for you sooner. I got a little, uh, carried away." He spoke slowly, at an uneven pace.

Oh no, thought Ames. He's drunk. The smell of meadowberry wine on his breath confirmed Ames' assessment. He swallowed and tried to keep his thoughts together.

"You seem close with your cousin, Highness."

"Oh, yes, we grew up together. She's really more like a sister to me. More of a sister than our dear Crown Princess, at least..." he said, staring at his own feet as if they might lose the path should he look away.

"I see."

"Sorry, Ames, I haven't been drunk like this in a long time, it's unseemly of me-- how much farther is the tavern from here?"

"About a half mile."

"So far! I'll need your help." Before Ames could protest, Christophe grabbed his arm for support. "No need to pretend we're strangers when no one's around, Martin."

Ames shook his head and clenched the spear he carried in his other hand. He wanted to to drop his weapons and take the fox's hand, to say how he'd dreamed of him every night since he left Westgate. He wanted to call him Chris. He forced the words back and took a deep breath. "You shouldn't call me that."

It took them only a handful of silent minutes to walk back to the tavern, but it seemed like hours to Ames. Finally, the lantern lights of the village's center shone through the trees, promising relief for the agonized wolf. He looked down at the fox holding his arm and cleared his throat.

"We're about to reach the tavern. I think you should--"

"Right, right. I can make it the rest of the way to the rooms." Christophe let go of Ames and stood still for a moment, straightened his uniform, and marched on in a remarkable facade of soberness. He walked toward the back entrance to the tavern where only a couple of guards would see them approach.

The night watch greeted them at the door, standing at attention. They entered without a word, only nodding to the guards. Ames thanked his helmet for covering his eyes. They would know for sure, he thought, the what-ifs flooding his stomach with anxiety. Oh, God-- do they know?

The door shut behind them, sealing off the winter breeze and leaving Ames to notice his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Down the hallway leading to the tavern's seating, the bustling conversations were noticeably absent.

"Sounds like everyone went to sleep," said Christophe. He stepped toward the staircase on the other side of the hall and tripped, nearly planting his face into the stairs before catching himself. "They should put a railing here. Give me a hand?"

Ames bent down and offered his arm. The fox took it, and step by step they reached the top of the staircase. Before them stretched a corridor flanked by several rooms on either side. The furthest door was Christophe's; beside it, Ames' room, which he was sharing with the driver Haybrook. As soon as they cleared the stairs and saw the space was empty, Christophe pulled himself closer to Ames, leaning into him.

"I'm so glad I get to see you again, Martin," whispered the prince, walking slowly toward his room in tandem with Ames. His breath caught at Christophe's words. "You know, you could stay the night if you want."

"N-No, Highness, it wouldn't be--"

"Of course, I..." His voice trailed off. Before he could finish his thought, they were at his door. He pawed at the handle and pushed it open without letting go of Ames. "What if we just talked for a while? I just want to know you better, is all..."

Ames looked down at the fox, who gazed back up at him with soft eyes and a demure smile. It took all the will Ames had to keep himself from entering the room. With a wrenching feeling in his chest, he pulled his arm away.

"You're drunk. I's not right."

"...Right. Of course," said Christophe, nodding slowly after a long pause. There was a hollow ring to his voice. "Goodnight then, Ames."

Ames turned away, leaving the fox standing in the doorway, and escaped into his own room. He set his helmet and weapons on the floor and quietly removed his armor, being careful not to wake Haybrook who was fast asleep on the other side of the room. He felt his heart and mind racing in opposite directions, threatening to tear him apart. Lying down on his too-small bed, he stared at the ceiling, knowing that even if he found sleep his dreams would provide no respite from this feeling.

---

Two nights and nearly three days had passed since the caravan left the Capital. They spent the nights in roadside villages, each one smaller than the last, the local inns cleared of the regulars and cleaned as well as the proprietors could manage to make space for the royal caravan. The courtiers and guard escort had heard that the prince was friendly and enjoyed conversation with the people of the land, but they found him to be quite withdrawn during the journey.

As Ames and Haybrook shared news and stories of of home, she noticed that Christophe talked often with his guards, but never sustained more than a few awkward conversations between him and Ames. When she heard some courtiers ask the prince about it, he brushed it off with a laugh; "I always found the Silver Scale a little intimidating. They're just so big and tall!"

For reasons unclear to Corporal Haybrook, she found herself recalling a memory of weeks past. It was the night before Sergeant Ames departed for the Capital, and she awoke just before dawn to take her post at the castle gate. When she relieved the night watchman, he said something peculiar before returning to the barracks.

"Weird question-- have you ever noticed Sergeant Ames wearing perfume?

She stared at him. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. The thin air here must be getting to my senses. I need some sleep."

As the caravan snaked its way through the mountain pass, the scenery gave Ames and Christophe a merciful distraction from the uncomfortable atmosphere around the carriage. Ames sat next to the Haybrook, gazing up at the magnificent peaks towering over them. The beauty of these mountains could only be truly appreciated from so close, where the glaciers and crags bared their full, infinitesimal detail. Looking to the south, he should have been able to see a great snowy basin that flowed into a narrow waterfall, but gathering clouds and snowfall obscured his view.

The threat of a snowstorm this deep in the mountains occupied the minds of everyone in the caravan, and they traveled a bit faster than usual in hopes of getting to the next outpost before the worst of it set in. With only an hour or two to go, Ames wasn't worried about getting stuck in the storm. His view of the mountains quickly became obscured, though, and in disappointment he shifted his vision to the road ahead. Dusk began to take hold, and he strained to see past the treeline.

Haybrook nudged Ames' shoulder. "Sergeant, do you see that?" She stared into the forest ahead and to the left of the caravan. Ames followed her gaze. At the base of a tree, he could see something moving, slowly at first. Then, in a snap of motion, an arrow hurtled towards him. He ducked under it and brought his shield to bear before shouting an alarm to the rest of the caravan.

More arrows assailed them as the caravan's escort prepared for battle. Mounted guards fell back into a defensive formation around the prince's carriage. The captain rode alongside, shouting orders to keep moving. They would be faster than the on-foot attackers, so long as they made it out of the trap.

"Captain! We are nearing a bridge, yes?" Christophe shouted from his carriage.

"Yes, Highness! Around the bend!" Indeed, the road ahead crossed a small river. The bridge, a timber construction just large enough for a carriage, provided the sole means of passage.

"We must lose them there," said Christophe. "I will go last and keep the path open for us."

Another arrow shattered against Ames' shield. His warrior's pride protested against retreating, but he trusted in his prince. The caravan began to round the bend. Ames saw the bridge-- and the line of riders who waited for them. Christophe swore at the new hole in his plan. The captain looked at him, expecting a change of orders.

"Highness? We cannot outrun them!"

"The order stands, Captain. I will burn a path. Keep our soldiers moving."

Battlecries and the pounding of hooves filled the air, competing with the ever-rising howling of the wind. The bridge was just a few hundred meters ahead of them as Ames noticed Christophe climbing onto the front of the carriage. "Keep your head down," Ames growled, but the prince ignored him.

With one arm, Christophe reached out toward toward bridge and swept his hand upward. The movement left a trail of orange sparks, appearing from his fingertips and vanishing into the air. A pillar of roaring flame erupted from just behind the horsemen. Their steeds scattered into the darkness in a feral panic, some bucking the riders. The flames began to spread outward, parting in the middle to form a blazing corridor that straddled the road.

The first carriage made its way onto the bridge, safe from enemy archers, the rest of the caravan close behind. Only the royal carriage remained. Ames anticipated the bump of wheels rolling onto the bridge, but it never came. A shriek of pain from the carriage-horses rang out into the night as one of them collapsed, dragging the other down with it in a tangle of legs. The carriage lurched sideways, and the world became a blur of snow.

Thrown from his seat and disoriented, Ames picked up his sword from the cold ground and scanned the battlefield. The carriage was turned on its side. One of the horses lay still, a blind-fired arrow piercing its neck. The other struggled to stand against its twisted reigns. Haybrook, ejected just as he was, stood up and looked at the wreck, then back at Ames. They nodded in understanding and ran to find their prince.

They found him coughing, but unharmed. His eyes darted from the crash to the road behind them. Despite the raging flames surrounding them, the snow fell ever thicker, and the rest of the caravan had vanished into the blizzard, following their orders to keep moving. After what seemed to Ames like only a second of thought, the prince drew a knife from his uniform and stepped towards the horses.

"Haybrook! One horse is unharmed. You must ride on and relay my orders. The caravan is not to stop until they reach the outpost. Do not search for us until morning, when the storm is passed. I will send a signal." He hacked away the reigns that bound the living horse to the carriage, and held them while the beast stood up.

"Highness, I can't just leave you here--"

"I will be safe, Corporal. There's tricks up my sleeve yet. Now go!"

With a look of astonishment and doubt, the lynx obeyed. Ames heard her horse's hooves drumming across the bridge, but did not take his eyes off the flame-corridor's entrance. Tiny glints of light shined through the snow, the first warnings of the encroaching enemy. One armed figure began to resolve, then another, and another.

"There's too many, sir. We need to get across the bridge."

"No! Their riders will return and catch us, then catch up to the caravan. I have a plan, Sergeant. Stay close to me."

"As you command." Shield aloft, Ames planted himself between the prince and their assailants. The animalistic instinct-trance of battle surged within him, suppressed only by sharpening his mind's focus in the way of the Silver Scale. He controlled his breathing and kept his muscles relaxed, ready to exploit to the slightest opportunity.

The first attackers advanced in a pair and were cut down, unprepared when Ames rushed forward to close the gap. Another challenged him and fell, breaking their sword upon his shield. A sound and flash like striking lightning exploded from behind him, tearing his attention away from the battle. He saw Christophe standing with one arm aimed at the ruined bridge, the other shielding his face from debris. Smoke rose from his open palm. The fox opened his eyes and saw Ames. "Look out!" he cried, pointing behind the wolf.

Ames turned and raised his shield, but felt no impact. A searing heat flew past his shoulder, singeing his whiskers. The armored boar in front of him staggered back and bellowed in pain, collapsing in a flaming heap.

Another fighter appeared to his flank, then another, brandishing spears, and he was forced to step back. The attackers inched forward, leveraging the range of their polearms. Behind them, Ames could see more incoming, and he heard in the distance rapidly-approaching horses.

"Highness!"

"Trust me and hold still," said Christophe, and reached out to grasp Ames' wrist. In a shimmer of white light, they vanished.

To Be Continued...