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I Was a College Professor Reincarnated as a Wolf King?!

Chapter 5

By StripedKittyScribe

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Trevor Gates was just an old college professor that was facing retirement down with a scowl. When he's unexpectedly killed, otherworldly beings take his soul and bring it into a new world so that he can end centuries of stagnation. Unfortunately for him, this involves not just a new culture, but a new species, and not all of the aspects of either sit well with him.

This story will contain sexual acts, including dubious/non-consentual, homosexual, and themes of domination/submission, as well as violence and death. The medieval world that Trevor finds himself in is not kind in many respects. If you are not of legal age to consume adult material, do not proceed.

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Furrow Plower; Javeth Point, Front Gate

"What in the name of the Tormentor's left ass cheek do you mean, 'Sir Javeth isn't back yet'?!" Furrow Plower was very nearly howling in a combination of fury, petulance, disbelief, and even fear that the guards were finding to be both unique, and amusing.

They were connoisseurs of emotional outpourings, and could sample the fine piquant of flavors the way that the kings claimed they could detect differences in vintages. Being subjected to incredulous messengers was nothing new to them.

The messenger being from some piss-poor village was new, and the strident note of panic was also tinged with enough other emotions that this was going to be talked about in the barracks for a while. "Not sure how I can say it any other way," the captain of the guard said with a shrug. "Sir Javeth's not returned. It's nothing new. He doesn't usually spend more than a day out at any village, but it's nothing new, and with the rains he may have been inspecting fields on his way back. Could be another couple of days."

Furrow Plower sputtered, and the guards damn near applauded the performance. They'd only seen this level of apoplectic rage once, and that was a messenger of the king who was upset that there wasn't a spare set of silk sheets. As far as they were concerned, this was the same level of stupidity, and for nearly the same level of petulance. Nearly.

"You can either deliver the message to us, or wait here," the captain offered, knowing that it wouldn't be accepted.

"I've messages for Baron Teers as well," the rider said as he constantly tugged the reins to control the nervous mount. "I'll be back. Tell Sir Javeth that Furrow Plower, the only one to claim three slaves at Running Meadows, was here with urgent news." Turning the skittish klika toward the north, he slapped the beast's flank and sent it bolting in that direction.

Furrow Plower was almost beside himself with anger. He couldn't understand why Sir Javeth wasn't back yet. The knight had nearly a half-day's lead on him, if not more. Sir Javeth should have traveled just as quickly as Furrow Plower had. And whatever the guards' thoughts, he knew that there was no way that Sir Javeth would be stopping to inspect fields after a rain. Not with what had happened in Distal Bend. It was damn near a rebellion and there would have to be preparations made for an armed party to put it down before it spread.

And here he was, away from the village that he would soon be ruling, playing the part of a damned messenger. He knew that he couldn't really avoid it, and that none of the other traitors in the village would actually want to spread the word about whether it was in revolt or not. No one else was going to tell Baron Teers or Sir Javeth the truth. But he couldn't be back there keeping an eye on things either, and he knew that his slaves were being just as lazy and worthless as they always were. Cowards. Barely able to do anything that he expected of them without needing a beating.

He spurred his klika hard. Now that he was on the road from Javeth Point to Teers, he could ride hard and fast. It would put him at Baron Teers' castle before the sun was up, and he could catch an hour's nap before the Baron woke, and then they could make their move from that point forward. Not that he truly expected to have any hand in the actual planning. But he would be in the room providing information, and would probably be tasked with carrying instructions back to Sir Javeth.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Sir Javeth hadn't returned yet. If Baron Teers had instructions, then Furrow Plower could provide two services for Sir Javeth at once. That would doubtless put him further up in the eyes of the knight, and that would be much more likely to guarantee a promotion to sheriff.

Sir Javeth; Javeth Point, Outskirts

Sir Javeth was barely recognizable. Somehow, during the night, his klika had slipped free of the hitching knot, and bolted. He hadn't noticed, passed out as he was. The damned beast was totally gone, as far as he knew. It took his rations. It took his extra clothing. It took his sword. And it left him stranded.

By the time that he staggered up to the outskirts of Javeth Point, he looked like he'd been the victim of several highway robberies. He couldn't let his soldiers see him like this. They would lose any semblance of respect for him. He'd ducked into a small shop and managed to convince the owner of who he was by revealing his face without pulling his cloak off of his shoulders. His damnable wife had enjoyed this shop for some reason or other, and thus he knew who the owner was, and how much his noble coin meant to the shop's coffers and reputation.

Now he was tucked away in the back of the shop behind the only closed door. The owner had sent his eldest son to the keep with a message to bring that damnable Greeble back along with a fresh set of clothing. It would show up in a few strokes of moments. And then he would have his revenge against the slight.

The sun had passed nearly a hand's span before the sputtering monk arrived. The examination was rough, and for once Sir Javeth didn't have to threaten Greeble to make it as fast as possible. The knight gritted his teeth as he felt Greeble pull the arm straight and start chanting. The soothing healing magic of the gods coursed over the broken joint that felt like it had been grinding against itself in spite of the passable job done by the old crone.

When he retook the village, he'd be sure to put her to the sword first, and with a quick death. That would be the extent of his mercy. She would die quickly, but she would die. No one who had witnessed the humiliation would be allowed to live.

Once the arm had been healed, he changed clothes, getting out of his armor and putting the traveling clothing on in it's place. He would bundle it all up in the old cloak and leave it here to be retrieved and cleaned later. It was coming up on nightfall and he had work to do.

Greeble followed him back to the keep, and when the guards saw him walking up on foot rather than riding, they were confused, but had been well-drilled enough that they didn't alter their behavior. Snapping to attention and saluting him with raised fists, the gate was opened, and the captain of the guard met him on the other side of the passageway.

"Sir Javeth, a rider bearing messages came while you were away," he said, matching pace to walk alongside the knight who was pushing past people who weren't getting out of his way quickly enough on the way to the war room.

"Doubtless from Baron Teers, asking where my damned report is or asking where the damned Chosen showed up," the knight said with his teeth bared.

"No, sir. He wouldn't identify himself, beyond stating that he was the only one at Running Meadows to take three slaves, and that he would only deliver his message to you in person." He was having to rush ahead to get doors open for Sir Javeth, and then wait for the knight to go through and catch up after shutting it again.

That made Sir Javeth's ears prick. He remembered that many people took slaves at that battle. A few hands had taken two, including that damned bitch that had pointed an arrow at his heart at Distal Bend. Only one had taken three slaves, though, and that cavalryman was also from Distal Bend. Probably the only decent fighter they had. Rode well, in spite of having shoddy equipment. "And he left no message? At all?"

"No, sir," the captain said, panting lightly. "Do you know him?"

"I know him. A moderately capable soldier. It will be interesting to know what he has to say. Where is he now?" They had finally reached the war room, and things were as they'd been left. The servants hadn't even come in to sweep the floor. Good. Sir Javeth was tired of beating the same message through their fur. As far as he was concerned, his war room was even more sacred than the chapel, and was to be left totally untouched unless he specifically ordered it cleaned.

The captain stood with his hands behind his back, able to catch his breath now that he wasn't constantly jogging. "He reported that he was bound for Teers, messages for the Baron." The captain wanted to know more, of course. All soldiers were as thirsty for gossip as they were for their next ration of ale and meat. But this one at least knew that some things were better left unsaid, or even more importantly, unheard.

That report made Sir Javeth pound his fist onto the table. "Damn. I know what sent him here but not what his message is. And if he's already on his way to Teers and didn't stay the night, then he'll make it there between midnight and sunrise. Dumb as a satchel of sand, but a good rider and loyal."

The captain of the guard repressed a smile. His men and he had shared that assessment of the rider's intelligence. "As you say, my lord."

Tapping the edge of the map with his claws, drumming a tattoo that matched the rumbling call of 'assembly', Sir Javeth looked at a section that he normally ignored; his own territory. It had all of the detail that could be wished for, in terms of geography and topography and such, but little in the way of things that he suddenly wished that he knew; how many farms each village had. How much food would be destroyed in the rains. How many people were in each village. He would have to manage his holdings better through his knights once he was made Baron. "Put the word out to the soldiers. Prepare to march in a month."

Greeble gasped. "My lord, is the situation that dire? Marching against a Chosen is never a desirable action, let alone without the orders of the king!"

The captain of the guard's eyebrow went nearly up to his ear. "I... y... yes, My lord. How many will you be requiring?"

Sir Javeth fixed his monk with a cold stare. "You saw his response to me. He must be eliminated." Shifting his eyes to the captain of the guard, he said, "I want every one of my personal retainers. No peasants. Just professional soldiers."

The captain of the guard coughed. "How will the army be moving, my lord? I assume that we will not be riding into battle. The lands around Distal Bend are far too swampy for any kind of cavalry charge."

Sir Javeth braced his hands on the table, looking down at the map, and shook his head. "We will be riding, and we will not be going to the lands around Distal Bend. We will be razing the town. Utterly wiping it off of the map. Rust Shores can take the land back with loyal subjects."

That brought everyone up short, and no one spoke for several moments. "We will not be expecting help from Baron Teers, my lord?" The captain had just barely enough time to think of a question that would keep him in the room. He needed to understand what was going on, and just how badly it could go. Not for the soldiers, but for the whole of the lands that Sir Javeth held.

"I will be asking for Baron Teers to send as many soldiers so that there will be no chance of escape." Sir Javeth slapped the captain on the shoulder and gave him a wicked smile. "Consider it reward for your service, Captain. Rust Shores is your home village, isn't it? They'll have twice as much land and influence."

"Very kind, my lord," the captain stammered as quickly as he could.

"A just reward for loyalty," Sir Javeth said. "Greeble, bring me a scribe. I need a message delivered to Baron Teers about this. That fool Chosen is as mad as the Pits are deep."

Trevor, Distal Bend, Sheriff's House

Trevor groaned softly as he woke up to something delightful. For the last 40 years of his life, he'd woken up with some form of back pain or soreness. Waking up with a groan wasn't anything new. Waking up with a beautiful woman sucking on his morning wood very much was. He chuckled, stroking her ears as she bobbed and licked, and her tail wagged. For just a moment, he almost teased that she was insatiable, until he really thought about it. Perhaps he was the one that was insatiable. After she finally got him to start, he'd had sex with her a half dozen times.

And they weren't 'quickies' either. No, if they spent time together she made sure that he got everything that they both needed. The most shocking part to him wasn't that he enjoyed it. Or that she did. It was how much he needed it. Actually needed that intimate bit of time in the arms of someone else who, for some unknown reason to him, simply loved him, and needed to serve. And it was a need. One that he didn't understand, but perhaps understanding wasn't required.

He stroked her braid, and her tail started to wag faster, thumping against the blankets that they shared. He chuckled, which dissolved into a happy moan, and his hips shifted upward, demanding more. Which she gave. "By the gods, you're a wonder," he whispered to her, and she wagged even harder, which made him laugh louder. "Come up here, and let me see if I understood what you were trying to show me last night. I can be a very bad student." He could have attached her tail to a crankshaft and she'd have powered a city, that made her so delighted.

For the first time, she disobeyed him. Or at least, didn't do what he wanted. He'd intended for her to stop sucking on his shaft, to come up and straddle him so that he could nuzzle her chest while she rode him. Instead, she pulled off of him just long enough to lay on his chest, pushing him back into her muzzle with a slick, moaning slurp.

Trevor had never experienced a blowjob as a human. It simply wasn't something that he'd wanted. So he had nothing to compare it to. He couldn't say whether a muzzle or a mouth felt better. Long tongue or short. All he knew is that he wouldn't have ever dreamed of asking a woman for this.

Not before he had been brought here. Even with his new urges, he'd never have dreamed of asking any woman, even his wife, to be so subservient to him, in such a way that he would have considered demeaning before.

And yet he was learning that it wasn't demeaning. If only in a simple quid-pro-quo, if it was demeaning for her to service him, it was demeaning for him to service her in the same way.

And he didn't find it demeaning. It wasn't something that he wanted to do every moment of every day. And he wouldn't pick it over more traditional acts. But there was a certain amount of satisfaction in giving his River Blossom something that she obviously liked.

So he put his tongue to work. Tasting his pet's folds, and hearing her moans around him. Was it slightly self-serving for him to tease her while she was pleasuring him? Perhaps. But it wasn't like she was complaining in the least. And she couldn't stop making happy sounds. Urgent sounds. Sounds that got higher and higher as he explored. And as she sucked harder. He wasn't sure who finished first. He knew when he finished, obviously. But she didn't stop even after he'd stopped spurting, and she seemed determined to draw another dozen out of him.

He finally had to tug her hair to get her to stop, forcibly rolling her off of his hips. A part of him was shocked that he was able to summon the power to do it, considering his body fell limp back into the blankets. "By the gods." His arm flopped. "You're not a wonder, you're a RRRRGrrgrgr..."

"A what, Trevor?"

He flopped his arm the other direction. "Nevermind." How would he even explain the idea of a succubus, let alone that he meant it as a tease and not an insult?

Baron Teers, Teers Lake, War Room

Baron Teers let out a yawn, the kind that really curled his tongue and always produced the hint of a whine. It was extremely rude to do so in public. His wife was constantly nagging him about things like that. And on the one hand, she was usually right. On the other hand, he tended to not care. "Don't scratch your ass." "Don't yawn without covering your mouth." "Don't break wind." "Don't use coarse language." All of those things were items that he recognized were rude and socially awkward. He just didn't give two shits about it.

He was a Baron, which meant that he either outranked whoever he was being rude to, and thus they couldn't honestly do anything about it, or they outranked him, and he simply made up for it by being too competent to replace. Baron Teers was a rough, practical man, and he didn't care about anything but effective rule and effective war. If it couldn't give him an edge on the battlefield or in the administration of his lands, he almost literally couldn't care less.

He had spent most of the previous day sending messengers out, both up and down his chain of command. Looking for whoever had this Chosen in their lands. Notifying the Viscount that the Chosen was somewhere in his lands. Dealing with the damn Abbot who was losing his mind over how confusing the signs were. Any number of things that had completely derailed the upcoming military campaign to reclaim lands taken by the Equids the previous year.

Today would likely be much the same. Utterly frustrating simply because he would have distractions the whole day about whether Sir Javeth was going to be able to meet the original expectations. He expected a messenger about that today, almost certainly mid morning. He'd had his morning time with his wife. He'd had his morning meal. Now it was time to deal with his majordomo. Doubtless there wouldn't be much more than some mentions by the guards about disciplinary action for someone who'd fallen asleep. Messages never came overnight.

Scratching his ass before he came into the War Room, he blearily stepped through the door. "Alright, let's see what messes need to be cleaned up before we get back to the expected training results. I'm still not pleased with how many..." He trailed off, because in addition to his majordomo, the captain of the guard, and the Abbot, there were seven fucking messengers. "Well, shit," he growled. One of them was an Equid, and that could only mean trouble.

Taking a deep breath, he made his way over to the chair by the war map, and sat heavily in it. "Someone bring me a beer, and let's get started." Baron Teers held his hand up, "Wait," he snapped, seeing all seven of them stand up and draw breath to start yammering all at once. "Who was here first?"

Apparently it was the Equid. She gave a stiff bow, and then stepped forward to extend a single plank to him. "I come on behalf of my Lord Duke Yellow Plains. She is eager to avoid a war that would be costly to all sides. The rains have done damage to everyone's fields and if a war were to happen over disputed territory, no matter who wins, there would doubtless be a devastating famine across the whole land."

Baron Teers grunted, and took the plank from her, quickly reading the single sheet of text. "Your Duke should have thought of that before taking to the field last year," he said. "She must know that the decision to do battle lies beyond my hand. I take orders from my own Lord, and to the best of my understanding the decisions are not being made by the Dukes but by the Kings. What is her purpose in sending you to me?"

"My Lord has sent messengers to all of the nobles on this end of Canid land. She is well aware, as you say, of the fact that many of the nobles here do not decide whether to go to war or not. But the more of them that see the wisdom of avoiding war, the louder the council will be against it."

Baron Teers grunted again, and reached out to take a long drink of the beer that was brought in. "And has your Lord issued orders to her own nobles to this effect? To stand down and not make any preparations for war?"

The Equid held her hand out again, having pulled another plank from her satchel. "This is a copy of the order that she sent to her own subordinates, declaring that no offensive campaigns would happen this year."

Several of the other messengers started to mutter. They knew as well as he did that this was a deft side-step, and almost utterly meaningless. Of course there would be no offensive campaigns at this time. Duke Yellow Plains was still consolidating her hold on her new territory.

"Your message has been delivered. I will give it due consideration." Baron Teers flicked the two planks onto the table with a clatter. "You will have safe conduct out of these lands under the banner of Shan. Any answer will come from my own King."

The messenger's lips tightened in a frown, but she simply bowed, and left the chamber.

"It's as well she was first. I have no doubt that anything else she observed would have been taken back to Equid lands." He scowled over to his majordomo. "And who in the name of the gods decided to let the enemy into my war room?"

The majordomo cringed, and said, "I did, my lord. I covered the map with a cloth and she has seen nothing. I have been with her the whole time."

Baron Teers blinked, and then focused on the table for the first time. True enough, the table had been draped with one of the spare bed sheets. "Ah. Well done." He slapped his thigh, sitting back into the chair. "Who was next?"

The majordomo motioned toward a wolf who looked like he hadn't slept well, if at all.

"I am Furrow Plower, My Lord. I come with ill tidings, from one of Sir Javeth's villages, Distal Bend. We have been taken over by a Chosen."

Baron Teers quirked an eyebrow at that. "Taken over? That's not usually the reaction of a village that receives a Chosen."

Furrow Plower clenched his fists at his sides, tail practically standing straight out behind him and quivering in anger. "He is a coward and a fool and will ruin us. All of us. Yourself included, My Lord."

Baron Teers looked over at his majordomo, who shrugged. This was very much outside of the normal for a Chosen. Usually they were quite vicious, if the legends were true. There hadn't been one in Canid lands in nearly 10 years, and that one had gone out in a true blaze of glory in a campaign against the Felids after just a couple of years. It was almost like they thought they were immortal. "Ill tidings indeed," he allowed. "What is your message?"

That just made the messenger even angrier. "I don't know. He wouldn't tell me. I will say that he has plans to undermine your efforts in the campaign against the Equids. He told the village that he would not take them to war, but that he would teach the rest of the villages in the area his ways and that would make everyone less willing to fight him."

Baron Teers held a hand up. "Hold. You don't know why you were sent here? Did you come of your own choice? Why not go to Sir Javeth?" He then waved Furrow Plower to silence. "What do we know about Distal Bend? Why is that familiar to me?"

The majordomo leaned in and said, "I had to look it up in our records to be certain, but it is the village that sent the leatherworker who was able to supply so many good arrows during the campaign at Running Meadow."

Baron Teers 'aah'ed at that, and nodded. "Right, I remember now. She took a couple of slaves, and Sir Javeth was upset that she hadn't done anything during the battle itself or something like that. Shame to lose her." He motioned for Furrow Plower to continue.

"He assaulted Sir Javeth personally, My Lord. I have a message for Sir Javeth as well, but he... was not at his keep when I arrived to deliver it."

Baron Teers sucked in a deep breath. "I thought you said that you didn't know what your message was. You're beginning to anger me, boy."

Furrow Plower held his hands up in surrender, "I have no idea what the message says, My Lord! He wrote it and handed it to me. Let me get it for you?" He turned to what looked like a set of saddlebags for a klika, and pulled a bound set of planks out.

The majordomo's jaw fell open. "What in the Pits is this? The law code?"

Furrow Plower carried the stack to the Baron's chair and set them down, then pulled the string binding them loose. "I think that it is a message directly for you, My Lord."

Picking up the first of the planks, Baron Teers squinted at the printing. "Wordy bastard," he said, then tossed it to the majordomo. "What do you make of this?"

The majordomo fumbled the catch, then gave it a cursory glance. "Odd. Done with something other than a scribe's chisel, but he's... well, he's educated, sir. Very. Very educated. I wouldn't go so far as to say the language is beautiful, but this couldn't have come from anyone who doesn't have an active mind. If you'd shown this to me, and it were done with a chisel, I would have guessed that it was done by one of the king's scholars."

Baron Teers sighed, and then motioned toward it. "You read it. I don't have the patience to make it all out and reading that much is going to make my eyes hurt."

The majordomo cleared his throat, and then began.

"To Baron Teers,

My name is Trevor, and you will no doubt look upon this missive with some disfavor. I am what you would call a Chosen, with all of the benefits and problems that go with that title. Your gods have placed me in a village called Distal Bend, which to my understanding is in the farthest reach of Sir Javeth's territory. I do not know exactly where that places me within your own holdings, but what I remember of the place your gods picked me from, I expect that I am on the edge of your own territory.

From what I have been told of your laws and customs, this makes me the new lord of this one village. For reasons that would take too long to explain, I am not comfortable with this title, or the position of responsibility that it places on me.

I have no desire to go to war, for I have seen far too much of that from a time since before your gods selected me. Unless you can provide me with the law that says I am required to muster troops, I will state right now that the chances of me participating in any kind of offensive war are exceptionally low. I will, of course, listen to any requests that you make and your reasons for going to war, but if I truly am independent, then I will maintain my independence. Should your lands be invaded, I would be much more likely to come to your aid and defense, but it would be as an ally instead of a subordinate.

I understand that my sudden arrival has removed a source of food and soldiers from you and your superiors, and for that, you have my apologies. I was not asked about becoming a Chosen, so I hope that you will not hold this against me personally.

It is not all bad for either you or Sir Javeth, however. Whatever issues may arise from my new claim on this one village, I have knowledge of many things that will doubtless help you and your realm. To state them all would take years of time, and even longer to write. I can provide you with wonders that you would have to see in person to believe, if I am left in peace to develop and produce them. As a token of my sincerity and a demonstration of what is possible, I make the following pledges.

First, I will abide by all of the terms listed on the next-to-last plank of this message. It is a set of decrees that I will be sending to all of the villages in Sir Javeth's holdings, and if you like I will prepare a set for you to distribute as well. If you would prefer to copy them yourself and distribute it as you see fit, I will understand. Please let me know of your decision in your reply.

Second, I will teach all of the villages in Sir Javeth's lands techniques that I know from where I came from to improve their farms. To get them to where it is possible will take years, but if I am given enough time, I can easily give you four times the amount of food that you are producing now."

That got everyone's attention and the majordomo had to stop reading due to the uproar.

Furrow Plower was declaring that it was all a lie and that Trevor was a coward.

The messenger from Sir Javeth was roaring that it was impossible in the first place, no one could farm that much land without destroying the forests.

The messenger from his own lord was demanding a copy of everything to be sent to his own lord and that this was above Baron Teers' head.

The messengers from the other barons were demanding their own access to this Chosen and his techniques.

"Silence," Baron Teers finally roared. "By the gods, the message isn't even finished. At least give me the chance to hear it all before I make any decision. For all I know he could be promising divine retribution or a prophecy directly from the gods or any number of things!" He sat back down and braced his hands on his thighs before shaking his head. "Everything changes so damned fast. Keep going," he told the majordomo, who resumed.

"I will not be able to do more than a small increase per farm this year. However, if what I have been told is true, that small increase will make up the difference from what you and Sir Javeth would lose this year. Therefore, while you are losing a village, you would not lose anything in terms of how much food you would be bringing in.

"I can also teach many of your craftsmen better techniques for their trades; potters, carpenters, masons, smiths, scribes, weavers and tailors, just to name a few that come quickly to mind. The world I was pulled from had even more trades, and while the stories I could tell you about it would be true, I could not prove any of my claims. I can simply give you my word that if I am left to develop, I can bring this world benefits, and they can largely come from an area which will benefit you the most, and you would get them first.

Respectfully and hopefully a new friend,

Trevor of Distal Bend"

The majordomo then read the list of decrees aloud, and handed it to Baron Teers. Everyone else was resuming the tumult of their own demands, and Baron Teers was shouting for them to calm down, to be silent. The majordomo kept reading the last plank, though and then wordlessly handed it to Baron Teers.

The Baron finally bellowed that he would have his soldiers clear the chamber if they did not all be silent, then looked to his majordomo, who pointedly motioned at the single plank. Baron Teers looked down at it and read the note there silently.

"The messenger that brought this is not someone I trust. He is a jealous young man who is upset that the girl he was chasing spurned him and chose me instead. Doubtless he will call me a coward and a liar. Take this information as you will, but the fact that I did not entrust him to even know the contents of the message should tell you how little I, and the rest of Distal Bend, believe in him. If he were not the only trained rider, I would have sent someone else. I also must tell you that Sir Javeth came to Distal Bend and demanded my submission to his requirement for troops, and threatened to destroy both me and the village. During this confrontation, he made as if to attack me right there. In defense I broke his arm, then had it bound for healing and sent him away. If he ever shows himself in Distal Bend again, I will kill him."

That got an amused snort from Baron Teers, who stood to pace, tapping the plank against his hand as he considered. "You may leave, Furrow Plower. I will have a reply for you by the end of the day. You said that you had a message for Sir Javeth?"

Furrow Plower nodded, "Yes, my lord."

Baron Teers motioned toward the door. "Leave it here. I will have Sir Javeth's messenger bring it to him with my own message about this situation. You may go rest for now. I have other matters to attend to, and I will give you a reply for your Chosen before you leave."

Furrow Plower gave a deep bow, and then turned to leave. He paused at the door, and turned to say, "May I speak, my lord?"

Sighing, Baron Teers motioned for him to continue.

"I overheard him say that he would undermine your and Sir Javeth's authority. Whatever else he says, he has no intention of working for your benefit." With that, Furrow Plower bowed once more, and then left the room.

Baron Teers shook his head, "Damn if he wasn't right." He pointed at the group of messengers. "Let me guess, you're here regarding either the storms or the war with the Equids."

They acknowledged that they were.

"Alright. Everyone except for Sir Javeth's messenger and my retainers, please leave the room." He held his hand up to silence the protests before they could start, "I will have information and messages for you all and I will hear your concerns, but I must deal with this first. I won't have anything to send until I know what is going on with this situation between Sir Javeth and this new Chosen. You have my word that I will not ignore you or your own Lords' claims and concerns on my time."

None of them seemed particularly happy about that, but they obeyed, leaving the majordomo, the Abbot, and Sir Javeth's messenger. The last rider stood and handed a single plank to the majordomo, who read it.

"Baron Teers,

I located the village where the Chosen was sent. Distal Bend is critical to my warfighting ability due to its archers. I went to speak with the Chosen about this and he assaulted me without cause. I managed to escape and my monk has healed me. I cannot let this insult pass. Within the month I will be attacking the village with my personal retainer. I request that you send an equal number of soldiers, so that we may be certain that this is concluded before the start of the campaign season.

Yours humbly,

Sir Javeth"

That got a bark of laughter from Baron Teers, simply because of the appellation. "Well this is a treat," he said, once more tapping the plank from Trevor on his palm as he paced. "Assuming that this Trevor is even halfway honest, then we really have no real just cause for attacking him. The censure might come down from someone as high as the King. On the other hand, we have reports of him not being trustworthy." He turned to the majordomo. "What do you think?"

The majordomo tapped the flat of his chisel against his chin. "Hard to say," he admitted. "Lots to consider." He looked at the Abbot. "What do the legends say? I know what is bandied about but what do the sacred records actually say?"

The Abbot was an older wolf, and he'd come into the priesthood later than many of his colleagues. He'd lived quite a full life, complete with children and two different wives. When his second wife had died in childbirth, he'd given the infant to his brother and sought solace in the church of Shan. Having no real room in his heart left for love, he'd focused on the law and death aspects. Abbot Teers tended to think slowly, and carefully. Rarely did he come up with anything quickly, but when he spoke, he spoke with the calm authority of one who knew, rather than believed.

"What I know of the records says that Chosen tend to be wild and passionate, and not always in ways of war. Though we have not had a Chosen in our lands for 10 years, what records there are of the last one indicate that she was not only a fierce warrior in her own right, but that she made many new things which she was able to use to devastating effect. If I did not know that the source was so good in other areas for checking facts, I would say that the stories of her creating balls of thunder and fire were magical and not some thing that she kept the secret for."

He looked at Baron Teers and the majordomo, and then the messenger. "Chosen are never to be taken lightly. Need I remind you that she perished in the battle, but only because the Felid sent 16 warriors for every one of hers, and she nearly won that battle. If she had not quite literally been buried under piles of dead Felid, she would have walked away." He stroked his chin as he talked, sitting in the chair that he was allowed to use simply because of his age. "I don't have access to full records from the other kingdoms, but what I have seen of them indicates that the Chosen they receive from the various gods tend to behave mostly the same way."

Abbot Teers coughed from talking so much, and while he took a drink of water, the rest of the men in the room looked at each other with concern. When he finished taking his drink, the old wolf set the cup down and looked up at his Baron. "If you were to ask for my advice, my lord, I would tell you that there are no records of two things happening, that appear to be the case with this Chosen. First, we have never seen one arrive with more than one of the gods appearing to grant favor. The records are all quite clear on this. Each Chosen is recorded first by listing their sponsoring deity, as that is the first thing that we know about them, even before we know where they are or what they are called. Second, they all have appeared to be rather truthful, even blunt in their claims and declarations. If they declare they will fight, they fight as if they were trying to wrest Yyvash himself off his throne. If they declare that they will not, they have some area of focus that they are, not surprisingly, supernaturally good at. Poetry, art, sculpting, and while we do not have full access to prove it, supposedly there was one who went to the Mustelids that gave us our revised calendar within two years of his arrival."

Baron Teers considered that, then said, "If I understand you correctly, you are saying that you would take this Trevor at his word?"

Abbot Teers nodded slowly. "I would, if I were in your position, my lord. At worst, you can unleash Sir Javeth on him at a later date. At best, this Trevor is right and telling the truth and you could have more power available to you than anyone else. And that could quite easily put someone on the throne of the Emperor. Which is something that hasn't happened since the Ascension."

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This story is a work of fiction. Any immoral acts included in this story are a fantasy and should not be taken as encouragement to perform or endorsement of these acts by the author. Specifically, because apparently it needs to be said; anything other than expressed consent for any sexual encounter by a legal unimpaired sentient adult is wrong, immoral, and evil. Unwilling subjugation of sentients who have committed no crime is wrong, immoral, and evil.