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*****

For various reasons, it wasn't until about the middle of summer before I could get to the Hall of Ancestors in Albric Tor. By that time, through whatever mysterious process of creation that was used, there was a monument to Sir Jasper Chitterleigh there. As a recent death, his was located just inside the perimeter of the Hall, and even caught a bit of sunlight.

Sir Jasper was standing as he did on that last morning at Mossford, with his eyes closed and leaning on the great wolf's sword for support. The detail work was superb, and I thought it was an excellent likeness. The inscription read, simply: "Sir Jasper Chitterleigh, V.M. Died in service to his King."

The Captain himself is buried in Persoc Tor, in the Army Memorial Temple. They have a section there for Valour Medal winners, and his funerary brass will probably be installed in due course. They interred him with the great wolf's sword. If one was going by the usages and traditions of war, that sword was mine, but I kept my muzzle firmly shut. Would have ruined a good story.

And story it is, too. I was startled, then amused, some days ago when I walked into a pub some miles outside of Albric Tor to discover on the wall a large framed engraving of "The Last Stand at Mossford." The artist muffed it pretty badly, at least in terms of accuracy. He had far fewer furs than were actually there, and he had Sir Jasper leading the hymn-singing. I wasn't in the picture at all, for some reason (nor was Meadow). One of the Empire's breweries has been printing these out by dozen for its tied houses, so I expect to be read out of the legend in fairly short order, at least outside the Army.

But getting back to the Hall of Ancestors: when I was there, the Docent came by and pointed out to me another monument that I might have missed, one that ironically was just a few feet from Sir Jasper's memorial. It showed Lord Tweleveoaks kneeling, with a frightened expression. His inscription just had his name, and the cryptic notation "Suicide (?)" I loved the question mark.

What the truth was about Twelveoaks, I never knew, and I really had no interest in finding out. I don't think he went to trial -- it certainly was not publicized -- and aside from the fact that Sergeant Wing alluded to the fact that the bastard had been delivered by the Army to the Royal Donjon at Persoc Tor, that was about it. I do know that the family was not attainted, which was a fairly important legal point, since that would have greatly complicated both his estate, and Sir Jasper's estate.

As the widow of a Valour Medal winner and hero, Lady Eudora was treated very well. I think in general she's well-liked at Court, even if she has neither influence nor power. She has a very sympathetic story, and for the most part keeps herself busy by teaching music and singing. That is, when she's not tending her newborn son. Around the time of the Equinox, she delivered Sir Jasper's son. Other than the fact he has fuzz indicating he'll be coloured like his father, it's a bit early to tell what he'll be like. Jasper Chitterleigh II, though, will have his father's sword. Wasn't needed for evidence, you see. Lady Eudora was made the equivalent of a knight in her own right (she's now Dame Eudora, therefore), and with Sir Jasper's pension, she can probably look forward to years of quiet, if not extravagant, living.

She does keep a servant; namely, Meadow. I'm not sure precisely who's fooled by this, but the Marshal has to keep her somewhere when she's not off acting under his orders. Mind you, Dame Eudora isn't a demanding mistress, and I think Meadow enjoys looking after little Jasper.

How Meadow was rewarded for her roles at Sainted Oaks and Flourford-Mossford, I'm not precisely sure. I do know that she was pulled into a number of meetings in the Statecraft Chamber at Persoc Tor in the weeks after we came back. There was announced, in the Royal Gazette, a "confidential" appointment to the Privy Council, and I have strong suspicions who got that job. It would fit the only Blood Seal bearer that isn't Army.

One of the biggest jobs of the rest of that winter into spring and even the early part of summer was cleaning up the mess caused by the Grand Duke's invasion. Mark you, it wasn't the only mess the Army got tied up in. There was a whole series of events way down south in a place called Rajjan Tor that happened almost simultaneously with Flourford-Mossford, though I don't know exactly what happened there.

I buttonholed Sergeant Wing one afternoon when the Marshal was out and jawed with him a bit on High Politics and Statecraft. The good Sergeant, tapping a few feathers alongside his beak, gave me the unofficial word on some of what happened.

Analysis of the documents that Meadow and I had sent back, along with statements by some of the Grand Duke's officers that had been captured, as well has a haul of documents captured in the liberation of Sainted Oaks and the rest of the United Cities, gave a fair picture of what the Grand Duke had planned. Certainly, the Grand Duke had planned to annex the areas of the United Cities that were wolf-centric, as well as a "buffer area," no doubt after expelling the non-lupine residents. The rest of the United Cities would be nominally independent, though as a practical matter would have been under the control of a very friendly ruler. Friendly to the Grand Duke, that is.

As to the scheduling, the Grand Duke had apparently gambled that King Adler would live up to his reputation for prudency and caution, and that by the time the Empire had managed to react to the Grand Duchy's moves, it would be far too late, and strong forces would be in place along the borders to prevent any counter-moves. Or, at least, make them far too expensive for His Majesty's tastes. Where things had failed, of course, was that Meadow and I had rescued the Chief Burgomaster and has established a thin, if workable, legal pretext for intervention. The Marshal had also moved a number of regiments far closer to the United Cities than the Grand Duke had realized (and yet out of range of his spies). The rescue of Sir Jasper and the Chief Burgomaster had greatly disrupted the plans, and the Grand Duke's paw was forced before he was truly ready to either raid the border area, or defend against a counter-move.

As for the Grand Duchy itself, it was likely that it would be involved in settling internal politics for at least a few years, yet. The great wolf that I had killed on the ice was the Grand Duke's younger brother and heir. While that royal duke had an heir, it was a mere pup, and furthermore the only legitimate heir in the line. The Empire wasn't the only realm with a thin line of family ties. The total loss of an elite cavalry regiment, as well as the heavy losses in infantry, would keep the Grand Duchy occupied in rebuilding for some years to come.

Speaking of that cavalry regiment, by the way, they're still working on dredging that lake near Lark's Rise. There's nothing living there, and it's thought they may have to drain it and excavate it by shovel.

Back to statecraft. When the United Cities were liberated, with the 9th Regiment and the 21st (circling from Lark's Rise) chasing the Grand Duke's Army out with its tail between its legs (literally, in some cases), the legitimate government was restored. Unfortunately for the United Cities, the Grand Duke's army had ravaged the area, both in invading and retreating. What ended up saving them from starvation was a gesture from King Adler, who opened up the royal storehouses and made a very liberal distribution of food and other essentials to the furs of the United Cities.

This probably explains the great success of the big event of the spring, which was a somewhat hastily arranged state visit by Crown Prince Gawain to the United Cities. He was given a very warm and enthusiastic welcome in Sainted Oaks, and I don't doubt that his father's continuing and generous efforts to help them keep body and soul together was a major factor in that.

He was, of course, under escort at all times, the escort being supplied by the 37thRegiment, which was still in the process of rebuilding itself. There were still a number of officers, NCOs and squaddies who were in chairs, on crutches and on litters when the Crown Prince handed over a replacement Royal Standard and regimental colour. The latter had a fresh battle-honour of "Flourford-Mossford" embroidered on it. The United Cities itself gave flagstaffs upon which to mount the colours, with silver acorns on the finial, in remembrance of the regiment's role in defending the area.

A decidedly unofficial and unauthorized remembrance of the battle began to appear within days after the regiment's Relief. The armourers of the 37th began to melt down silver coins and fashion small pins in the form of a comet, which were worn by all ranks on the service caps (for squaddies) or scarves (for NCOs and officers). There were some testy Part B Orders issued from GHQ regarding this practice, which was in blatant violation of the King's Regulations, but frankly, I don't think the Marshal had his heart in it. Whenever he sees me wearing my Comet Badge, he merely growls and mutters under his breath about setting a bad example.

The 37thdid have a few losses in transfers. One of them was Aethelwulf, the fur who knew how to use the sling-staff, and who had accompanied me to Sainted Oaks and, with Meadow, had rescued Hugo Chestnut and Jasper Chitterleigh. He skipped the rank of Corporal altogether, and I saw in the Royal Gazette the other day he had been given both the Distinguished Service Medal (Flourford-Mossford only being cited) and had been appointed as a sling-staff instructor. Richly deserved rewards, in both cases. The 37th also lost one of the two Valour Medal winners from Flourford (out of the four total that were awarded for Flourford-Mossford); there was a squaddie who had charged into a burning building repeatedly and had rescued six comrades from the flames. He also ended up as a Sergeant, and fittingly enough, he got transferred to the 9thregiment, which had rescued the 37th. In that mysterious chemistry of inter-regimental relations, the 37thand 9th are now "friends," so there was no bitterness at the loss. Moving to family, as it were.

Crown Prince Gawain returned to the Empire by way of Lark's Rise and Mossford. King Adler made good on a pledge to provide monies to rebuild Lark's Rise, and while the hamlet was somewhat smaller because of a decreased population, it did indeed look more or less the same as when I first saw it.

Mossford was undergoing rebuilding on a different path. The hamlet itself was being rebuilt not with wood, but with stone. There was a ceremony where the Crown Prince laid the cornerstone for the new temple to replace the old one that had burnt during the battle. (Likely as not, it was going to be decorated in a more orthodox Mephitist fashion -- no images of the Lady this time!) He also dedicated, as he had at Flourford, a cemetery for the dead of the battle, which runs along the banks of the Mill River. It's quite attractively laid out, with neat stone markers.

The fur who volunteered for the work in designing the cemetery was Silverbrush, who appeared at the ceremony walking a pair of gigantic black beetles on leashes. He read out a longish poem in an Elvish dialect that few if any in the audience understood, but he got some polite applause at the end, nevertheless. He noted that the kings of old used to dedicate battle memorials with events that included the enthusiastic participation of maidens, life as it were triumphing over death. He offered to make arrangements to revive the practice, an offer that the Crown Prince said he would take under advisement.

One minor bit of paperwork during the visit was the delivery of Sergeant Crater's discharge papers. I had stated that the Sergeant had been located at the monastery of the Gazers of Fuma's Musk during the battle where he had provided invaluable services, and that he had also had an experience that had prompted him to leave the Army for a religious life. I did not, in my report, make it clear what was the order in which these events had occurred. Hence his honourable discharge.

If he does have any sort of punishment, it's the fact that he's looking after Captain O'Bloom, who is now on permanent sick leave from the Army, at half-pay. He's apparently too sick to leave the Gazers, an assertion that I doubt is true, but I'm not interested in challenging it. The old skiver hid his head under his bed-clothes when I peered in at his monastery cell. I earnestly hope the sod is being kept up nights by the chanting.

I had quietly suggested to the Marshal that the families of those farmers who had served in the militia during the battle, both those of the survivors and the fallen, earn a permanent exemption from taxes. This suggestion was evidently taken up the King, and the copies of the official decree stating so were given by the paw of the Crown Prince to the widows and militia members alike.

Boy Tom Burrows gave me one of his father's pipes as a momento mori. I have it here on my desk. I smoke it, occasionally. I find it helps my contemplative moods.

And no, that wasn't the limit of my rewards for the whole matter. Among other things, I'm allowed to wear the light-green tunic of the Elfhame Rangers; that is a deviation from the King's Regulations that is authorized by the Marshal, unlike my Comet Badge. I was also allowed to keep the weapons that had been taken by the Army from the Rangers' memorial in the Hall of Ancestors. There was a current of opinion that I had sufficiently earned my right to retain them, and that even my grandfather would have approved.

I am loosely attached to GHQ, with somewhat hazy duties. Much of the time, I'm sent out to do some square-bashing with recruits. Occasionally, I'm given sacks of documents to sort out and make sense of; obviously, the Marshal was made aware of how I had untangled the mess Captain O'Bloom had made of Thorn Platoon's affairs in Mossford.

I'm also undergoing tutelage from Captain X, the magick-using black wolfess that's also a Blood Seal bearer, and the one that had refrained from finking on me at Pte. Flood's trial. Yes, "Captain X" really is her name, or if she has another name, she isn't telling. The fourth Blood Seal bearer that I know of is another canine, "Lieutenant Y. " X and Y are lovers, much to the Marshal's irritation, though I know he has the sense not to interfere. I've also been in correspondence with Silverbrush, whose letters often comprise three-inch diameter scrolls on a variety of topics, some of which relate to magick, much of which doesn't. He recently suggested that I try some uniform disintegration spells on Captain X. If he thinks I'm going to do that, he really is a mad bastard. On a more practical level, he has suggested research into healing ointments, one of which he claims can cure beheading. It's hard to say, sometimes, if he's kidding, telling the truth, or if he's completely insane.

Those who were keeping track above might note that I said there were four Valour Medal winners at Flourford-Mossford, one of whom was Captain Chitterleigh, and two of which were won at Flourford. So, who won the fourth?

I got the news when I had a mouthful of vegetable stew at the Albric Tor FAFI, from a very excitable private waving a _Royal Gazette_under my nose. Why exactly my award took many more months than the other awards (save for Chitterleigh's, which was understandable), I'm not sure, but there it was, Westersloe Winterbough V being cited for his actions at Flourford-Mossford. No mention, incidentally, of Sainted Oaks, as with Aethelwulf.

(Oddly, by the way, no one ever reopened the matter of the attempted assassination the previous year, in spite of the fact that it was a moral certainty that the wolf had been an agent of the Grand Duke. They never found proof, but they didn't look very hard, either. Statecraft. If they had, I'm sure that Sir Jasper would have won a bar to his V.M.)

The V.M. is usually awarded at a public ceremony, but there was a difference in my case. I was ordered to report to the Coronation Chamber in the Hall of Ancestors. That, by the way, was what I was doing looking at Sir Jasper's memorial for the first time.

The Docent escorted me as far as the Chamber, and then left me there. There was only one other fur present. His Majesty King Adler was seated on his throne, his walking stick resting against the side, and his eyes closed in restful thought. He was dressed in a velvet robe over his civilian clothes, and wore the small, golden, Personal Crown upon his head, the one worn as a matter of course by the Sovereign.

I approached, clicked my hooves, and saluted. His Majesty started a bit, opened his eyes, blinked, and then acknowledged my salute with a smile and a nod of his head.

"Ah. My brother said you'd be on time. Naturally, of course, for one of his lads. Pardon me for a moment."

With a shaking paw, he grasped his walking stick, and with one paw steadied on the side of the throne, eased out of it. He gently padded behind the two thrones in the Chamber, and approached a pair of ornate doors. He gently beckoned to me.

"Quite all right, Corporal. It will allow you, as one of my guests."

He placed the flat of one of his paws against the side of the door. There was a faint rising and fading of the blue elf-light in the chamber, and a soft click came from next to his paw. In a moment, he had both doors open.

Given the look on his face, and the relative speed at which he was moving, he seemed to be eager to enter into the Royal Gardens. I followed along after him, though I had to be careful where I walked, since my head was rapidly swiveling from right to left and back again as I looked, slack-jawed, at what I saw.

"I thought, Corporal, that being a deer, you might appreciate a setting like this. There's a legend about King Irenaeus' reaction to one of his cervine subjects that he caught snacking here. I promise I won't do the same." He softly chuckled as he padded along.

Mark you, there was much that did look delicious all around me. I paused before some orchids that were a mysterious pitch-black. His Majesty did the same, sniffing at them with a contented smile.

"Noticed 'em, did you? Only place in Faerie, let alone the world, where you'll find these. They've died out everywhere else. Rather delicate plants, won't tolerate travel or rough handling. The gardeners here know what they're doing."

Being appointed a Royal Gardener sounded like a wonderful job, but I thought under the circumstances it was best to keep to my present occupation.

Eventually, we reached the shade of a large tree, under which was set two chairs, and a broad circular table with a linen cloth stitched with silver thread. The table was set with a few glasses, plates, and somewhat mysteriously, a large flat porcelain basin. The King pointed to that.

"Would you do me a service, Corporal? Take that basin and go over to that spring, there, and fill it up. There's a stand next to my seat that you can put it on."

I did as His Majesty requested. The spring that he pointed out was small, but it was swift, bubbled noisily, and carried with it a very powerful smell of sulphur. The water was also quite hot, and I had to pad back to the table and the stand quickly. When I had emplaced the basin, the King leaned over, putting his face in the steam, and inhaled deeply.

I watched, fascinated, as his nose flushed a bright pink, as did his ears, and he noticeably perked up. Coughing slightly, he turned back to me and smiled.

"Part of the same source that runs under the Cathedral, y'know. A long, long, long time ago, the first of the rulers of Albric Tor claimed magical properties from the spring, saying that it was the source of his power. That's where the worship of Fuma comes into play. I must say, there's something in the steam from the spring that does make me feel better. Doesn't last, unfortunately, and you can't bottle it. Also can't come here as often as I like. Other things keep me away."

At this, he sighed and looked distant again.

"You'll forgive me, Corporal, if I tell you that I wish things hadn't come to pass where you had earned the medal." At this, he patted the pockets of his robe, and eventually found a slender leather box, which he placed on the table. "I think it would absolutely horrify or enrage my ancestors if they knew what I think about war. Old Irenaeus, especially."

"Permission to speak, Your Majesty?"

He waved a paw, softly. "Permission granted, Corporal. Ceremony and formality and such make me tired, these days. I knew the job was dangerous when I took it. Please, go ahead."

"I think if you asked most squaddies, they'd tell you they didn't like war, either. Few furs really get joy out of fighting and killing."

King Adler tilted his head. "Do you, Corporal?"

I thought for a while. "I can't put my finger on it, Your Majesty, but there was something about the war we just fought that disturbed me."

He sighed again. "I'll tell you, Corporal, what disturbed me. It's another step down the path of the fall of the elf-world. What do you suppose things are like in the Grand Duchy, now?"

"Probably disrupted, sir."

"To say the least. Imagine, Corporal, Dame Eudora Chitterleigh. Now multiply that by ten, fifty, a hundred, five hundred or more. And it's not just the selection out of the weakest or the unfit. Wars have a tendency to take the best. The strongest, the fittest, the most clever or the most brave."

"I've heard it said that's why we don't have the magick-users like we did of old."

"Oh, indeed, Corporal, indeed. Mad as March hares many of them, but one has to admit, they were astonishing in their ability to tap the elemental forces. Air, water, fire, earth and such." He lifted a teapot, and frowned into the contents. "Speaking of which, somefur has forgotten to provide hot water for our refreshment. Could I impose upon you...?"

A minute or so later, His Majesty was leaning back in his chair, sipping at a fragile china cup. "My ancestors of old would have scoffed at the notion of needing help to warm a teapot. Or the desire to drink tea. They would have been off hunting the servant that had failed. There's some nostalgic types that wish I wasn't such a mild, fussy old skunk, y'know."

He looked contemplative as he nibbled at a biscuit. "Adler the Prudent. Well, some might read the negative into that. All I can say, Corporal, is that if I am guilty of being prudent, or even over-prudent, it's because I don't want to lose what I love on a foolish gamble."

He waved his paw, taking in the gardens that surrounded us. "This, I put it to you, is the most beautiful place to be found on this earth. And it's not just the rare flowers or the unique trees you can find here, Corporal." He pointed a finger at me. "This will survive me, but I want this to survive my son, my grandson, and his grandson after that. And that's a very long time, given our life-spans."

His face changed somewhat, from that of a benign old fur, to a stern look. Proving at some level his blood still ran true. "Corporal, you have gifts -- goodness, we all have gifts -- that the Lowfolk will never have. Whatever you do, now and long after I'm gone, see what you can do to make sure those gifts never vanish. If somefur orders you to do something that puts this realm in jeopardy, don't just follow orders. Think about it, and more importantly, think about those that come after you. Don't let all that is beautiful in this world fade out because of some fool like the Grand Duke, seeking glory in their own life-time."

The moment passed, and he leaned back in his chair again, an old mephit once again. The pink colour from the spring-water steam had started to fade a bit. He sighed.

"Oh, and do find a nice young doe. After all, you're a brave young hero. Gads, reminds me..."

He set aside his teacup, and picked up the box he had placed upon the table. With a shaking paw, he eventually opened it, and produced the enamel and silver-steel medal on its ribbon. He beckoned to me, and I knelt before him. He placed the ribbon around my neck, and I kissed his paw.

"My brother was right about you, y'know. I suppose that's why he and others had their eye on you..." I was going to ask for more details, but the colour the steam had provided had faded out of his nose and ears, and in a minute or so, King Adler was dozing in his chair.

I wasn't certain whether I was dismissed or not, so I stayed until he woke some minutes later and yawned. He peered at me.

"Ah, good, I did do it." He tapped the side of his head. "Reminds me. I did have the Royal Gardener box up some seeds for you. Some rare specimens, too. Take them with you, Corporal, and when you retire -- and Fuma willing, you'll be a healthy fur when you retire -- plant your own little garden somewhere. Even Faerie can always use a bit more beauty. It's being delivered to your chambers."

I rose, bowed to the King, and thanked him for his hospitality. He acknowledged my bow, and then peered off into the distance.

"By the way, one last service, Corporal. If you see a chap in the Coronation Chamber, direct him here, won't you? He's my new personal aide, and is supposed to help me get from place to place."

"Yes, Your Majesty. May I ask what his name is?"

"Eh? Oh, certainly, certainly. Kedgeay. Yes, that's it. Lieutenant Kedgeay."

FINIS

New York, New York

May 17, 2013 - July 13, 2013