Sapphire's Place - Bek D. Corbin's " Foxglove "

"All Role Playing Gamers dream of stepping into the shoes of their characters. But when Simon Brewer finds himself really living the life of his favorite character, the saucy thief Foxglove, he discovers that Dungeons are no fun in real life, and Dragons are hazardous to your health!" FOXGLOVE

or,
Reflections in a Gorgon's Eye
A Transgendered Fantasy

This story is dedicated every Gamer who had a really great game ruined by the unwanted intrusion of crass reality.

Edited by Steve Zink

Chapter 27

Dish Me Some Dirt

Kitsune beat Foxglove back to the castle wall by a hair's breadth. Foxglove slumped down to one knee, and gasped, "Damn! I woulda beat you, if not for that loose turret stone."

<Heh> "Whatever lets you sleep at night. Still...I can't help but think that we've forgotten something..."

"We were supposed to be looking for explanations for all the technological inconsistencies around here."

"Oh. Right. <pfew!> No, I didn't notice anything."

<Whoof!> "Me neither. It looks pretty much like I'd expect a late Medieval/Early Renaissance European city to look." Expect? That damn scrambling something/nothing skittered across the back of her mind again. "That's right, it does--- Kit, what are you looking at?"

"Foxy, there's a pretty good breeze blowing along this piece of battlement, isn't there?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Then why is that mist climbing upwards, against the wind?"

Foxglove followed Kitsune's finger, and spotted a thin wisp of dark mist rising up against the sheer face of a wall. It paused in front of a shuttered window. After a moment, the shutters opened, and the mist flowed inside. The shutters closed, and silence never wavered.

"Oh- My- Ghod." Kitsune gasped, "That must have been a Vampire! There's a vampire and at least one of its thralls hiding out here!"

"Oh. Give. Me. A. Fucking. Break. A Vampire just happens to be climbing up this particular stretch of castle wall, just as we happen to be resting here. _No!_ I Am Not Buying This!"

"But, Foxy- we just Saw it go in! We can't just say that we didn't see it, can we?"

"Kit, this smells like Low Tide at the Sardine Packing Plant. We're being had. That- whatever it is, chose this place and this time to go up that wall, because we were here."

"And HOW would it know that we'd be here? We didn't tell anyone, and following us as we went around the city is almost impossible!"

"Kit, 'impossible' is the name of the fucking game around here! We're talking about the World-Keeper! Who can do almost anything!"

"OR whatever is challenging the World-Keeper, who's probably the reason that the World-Keeper brought us here in the first place."

"Does it matter? Either way, we're being played for fools! That--- whatever, is bait, which we're supposed to go after like dogs after a thrown stick!"

Kitsune chewed on that for a while. "I think you're right, Red. Something's keeping us busy. I think it doesn't want us to keep looking for the inconsistencies that J'Mira was talking about. BUT, we still have to tell the others about what we just saw. And, the castle Chamberlain, or whoever's in charge of security around here."

"Why? If we tell anyone, they'll just drag us into a big involved Vampire Hunt, which I will lay you odds will wrap up just in time for that idiotic Army to show up at the gates of Seth-Barrak."

"You're more'n likely right, Foxy. Problem is, if we keep this to ourselves, the World-Keeper- or whoever- will probably find some other way of ramming it under the nose of someone who will go screaming for the Inquisition - lay you odds it will be Theocles. Then it will inevitably come out that we knew about it - HOW it will come out, I dunno, but it would, sure as churchbells come Sunday morning - and our credibility will be shot. Every time we open our mouths, Theocles or Mornsong will use our keeping mum about the Vampires like a club."

<NNnrrrggghhh!> "Okay! Okay, you're right. But that doesn't mean that I gotta like it." A look appeared in Foxglove's large gray sloe eyes. "And it doesn't mean that I gotta buy into it. How's about this - we say that YOU saw the vapor go into the window. _I_ say that I was tying my bootlace or somethin' at the time, and that I don't buy it. YOU 'help out' the 'Fearless Vampire Hunters', while I make a point of not being interested. While you go roust out the 'horrible vampires', I'll keep an eye on what else is going on. Every so often, we compare notes."

"What about J'Mira? Do we tell her about this?"

"Oh, yeah. She'd never forgive us if'n we kept her out of the loop. And we tell Avon as well. I get the impression that he's coming around to our way of thinking about all of this 'Worldkeeper' business, and he's showing some pretty good sense, and developing some good moves. I think that J'Mira should help you, and Avon should 'agree with me' that it's all bogus. That way we have two pairs of eyes on each team. Avon and J'Mira can trade notes between nookie sessions."

"And what about Zohar and Justin?"

"Not yet. We're gonna need something a little more concrete than we have now before we bring either of them in on it." Neither even considered bringing Theocles, Mornsong or Hargrim in on the secret.

J'Mira wasn't in the room when they climbed back through the window. <hummphh!> "You'd have thought that at the very least, she'd be here waiting on tenterhooks for the information that she was so hot to get."

Kitsune sighed, "Well, a steady sex life will do that to you. You ought to try it sometime."

Foxglove made a disgusted noise. "Tell that to Justin."

"Why bother? He's cute, I'll give you that, but he's not the only slab of beefsteak on the table. There are more than enough prime cuts of man-meat around here, so there's no need to go hungry. After all, with the persona that you've chosen, it's not like you have to worry about your reputation as a Lady, now is it?"

Foxglove perked up. "You're right! If anything, I'm going against type, not being a little more predatory!"

"That's more like it! And if anything, it might get Justin to perk up and take notice. Despite all his 'Dudley Do-Right' posturing, I think that Justin likes having you draping yourself all over him. Besides having a lovely woman panting over him, it lets him feel all virtuous for refusing your wanton advances."

"Thanks for putting it that way - now I want to kick his ass, all over again! So, do you think there are any eligible men about whose bed I could crawl into, without completely losing all credibility?"

Kitsune stroked a finger across Foxglove's cheek. "Oh, maybe. But why bother? That run has my adrenaline pumping, and I don't want Zohar to get too comfortable."

"Shouldn't we take a bath first? Besides being dusty from the road, we just got through a brisk run around an entire city!"

"Why? I feel nice and fresh - and I don't want to wait for the drudges to heat up the water and haul it up here." Kitsune snuck a hand around Foxglove's back and caressed her far breast from behind.

"Now that you mention it, I don't feel tacky at all!" Foxglove leaned in to kiss Kitsune, and the rest of the evening proceeded from there.

*****

The next morning, Foxglove and Kitsune spent the majority of the morning cuddling. Between sessions, Kitsune asked, "So, Foxy - what are you looking for?"

"Well, if you have to ask, then I'm groping the wrong area!"

"No, I mean in a _man_! I mean, this is sweet, but lemme tell you, sister, tickles and licks do NOT measure up to the real meat!"

Scintilla leaned over on the pillow that she'd been watching from. "Yeah, Boss, what ARE you looking for?"

"And why is it so important to you, Scin?"

"Self-preservation, Boss. I get you a guy, you get a LOT less stressed, and I get a break from being used as a punching bag. It sounds like a Win-Win situation t'me!"

"You make it sound like I'm guilty of Familiar Abuse!"

"Well, you have been awfully mean to me!" <Sniff!>

"I'm Sorry, I'm Sorry!"

"That's what they always say, and then they start whaling on you again in a week or so!" Scintilla broke off from her 'poor abused Imp' routine and leaned over, salacious curiosity written across her little red face. "So, what kinda guy pushes yer buttons?"

Foxglove lay her head back on her pillow, and thought. "Well, I think I've had quite enough of the big strapping 'Dudley Do-Right' type to last me a while. So why not go the opposite way? I think what I'm in the mood for right now is a good, old-fashioned Rotter! You know, something lean, dark, smooth, good-looking in a rather sinister way, and obviously only out for ONE THING!" A voluptuous smirk crossed Foxglove's face. "Somebody that I can strap on for a night or two, and then kick out of bed without worrying about his feelings. Y'know, 'wham- bam- thank-you-Sam'."

Kitsune smirked at Foxglove. "Y'know, every so often, I sort of forget that we were guys back in the Real World. But that is a very GUY sort of attitude."

"Hey, I don't wanna hurt the guy, I just don't want get tied down to anything right now. And if that's what HE wants, then it's all good, isn't it?"

"Not as good as this!" Kitsune did a Zen tickle thing that sent Foxglove into a very un-Zen giggle fit.

*****

It was close to Noon when they finally dragged themselves out of bed. Foxglove got dressed in a draping purple number with wide bell sleeves and lots of lace. Kitsune dressed as per usual in her saffron robes. They ate a little hard bread and cheese together and went looking for the other members of their group. They found Mornsong in heated debate with a couple of noblemen, who split their time between disputing Avalyn's point and looking down her dress. As they were waiting for the ladyelf to disengage herself from the debate, Henrak, one of the noble sons who had been a Flournoy with them walked up with three men. "My Lady Foxglove! Good morning! Or at least what there is left of it. Father, allow me to present Lady Foxglove, one of the sorcerers attached to the Church Investigation Mission, and Sister Kitsune, also of the Church Investigation Mission. Ladies, this is my father, Lord Brastren of Angraff, Margrave of the Angravine Marches. These two are my brothers, Lord Junnard, and Marslon."

Foxglove curtsied and Kitsune bowed, both offering the four men nice looks at their cleavage. "My Lord Angraff. An honor." Foxglove straightened up and gave the Margrave her best winning smile. Kitsune settled for her patent pending look of inscrutability.

"Your honor, my pleasure, my Lady Foxglove."

"And how may I serve you, my Lord?"

"Well, you might tell me your version of what happened at Flournoy and Guirnir's Stead."

"Well, I wasn't at Guirnir's Stead. I helped deal with the Dyrghul at Melhand Bend, but Guirnir's Stead was burning by that time."

"So, old Guirnir finally ran into something that he couldn't chop into bits, did he?"

"My Lord, yeoman Guirnir died fighting the Dyrghul, and his son, Virgarth, not only died but lost his soul setting the stead to fire so that the darklings wouldn't be able to use the food. My companion, J'Mira, tells me that your son Henrak offered to take Guirnir's son, Gyrval, and the other survivors of the stead directly into your service. This strikes me as a very good idea. I take it that the land West of the Jarrow River is the Angravine Marches?"

Brastren nodded.

"Well, my Lord, the darklings are tearing up the Marches something fierce. In order to rebuild, you're going to need as many hard, frontier-wise people as you can find. I suggest that you make a point of re-taking Guirnir's Stead and installing Gyrval there as a landed knight in your service."

"And what of what happened at Flournoy?"

"What exactly do you want to know?"

"My son brings me tales of huge inhuman armies sweeping across the landscape, following a huge demonic idol on wheels, and leaving barren wasteland in their wake."

"Well, that pretty much sums it up, all right."

"All in matching uniforms, marching along in columns?"

"AND using very sophisticated food-gathering and unit-coordination techniques."

Brastren looked dubious. "But how could the Thaumaturge keep all the different kinds of Unclean that Henrak mentioned from each other's throats, let alone marching in unison?"

"You ask an excellent question, my Lord. Indeed, that is one of the questions that the Patriarch sent my Mission to answer. Speaking of questions, exactly who here is in charge of ferreting out supernatural threats here in Seth-Barrak?"

"Why, that would be the head of the Inquisition, the same as everywhere else."

"My Lord, you would be amazed. And who is the head of the Inquisition here?"

"That would be Bishop Jehozadak."

Foxglove broke off the conversation and walked off. "Kit, you go scrounge up this Jehozadak and tell him about the vampire. While you're at it, ask him for a tour of the cathedral and an explanation of the Faith of the Holy Church - basic tenets, major players - mundane and celestial, schisms, the whole shmeer. And take notes - I'm gonna want to hear every little detail, and at least a few of the others will, too. At least the ones with any brains, so I don't think that Hargrim's gonna want to sit in."

"And what are you gonna be doing while I'm getting catechized?"

"I'm gonna scare up Avon and J'Mira - I got some weird vibes off Brastren. He should have been asking specifics - numbers, procedures, travelling speeds, foraging techniques, like that. Instead, he was asking things like 'is it real?' As if he had bigger concerns at the moment. The only thing that would shove a freaking army of Unclean down to second place on the priority list is Politics. Politics is Avon's stock-in-trade, and J'Mira is a Poli Sci major. So, I figure that they're the ones to ask about what's going on behind closed doors around here."

"What about Theocles?"

"That idiot's all wrapped up in being a big man in the church. I'd say use him as a club if any of the local clerics get up your nose for being a 'heathen', but I wouldn't rely on him any further than absolutely necessary."

"I'd rather use him as a doorstop, but if it will help clear all of this nonsense up, I'll put up with him."

Foxglove sent Scintilla out to look for Avon and J'Mira, and then arranged to get a room for them to use by themselves. The little imp didn't take much time finding the two, and then scampered off on some errand of her own.

"Yo, Foxylocks!" J'Mira greeted her 'sister'. "Li'l Red said that you wanted us?"

Foxglove gestured at the padded bench. "Sit, sit, both of you. Avon, you were dealing with the locals and their politics while J'Mira, Kit and I were out slowing down the Army. I got some weird vibes from Henrak's father, one of the local Margraves, like he's more worried about what's happening here in Seth-Barrak than he is about what's happening out on the Marches. Run down the skinny on the local power moves for us, so that we're not the only ones playing without a scorecard. J'Mira, you're a Poli Sci major - give me your educated opinion of what you hear."

"Red, I'm a Poli Sci _student_, not graduate."

"You still have more training than I do. Now hush, and let the man talk."

J'Mira nodded and they both looked at Avon. Avon settled himself and began. "Well, aside from the darkling Army coming at us, the big bone of contention is the fact that the Prince has called for the Lundesgravy-"

"The Land's Gravy?" J'Mira and Foxglove chorused.

"No, the Lundesgravy - it's sort of the local House of Lords, or College of Peers. Anyway, Prince Setacius is calling for the Lundesgravy to meet and affirm his title as Prince, so that he can 'properly meet the oncoming crisis'."

"You mean there's a question as to the legitimacy of his claim to the title? Is there another claimant?"

"It's rather involved."

"It's politics - it's always involved."

"Well, it's like this - Barrak is a client state of the Empire. A long time ago, it used to BE a part of the Empire, but the Empire's control in this part of the continent ebbed and it became it's own state, with a Prince and the Lundesgravy to support his power."

"But the Holy Church stayed."

"Oh yes - secular control may come and go, but the only way to get rid of an ecclesiastical authority is a Holy War. And around here, Holy Wars tend to leave big scorched holes in the ground. At any rate, about a hundred years ago, there was a succession of strong Emperors, and the Empire rolled back into Barrak and bitch-slapped the local strong men. The local Prince and a bunch of Counts and Barons got taken back to the Imperial capitol in chains, and the Empire installed a bunch of their own guys in the Prince's, Counts' and Barons' places. But they didn't kick out the Margraves in the West, they just got 'em to swear loyalty and left 'em out there on the Marches, 'cause they needed someone tough there anyway. But the Emperor didn't make Barrak a part of the Empire proper, with a full-fledged Imperial presence and taxes and all that. He just made Barrak a 'client state' with the Prince as an Imperial puppet. The thing is, while they haven't called the Lundegravvy to meet in decades, they never formally dissolved it, either. And the Prince of Barrak has to be acknowledged by the Lundesgravy in order to rule.

"Well, they've done a pretty good job of ignoring that so far, but the local Old Nobility has used that legalism as a club against the power of the Prince in maintaining their perks and privileges. That and the fact that Setacius' grandfather was only like a third cousin or so to the old Prince. Most of the Old Nobility have claims to the Princely throne that's as good as Setacius' and some are better. The only thing propping up Setacius' power is the fact that he keeps sending tribute to the Empire. But now, Setacius is using this threat as an excuse to call the Lundesgravy and have them formally acknowledge his claim to the title."

"So what?" Foxglove asked. "So he calls the Lundesgravy, and the Old Nobles either say 'Okay, you're the boss' or they just tell him to get stuffed, stop making power plays and get to work coordinating a defense against the darklings."

J'Mira shook her head. "Nope, I can see where this is going. All the estates that the Empire grabbed for their partisans were all the nice, well-protected pieces of land on the far side of Seth-Barrak from the frontier, right? So, the most powerful members of the Old Nobility in the Lundesgravy are the Margraves and Frontier Barons and their Thanes, right? And, I'll bet you dollars to doughnuts that most of the other Margraves and Frontier Barons are squirreled up in their keeps, trying to keep their land from being overrun by the darklings. So, they can't come to Seth-Barrak and tell Setacius to get stuffed. Then the Lundesgravy will be packed with New Nobility, whose claims to their lands and titles are only as good as Setacius'. Acknowledging Setacius' claim to the title only confirms their own claims, so I think a rousing 'Yes' will be heard from those benches. So, Setacius is using this crisis as an excuse to secure his power base."

Foxglove shrugged. "So, this is bad? What you're describing is a basic conflict of Royal Authority versus Noble Prerogative. Given a choice between a central authority and a disunited and quarrelsome aristocracy, I'll take a responsible central authority every time. So this Setacius is taking advantage of the crisis to secure this throne - so what? As long as he manages to get the forces of the various noble houses united under his banner, does it really matter if he put the nobles in their place?"

"It isn't that simple," Avon sighed, "the effectiveness of the united front is largely dependent on who is named to be the general in charge. If Setacius is confirmed as Prince, then he'll definitely name his Marshall, Lord Pildash, as the Grand Marshall. Pildash is from a minor noble house, and owes his office to an equal measure of good soldier-craft and royal favor. And Setacius favors Pildash mostly because the Marshall's own holdings are so minor that he can't leverage the Marshall's office into a major power base."

"Who are the other contenders for the Grand Marshallship?"

"Let's see - most of the nobles favor Lord Grevarren, the Margrave of the of Aldenval Marches. But if the combined armies are placed under Grevarren, the commander of the Imperial Legion in Barrak won't add his forces."

"There are Imperial forces in Barrak?"

"A single garrison legion. The commander, Colonel Rhysmarek, thinks that he's compromising his position enough placing Imperial troops under the command of the Prince's Marshall. He'd rather pull his troops out, let the darklings sweep through Barrak and re-take Barrak from the darklings when the rest of the Imperial forces get here."

"What about this Colonel Rhysmarek as Grand Marshall?"

"It'll never happen. Neither the Old or New Nobles, or the Prince, or even the Church would let that happen. It would mean surrendering all their authority to the Empire. The Dwarves are adding forces to the defense - largely due to Hargrim - but if Rhysmarek's put in charge, they'll pull out. Also, the Elves would definitely attack if either Rhysmarek or Grevarren were put in charge."

"Why would the Church be upset if this Rhysmarek guy were put in charge? I thought the Church and the Empire pretty much ate out of the same bowl."

"Sort of. But when you have two co-existing power structures there's bound to be some friction. The Patriarch definitely has the moral and social edge over the Emperor, but the Emperor has the advantage in sheer military might. The Church is able to have more influence in Barrak because the Empire doesn't have direct control. But if Rhysmarek is put in charge, then the Empire gains influence, and in return, the local nobles and the Church lose influence."

"What is the Church contributing to the defense effort?"

"Well, there's a Chapter House of the Nachonic Order of Paladins. They're sort of like the Knights Templar or the Teutonic Knights; their job is to fight the Unholy and protect the Holy Church."

"I notice that protecting the faithful isn't in their charter," J'Mira sneered.

"And that's sort of their problem. The Nachonines as an order have a well-deserved reputation for going out and killing everything in front of them, while not caring what happens to the people behind them. As long as they can die gloriously in battle, they figure that what happens to everyone else is in God's hands. One of the few things that the Elves and Dwarves agree on is that they hate the Nachonites' innards. Not that the local nobles, New or Old, or the Imperial garrison like them that much, either."

"You mentioned that there's a tribe of Elves in the neighborhood. How are they standing in all of this?" Foxglove asked.

"Not a 'tribe' - it's an all-out Elven kingdom that co-exists (more or less) with the Principality of Barak. A LOT of disagreement over where one nation starts and the other begins. It's generally agreed that the very best that we can expect from the Elves is that they won't attack either the darklings or the coalition until we've exhausted each other. And even that's iffy."

Foxglove grimaced and massaged her temples. "So, any MORE ingredients in this fiasco stew?"

Avon kicked back and screwed up his fine blonde wolfhound features. "Just one that I know of." Foxglove gave a martyred sigh, and gestured him to continue. "On the frontier with the Elven Lands is a lone tower-"

"Oh Gaaawwwd, not another 'dark tower'! We've already DONE _Two_ 'dark towers'! Well, we've only done one so far, but another one? We're gonna get towered out! Didn't Tolkein set a 'two tower' limit?"

"Deal with it! Anyway, in this tower is a mystic-"

"Ooohhh, quelle suprise! There's a tower and there's a sorcerer living in it!"

"Not sorcerer - Mystic."

"What's the difference?"

"I'm not completely sure. Anyway, this mystic lives in his tower, and he's supposed to be powerful enough that he's regarded as a factor in all these calculations."

"So, any idea of how he'll jump when the darklings come over the boarder?"

"Not really. He doesn't exactly invite people over for tea."

"Do they ever?"

"And trespassers are supposedly dealt with by a small army of very odd looking knights."

"Knights? A Mystic with knights? And what's so odd about them?"

"I don't know - I just know that they're supposed to be rather---bizarre."

Foxglove stood up and walked over to the window. She gazed out the window, a pensive look on her face. Then she turned around and calmly said, "Bullshit."

"What?"

"I said, 'Bullshit'. It's all a crock. It's this byzantine mish-mosh designed to keep us busy and not noticing things until the Army manages to get across the river, and we'll be busy fighting for our lives."

J'Mira pursed her full lips into a frown. "You said 'designed'. Who could design the way that a princely court works?"

Foxglove gave her a pitying look. "The Worldkeeper, of course."

Avon shook his long golden locks. "The Worldkeeper _Again_?"

"Not 'Again' - Still. I have yet to see anything that makes me think that the Worldkeeper is doing anything other than trying to set us up to get killed."

"And what makes you think that the Worldkeeper - or whatever the God or Gods responsible for us being here are called - has the kind of power to blithely arrange for all this, just to maneuver us into positions where we can be killed?"

Foxglove looked at J'Mira. "Jam-pot, would you run down to Harp-boy here what you noticed, after I pointed out 'Schloss Neushwanstein' here?"

J'Mira spelled out to Avon the points that she'd made to Foxglove and Kitsune, and added a few more anachronisms and impossibilities, like wax candles in every scone, buttons on clothing, and the overwhelming preponderance of glass.

Avon was rather taken aback by J'Mira's points. He came over and looked at the diamond panes in the window. As far as he could tell, the glass in each and every pane was perfect, without bubbles, ripples or captured flecks. "Maybe Seth-Barrak is a center of the glass making industry, and the castle gets loads of glass instead of taxes from the glassmakers?"

J'Mira shook her head. "Nope. I remember seeing glass in the windows of almost every shop and house that we passed on the way up here yesterday. And there's perfect glass drinkingware almost everywhere. But still - Foxy, what did you see last night, when you and Kit went out?"

"We saw a lot of things. What we didn't see were any factories for anything, or huge tanneries, or stockyards, or huge forges or smithies, or any noticeable sign of an industry. As a matter of fact, all we really saw were houses and shops and the occasional livestock shelter. No, we did see one other interesting thing that you should know about - we saw a Vampire."

"A Vampire?" J'Mira and Avon chorused together. "You mean you actually saw a vampire sneaking around the city?"

"Well, no--- we saw a wisp of smoke go climbing up a wall. Then we saw a shuttered window open, the wisp went in, and the shutters closed."

"But still, it's probably a vampire," Avon conceded, "and what are the odds that it's an independent vampire just sneaking into some house for a quick bite?"

Foxglove smirked. "Oh, it gets better! It wasn't just some house that we were passing at the time--- it was the Palace itself."

J'Mira leaped to her feet. "What? And you just stood there and let that unbreathing thing kill somebody?"

"Chill out, Jam-pot! First of all, the absolute worst thing that Kit and I could have done was raise the alarm! We didn't' know where the damn thing was, or who was working with it. Given the tense situation, do you honestly think that giving the various sides yet another club to use against each other is a good idea? Second, Kit is going to the head of the local Inquisition, Jehu-some-thing-er-other, and she's going to help them conduct a discrete investigation. Third, I don't buy it for a minute."

"What?"

"Think about it! What are the odds that a vampire would choose the middle of the night to come sneaking into the Palace? No, it would have come in much earlier, right after sunset if it were first coming in, as to give itself time to find a hiding place. Or, if it already had a nest, it would have come in just before dawn. In neither case, would it choose just after midnight!"

"So, why DID it choose that moment?"

"Why else? Because that's when Kit and I were there to see it."

"Why would a vampire WANT to be seen?"

"So that we'd raise the alarm, and confuse an already complex situation even further." Foxglove outlined the plan that she'd agreed on with Kitsune.

"And what do you want us to do?" Avon asked, draping an arm possessively over J'Mira's shoulder.

"Well, I want one of you to 'agree' with Kitsune and 'help out' the Inquisition. I want the other one to 'disagree' and help me watch everyone who's watching Kit and the Inquisition hunt for the vampire. We're going to both want politically savvy people with us, checking out the angles. Oh, while it doesn't have to be that way, I'd suggest that you side with Kit, 'Mira."

"Why?" J'Mira asked suspiciously, leaning closer to Avon.

"'Cause both you and Kit are technically 'Heathens'." Then she ran down her plan to learn more about the Holy Church. "After all, both Avon and I are supposed to be at least familiar with the credo of the Holy Church. Hell, I don't know if they're Monotheist, Duotheists, Pantheist or _what_. And if the 'World master' is the God or Gods or whatever of this 'Holy Church', then we'd best know something about him, No?"

Avon made a sour grimace. "I hate it when she gets all super-rational like this."

Chapter 28

Do I Smell A Scooby Snack?

J'Mira nodded. "Yeah, I hate that, too. Unfortunately, she's making too damn much sense. And she's always so damn smug if she's right. Okay, Mastermind, what do you want me to do?"

"Just help Kit track down the vampires, and keep it quiet."

"Oh, is there any special reason that you want a lid kept on it?"

"Yeah. I don't believe in doing what the enemy wants. The political situation is so conflicted that I can't imagine that each faction won't jump on this and try to use it as a club against someone. If you can't keep the word from leaking out, then at least try and keep the wanton accusation slinging to a bare minimum."

"Boy, you don't ask much of a poor ignorant savage from the south, do you?" J'Mira got up with a sigh.

"Hold on. 'Mira, I think that if you're going to go running around playing Sherlock Holmes with all these nobles, you shouldn't dress like a peasant."

"What? These are the only clothes that I've GOT! And let's face it, I can't exactly pass as a local, y'know!"

"I didn't say that you shouldn't dress like a _Barbarian_, I said that you shouldn't dress like a Peasant. Now hold still-" Foxglove made a few passes, and streams of multicolored light wove themselves around J'Mira, resolving themselves into an outfit of a dark orange tunic with a gown of sorts that wrapped around J'Mira's body and draped over the shoulder, and a headcloth. Foxglove handed J'Mira her mirror.

J'Mira looked at herself critically. "You don't spend a lot of time down in the 'Hood, checking out the 'African Heritage' shops, do ya, Foxy?"

Foxglove indicated her red hair and pale complexion. "In my place, would YOU? Hey, at least like this, while you may look like an outlander, you definitely don't look like a Poor outlander!"

"Always an important point when dealing with the Rich and Powerful!" J'Mira conceded. She gave Avon a parting kiss and tousled his long blonde hair. As she left she muttered to Foxglove, "Just remember - find yer own goddamn Man!"

Foxglove acknowledged J'Mira's claim and pointed her in the direction of the Palace Chaplain's offices. On an inspiration, J'Mira went into a convenient solarium and summoned Eldridge, her eagle companion. After several minutes, Eldridge swooped in and perched on the leather cuff on her arm. With that sign of nobility giving her credibility, J'Mira swept into the Chaplain's office with all the regal hauteur that she could muster. She fixed the functionary at the table with a predatory glare and said, "I am Lady J'Mira of the Church Reconnaissance Mission. I understand that my colleague, Lady Kitsune, is here, meeting with the Chaplain."

More than a trifle overawed by the dark brown panther of a woman before him, the functionary stammered, "Well, Yes, m'Lady, His Grace is speaking with-"

"Very Well! Announce Me!"

The functionary scampered to a door. As she followed him, J'Mira stifled a grin at how much fun being a Big Shot and throwing your weight around could be. As soon as the lackey had gotten across the concept that there was someone in the outer office, J'Mira pushed past him with all the arrogance of a born aristocrat. "I understand that there's something that needs hunting?"

"J'Mira!" Theocles blurted, almost as awed as the Chaplain by the regal figure. "What are you-"

J'Mira ignored him. "Lady Foxglove told me that Lady Kitsune believes that she saw a vampire enter the palace. While she doesn't believe it, my opinion is that the Undead should be tracked down and ruthlessly exterminated if there is even the slightest possibility that they are about."

The Chaplain, a tweedy looking man in late middle age, managed to pull his eyes back in their sockets and find his voice. "Well, Lady... Jemmirrah, as I was saying to Lady Kitsooni here, she must understand that tracking down such things is the province of the Holy Office of the Inquisition, which isn't in my purview. Mind you, there is a Brother of that Office installed here at the Palace-"

"Well then, WHY hasn't he been summoned?" J'Mira blared. She was really getting into being the freewheeling aristocratic bitch. "The Unthing is undoubtedly resting, awaiting the setting of the Sun! That means that it is stationary, keeping to one place! The moment the Sun goes beyond the horizon, it will rise, and finding it will be a hundred times more difficult! Mark my words-" J'Mira faltered for a moment, then snapped her fingers. "What was your name again?"

"I am Brother Kotheres, m'Lady."

"Mark my words, Kotheres, if we don't find that blood-sucking freak before Sundown, the blood of an innocent will be on our hands! Send for the Inquisitor! NOW!"

Kotheres bustled out of the room to send a messenger. The moment the door shut, Theocles bolted out of his chair, his beard bristling. "J'Mira, what do you think you are doing?"

"I think I'm lighting a fire under the asses of an ecclesiastical bureaucrat. Always remember this - if you ask, then they can refuse; if you order, then they can only either obey or disobey. And since the Patriarch of the Holy Church has given us a Writ telling all members of the Church to give this mission all due assistance, we are in a position to give orders."

"I'd prefer cooperation." Theocles grumped.

"In case you hadn't noticed, cooperation is in short supply around here."

Kitsune headed off a prolonged argument by asking, "Where'd you get the fancy duds, 'Mira?"

"I didn't. Foxglove whipped this outfit up for me out of pure illusion. She thought that people wouldn't take me seriously in my regular threads."

Kitsune smirked. "Has Avon seen you in those?"

"Yeah, he was there."

"Oh. Pity. There's nothing like a new look to put a little zip back into your love life."

Further discussion was cut short when Brother Kotheres came back, with a stern looking man in a cassock, who had the appearance of a medieval beat cop. "My Lady Jemirra, this is Brother Rasfen."

J'Mira fixed Rasfen with a dismissive look. "You are the Eyes and Hand of the Inquisition within these walls?"

"Yes." Rasfen was apparently a man of few words, an oddity in a place where words were freely bantered about. But then, maybe that was the point.

"Has Kotheres told you of Lady Kitsune's discovery last night?"

"Yes."

"And what are you going to do about it?"

Rasfen looked at Kitsune and then J'Mira, diminishing - or at least trying to - them with a gaze that summed them up as noisy barbarians and arrogant heathens. "Why?"

J'Mira never broke the eye-lock with Rasfen. She imperiously snapped her fingers. "Theocles! The Writ!" Then she shoved her hand back for it. Theocles sighed, reached up a sleeve and produced the Patriarchal Writ that gave them their authority as a Patriarchal Reconnaissance Mission. He reluctantly laid the document in J'Mira's demanding hand. "THIS is a Writ bearing the Patriarchal Seal, which instructs you to give ALL assistance to our mission. Since the Vampire is most likely a vanguard of the encroaching darkling Army, which was sent out by the Thaumaturge of the Dark Tower. So, finding and destroying it is definitely a part of our mission."

Rasfen stretched out his hand. J'Mira handed over the writ. Rasfen looked the document over for a minute. Then he took the paper lengthwise in his hands, but before he could do anything, he was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a razor-sharp hatchet against his throat.

"You are doubtlessly thinking of tearing up the Writ and telling us to go to Hell. That would be gross insubordination in the face of Patriarchal authority. If you cause even so much as a minor tear on that parchment, I will gladly lop off your head, and as Brother Kotheres will bear witness to your gross insubordination, all that will happen as a result of your decapitation will be an official apology to me from your superior."

For a long moment, J'Mira and Rasfen stood, eyes locked in a staredown. Then Rasfen stoically handed the writ back to J'Mira. "Well?"

Kitsune interrupted. "Would you rather eat with a tiger in your parlor, or be eaten by the tiger in his?"

There was the usual, "Hunh?"

"Just searching for the Vampire won't do. In order to get into the Palace in the first place, the Vampire would need allies - or more likely thralls already in place to invite it in. So, even though the Vampire won't be able to move, its allies will still move it around to avoid discovery. So, we don't ride after it like a fox with hounds; rather we send beaters out into the bush to flush the tiger into a trap."

"And exactly HOW do we do that?" Theocles demanded. "Obviously the Vampire's agenda is to disrupt court life so that we won't be able to agree on a defense! The method that you propose would be like striking a flint on dry tinder - the various factions would use accusations of being under the Vampire's sway like a club."

Kitsune raised a finger for attention. "Then we simply don't tell the courtiers that a Vampire is here. Beginning at the very attics and working their way down, we will simply have acolytes of your Faith perform Cleansing rites on every level of the Palace, all the way down to the basements. If anyone asks, tell them that it's a measure to help restore harmony and balance to the court. Before the Cleansings begin, make sure to seal as many doors and windows that can be used to take a coffin or other box from the Palace are shut, with the exception of two or three inobvious exits that someone could use to leave the Palace unseen. If we begin as quickly as possible, and finish well before Sundown, the Vampire's thrall should drag its inert body right into our hands. Even if the Vampire somehow manages to evade us, we have forced it from the Palace, and we can question those who suddenly left the Palace for no discernable reason."

"It's still a major undertaking." Rasfen said. "It will take us several hours to arrange it."

"As long as it begins suddenly and without warning, the containment could keep in a drip, and it all ends before the sun goes down."

Rasfen left without a word.

"I don't think Rasfen likes answering to anybody," J'Mira said airily.

Kotheres cleared his throat and murmured, "Ah, well, as an arm of the Inquisition, he is rather more accustomed to asking pointed questions than taking orders."

"Brother Kotheres, while Rasfen is rounding up his 'beaters' there is something that you can do for us." Kitsune steered the conversation in another direction. "Lady J'Mira and I are in need of religious instruction."

Chapter 29

This Spud's For You

After making a few rounds with the various courtiers, Avon and Foxglove were at an impasse. "Man, if Congress is half this partisan and self-serving, America is doomed!"

Avon smiled at Foxglove. "Buck up, Foxglove! If we play our cards right, this very obstreperousness could work in our favor."

"Oh? How?"

"Well, most likely, most of these people are in a situation where they know that they have to work together, but they don't want to be the one who makes all the concessions while the others wait them out, sacrificing nothing."

"Well, in the case of the Frontier Barons, I can see that, but where do the interior nobles get off with that attitude?"

"Well, from their point of view, the Frontier Barons have the most to lose, so they should be the ones with the incentive to negotiate. The Interior nobles are waiting for the Frontier Barons to make a show of good faith."

"And the Frontier Barons are waiting for the Interior nobles to show that they understand the seriousness of the situation. And the Prince is trying to use the crisis to stabilize his power base. Now, how do we get this inanity to work in our favor?"

"The Vampire. While the charge of being under the Vampire's thumb can be used as a weapon, we can also use that charge. Once the Vampire has been dealt with, we can display its charred remains, and suggest that it's behind the 'other side' being so hard-nosed. We can further put out that remaining so mulish is sign of Infernal contamination. Now, given the situation, that's sort of like being branded a 'Communist' back in the 1950's - political death. If we play it right, these nobs will be bending over backward trying to prove how firmly they're behind the side of the Angels."

"Okay, but all that depends on us controlling the spin on the news. And THAT means keeping a lid on it until we can put a stake in the damn thing. Then, we release the news, let the bozos react and make their first moves, and then put the screws to them. There's nothing like an immediate threat to their personal well-being to get the Rich and Powerful to listen to reason."

They rounded a corner and saw Mornsong talking earnestly with two men that Foxglove and Avon recognized as being Counts, and as such members of the 'Interior Nobility'. They paused to listen to Avalyn's spiel before interrupting. Avalyn was pitching forming a protective alliance with the Elven kingdom nearby. The nobles were only listening with one ear; their attention was focused more on her charms than on her logic. And since her refined features called attention to the sharply pointed ears and thus to her inhuman heritage, they lingered mostly on her décolletage.

In time, the nobles grew weary of her and drifted off. Avalyn muted a shriek of frustration. <Nnnrrrggghhhh!> "WHY won't these stubborn fools Listen? The Elves must be aware of the encroaching army! It is folly to try to affect a stand while keeping forces along the Elven boarder! Why can't they see that?"

Avon was studiously unimpressed. "Maybe it's because the Elves have been sending raiding parties over the border to steal livestock - and children - since as long as anyone can remember?" he drawled. "Or that the Elven nobility amuse themselves with contests to see who can cast the most embarrassing enchantments on Humans? Or that a favorite Elven sport among the wild young Nobles of the Elves is to catch travelers alone of the road and drive them insane? Or that one major industry of the Elves is to steal human dreams? No, no, you're right - it couldn't be THAT!"

"And where did you get all of that bilge?"

"It's a major topic of conversation around here. There are several Noble daughters around here who are unmarriageable, due to 'Elven Mischief'. After all, would YOU want to marry a girl who turned food rotten the second that she touched it?"

"I assure you that there is far more to it than the locals are letting on. After all, they're not going to just come out and admit that they were messing with the Elves, and the Elves just got the better of them?"

Avon shook his narrow head. "No, I'm saying that there are parties on both sides that have both old grudges and vested interests that make mending bridges hard. Besides, we don't know that much about the politics of the Elven court."

"All the more reason to send envoys to the Elven Queen, to find out what we need to do get her to come to an agreement with the Prince!"

Foxglove sighed. "Avalyn, the odds are that the Elves already know all about the Army, and they plan to let us beat the crap out of each other. And, the second that one side or the other actually wins, they'll come screaming out of their forests and wipe out the 'winner' before they can catch their breath. As much as it hurts, the Grand Marshall will keep those forces on the border, and God Bless Him for doing it."

Mornsong scrunched up her delicate, birdlike features and hooded her large, violet eyes. "SO, what DO we do?"

"We get more information. Since you think we can't trust the Humans' opinions of the Elves, what say we ask the opinion of the Demi-Humans who we CAN ask?"

"The Dwarves? Why should we trust the Dwarves?"

Avon quirked a half-smile. "Because they've already committed troops and weapons to the defense. One of the King Under The Mountain's own sons is here, with a company of charioteers."

"Charioteers? I never heard of Dwarves as having charioteers! What pulls the stupid chariots?"

"Goats. Apparently, they use 'em for damn near everything."

"Oh. Well, why should we trust the Dwarves? Everybody knows that Elves and Dwarves are traditional enemies!"

"Says Who?" Foxglove demanded. "The D&D people? They ripped that - and about half of their base stuff - from Tolkien. I don't remember anything from legitimate Folklore or Mythology sources that indicated any traditional enmity between the Dwarves and the Elves."

"Ah, but who knows what the real situation in this world is? Whatever folklore and mythology sources say back in OUR world, the case might be very different in THIS world."

"Exactly. Which makes talking to the Dwarves make sense. We need to know what they think about the Elves. If nothing else, it's information. And the big thing that we lack right now if valid information."

Avalyn chewed on it for a bit. "So, you're going to ask Hargrim to talk to the Dwarf War Chief?"

"Why not? From what you tell me, they seem to think that Hargrim is Hercules, Siegfried and Sir Lancelot, all crammed into a ten pound bag."

"Do you want me to come along?"

"Aaahhh... No. No matter what the Dwarves think of the Elves, they'll still talk a lot more freely if one of the subject under discussion isn't right there. Why don't you go talk to Trayderne, that Dark Elf bitch that we snuck out of the Darkling Army camp? Maybe after a few weeks of living on prisoners' rations has taken some of the starch out of her corset."

Avalyn obviously didn't like the idea. "No, I have other prospects to pursue. Good luck with the Dwarves." With that, she trailed off elegantly.

*****

The Dwarven contingent was quartered down near the basements. This wasn't any kind of slighting to them, the Humans freely admitted that the Dwarves were valued allies; it was just that they preferred chambers close to the soil.

Or maybe they just preferred chambers close to the beer.

Apparently, the Dwarves would have regarded Beer Commercials as 'High Culture.' As Avon and Foxglove pushed past the cellar door, they found what looked like a Billy Barty production of a Munich Beer Hall musical. There were four long tables laid out, with rows of short, stout bearded men seated at the benches, splitting their time between drinking from large steins, eating with their hands and bragging at the top of their lungs. Short, plump, buxom women with round, merry faces wandered about the tables, bringing the small men food, drink and soft body parts to grab. The men accepted the offerings gladly and paid the women in gropes and kisses, which the women accepted with giggles and more kisses.

At first, Foxglove wondered what the Dwarves were celebrating. Then she spotted several other Dwarves calmly doing various chores and generally taking care of business. It appeared that this was the way that Dwarves hung out.

Avon looked for Hargrim and spotted him, sitting near a Dwarven harper at the head of one of the long tables. The harp was some of the finest metalwork that Avon had ever seen, just as the harper was one of the most ham-handed string snappers that he'd ever had to endure. Probably somebody's relative. Steeling himself against the noise, Avon forged forward to Hargrim's side.

"Hey, Hargrim! How are the locals treating you?"

Hargrim finished his draw on his stein, and let the plump ladydwarf dab his beard dry. Then he gave her a big smack. As she squealed with delight, Avon made a mental note that the she-dwarf rather resembled Pam Anderson - or at least her reflection in a fun-house mirror. Hargrim roared back, "Great! A fair sight better than most of the stops I've had to put up with on this mission!"

The assembled company gave a rowdy cheer of approval at this, and toasted the thought with a deep chug of beer. But then, Foxglove thought, they'd probably toast someone breaking wind the same way.

"Hargrim, I'd like to talk to whoever's in charge of these Dwarves." Hargrim tore off a bite from a haunch of roast lamb and pointed the leg at a particularly stout Dwarf with a beard like steel wool, all bedizened in gold and amber.

Avon bowed at the worthy, even as the Dwarven Prince kept shoveling meat and beer into his mouth. "Your Highness, I am Avon Galliard, companion to Hargrim Vargrimson. Who do I have the honor of addressing?"

The Prince washed down the meat with beer, then with a deep golden baritone that was several degrees better in tone than the guy with the harp said, "I am Yarl Siegross Siegricson-" from there, he went on to list his lineage for some ten generations, along with a recitation of deeds and accomplishments that sounded less like a resume than an introduction. Foxglove sourly expected him to finish off his recitation with something about his being a people person, a team player and able to relocate anywhere in the continental US with two months' notice.

"Very well, miLord Yarl, I was wondering if I could ask your opinion on a matter of Statecraft."

"Well, it's about damned TIME!" Siegricson roared. "Take a seat and ask away!"

Avon looked at the fully occupied bench. "Where?"

Hargrim slammed his stein down, reached over and pushed the dwarf next to him over, shoving all the dwarves on the bench until the one on the end fell off. Hargrim waved generously at the empty place on the bench. Foxglove and Avon gingerly sat down and helped themselves to the dwarves' hospitality.

"Well?" Siegricson roared.

"Ah! Yes! Well- milord, Lady Avalyn Mornsong of our party is lobbying to send a diplomatic envoy to the Elves of the Ysfarren Wood." This news was met with angry muttering among the Dwarven company. Avon forged ahead. "The thing is, I don't know that much about Elves - I've only known Lady Mornsong for a while, and to be honest, I regard her opinion as rather suspect-"

One of the dwarves down the bench muttered, "Then you have better judgement in women than in clothes!" His mates backed him up on both points.

"At any rate, Milord Siegricson, I want your perspective - what is your opinion of the Elves?"

Siegross Siegricson stopped eating and thought deeply for a moment. "Better to have an Elf honestly in front of you with a sword in his hand, than by your side with a dagger in your back."

"You think that the Elves hold the Men such a grudge that they'd let the darklings have Seth-Barrak?"

"Nah, nah- grudge ain't the point, Elf is. Y'can't trust Elf. Not Elf Royal, not Elf Noble, not Elf Knight, not Elf Squire, nor Sergeant, nor Jack. From the loftiest Oak-crowned head to the lowliest mud-caked foot, they's mad as a bag of weasels and twice as nasty. Men? Now, Men may not be Dwarves, and not particular trusty, but at least iff'n a Man crosses you, he has his reasons. Bad reasons, fool reasons, evil reasons - but still reasons. Elf? They'll cross you just for the joy of weaseling their way 'round the thing. They'll be mild as milk one minute, and raging like a flaming dragon the next, and all 'cause y'stepped on a buttercup. They're as subtle as mist and just as solid."

Siegricson took another deep draught of beer and picked up a golden goblet. "Now, fighting and killing for THIS, good solid gold, that I understand. But Elves? They'll break you for your dreams! A Dwarf or a Man, or even an Orc, they'll kill you with a good solid sword or axe or club! But an Elf? An Elf will kill you with shafts of moonlight or swords made of rainbows! And y'cant even trust 'em to be all vapory! No, for some reason, they'll take summat inta their heads, and that fool notion'll be as real as a mountainside to 'em."

"You might say that they have 'a whim of iron'?" Foxglove mused.

"'Whim of Iron' - I like that! Why didn't you come up with that, poetry-boy?"

Avon just shrugged. "So, there's no use trying to get the Elves to lend their support."

"Hey! Why are you so het up to get the pointy-ears on yer side? Ain't we Dwarves good enow fer you?"

"Well, it's more a matter of wanting to be sure if it's safe to move those troops on the Elvish frontier-"

"Oh? And you're so sure about the Dwarves, are you now?" Siegross was just being peevish, seeing the Elves being courted after, but the rest of his crew went along with him. Lines of craggy bearded faces glared at Avon and Foxglove, and even Hargrim joined in.

Well, mused Avon, one of the cardinal rules of diplomacy is to never back down from a stated position, just put a positive spin on it! "Of COURSE we're sure about the Dwarves! Siegric Grundsiegson, King Under The Mountain, gave his word, didn't he? Isn't Dwarven Honor a thing of legend? Wouldn't even the meanest and vilest of dwarves rather cut off his beard with a dull axe rather than break his word, once it's given? The Elven word is vapor, the Human word is wind, but the Dwarven word is STONE! If a Man gave his word that the Sun wouldn't be coming up tomorrow, most wouldn't pay it any mind - but if a Dwarf gave his word that the Sun won't be coming up tomorrow, the wise man stocks up on candles."

There's nothing like a hefty dollop of flattery to make a person forget a slight. Siegricson nodded and toasted the thought with a heft slug of beer. "The bedamned Elves can't even run their courts proper."

"Oh?" Foxglove's ears perked up. This was exactly the sort of dirt that they'd come here to get! "How so? Does the Elven King run a slack court?"

"HAH! If only it were that clear! Now, Men, they muddy things up what with their Prince and their Emperor, but at least you have some idea of who's in charge! The Elves? They have TWO courts running at a time! Y'can never tell who you're supposed to be talking to!"

"_Two_ courts? How? How do they get anything settled?"

"Who says that they get anything done? They just poofter around, and blame each other for everything."

Avon tried to pump Siegricson for more, but Foxglove stood and pulled him up with her. "Well, thank you very much, miLord Yarl. You've been a mine of valuable information."

Avon followed Foxglove as she dodged grabby hands on her way out. When they were clear of the Dwarves' cellar, Avon snapped, "Why did you pull us out like that? I was about to ask him-"

"A bunch of pointless trivia that would have just gotten us mired even further in all of this. No, I heard what I really needed to hear. No envoy to the Elves, and the units stationed along the Ysfarren Wood stay where they are."

"It was the part about the two courts that set you off - why?"

"What kind of Bard are you, Avon? What Siegricson was describing wasn't D&D Elves, or even Tolkien Elves - he was describing the Sidhe."

A chill ran down Avon's back. "The Sidhe? The Fae Lords of ancient Britain?"

"And Celtic France, Lowlands, and western parts of Germany. The Sidhe, who hold two courts - the Seelie Court and the Unseelie Court. The Seelie Court is just nasty, mischievous and totally unpredictable. The Unseelie Court is downright vicious. A brass farthing will get you a gold Crown that that rabid bitch Trayderne is part of some Unseelie Court, and Murphy's Law says that it's probably in Ysfarren Wood."

"I- I- I thought all that talk about the Elves stealing children and dreams and driving travelers insane on the road was just trash talk!"

"Maybe some of it is - but I'll lay you odds that there's enough truth to it to make going into those woods about as dangerous as swimming with Piranha."

"So, what do we do now?"

"Now, we go in the other direction, and see what the Commander of the Imperial Garrison thinks of all this. Hey, he may not be the nicest guy around, but at least he's human!"

CHAPTER 30

How Big A Bonus To My Charisma Roll

Do I Get For Flashing My Boobs?

The Imperial Garrison had its own quarters in the Palace compound, a situation that both Avon and Foxglove found odd. Normally, the local Authorities prefer not to be reminded of a greater power, and the Outlanders prefer not to have the local bigwigs breathing down their necks. On their way, they ran across Justin, who was talking intensely with a stocky man in a blue spurlice. "Ho! Justin!" Avon called out.

Avon's greeting broke the train of conversation, giving the stocky man an excuse to completely break off the discussion and walk away. Justin threw up his hands in exasperation. "Damn! I almost had him at the point of making a concession!"

"Who was that?"

"Dralmeres, the Chapter Commander of the Nachonite Paladins. They're not the biggest force available to us, but they're the ones with the killer rep."

Foxglove looked sourly at the receding Paladin. "From what I hear, they're basically artillery with legs - you point them at something and let them tear it apart. So, what was Dralmeres' problem? Does he want to be the Grand Marshall or something?"

Justin made a disgusted noise. "No. He's afraid that his knights will be 'wasted' performing defensive actions during the fight, when he thinks they should always be used in direct confrontation with the Dark. The Nachonites have a reputation for being Glory Hogs. I thought it was envy. It wasn't."

Avon sighed. "Well, Foxglove and I were about to call on Colonel Rhysmarek, the Commander of the Imperial Garrison. Care to join us?"

Justin gave a gusty sigh. "Why not? Maybe a few words with a professional soldier will wash the bad taste of Dralmeres' glory-hunger out of my mouth."

Foxglove hitched herself onto Justin's arm. "So, what have you heard about this Rhysmarek character?"

Justin focused for a moment. "Well, from what I've been able to put together, he was a whiz-kid who got stuck out here to wait out a patch of political bad weather. He's supposed to be an absolute fiend for discipline in the ranks, but his own personal reputation isn't one of real discipline. He's fought a number of duels, both here and in the Capitol, supposedly over 'indiscretions'. His men like him, but they're the only ones."

"'Indiscretion'?" Foxglove asked.

"Err... Yes- it seems that he takes his pleasures where he finds them."

"Oh, Really?" Foxglove perked up a bit.

The Imperial Garrison shared a drill ground with the Nachonites, and were occupied with practicing what looked like Swiss Pike tactics. Interesting, Foxglove thought to herself. Another anachronism - Pike formations in an Age of Mounted Knights. The Legionnaires were wearing chainmail and carrying halberds wrapped in burlap and padded. The Pike formation had formed a shield wall, and were standing strong against a knight-like figure with a padded lance on top of a wooden horse on wheels. A crew of eight men furiously pushed the mock cavalier at the legionnaires as a sergeant shrilly called out the code for the manual of arms. As the mannikin came rumbling at the very edge of the shield wall, the halberds came down and formed an impenetrable barrier to the lance, sweeping the figure from its seat. Other halberds reversed themselves and hooked into the figure, dragging it down.

The Nachonites, who were very much cavalry, watched all of this with dyspeptic antipathy.

Then a horn sounded, and the action suddenly stopped. A tall, broad shouldered man in chainmail with a white mantle shouted out, "All right, all right, that's enough of that, you lot! Very impressive, you managed to drag a scarecrow off of a hobbyhorse that's half wheelbarrow! But it won't be a scarecrow coming at you, it'll be a real knight, in full armor with lance at the ready, and he'll be coming at you full speed! Tomorrow, I'm getting two horses to push Sir Strawguts over there, and if you don't get it right, you'll be making your excuses to the castle healer. Very well! I want two laps around the parade ground in proper formation, whilst the wagon-crew gets Milord Sackhead back on his noble steed, and then we do it again!"

Avon managed to get the attention of this man, who was rather obviously in charge. The man looked at them, and gave a few instructions to the man next to him. The commander then turned to his men again. "Very Well! The Lieutenant will be taking over for now! I gave to go let the local quality yawp at me for a bit! But if I hear that you sorry dogs have been laying down on the job, I'll have ye marching down to hell and back, just for the practice!"

The commander came over and introduced himself as, indeed, Colonel Rhysmarek. As Avon introduced first himself, then Justin and lastly her, Foxglove gave Rhysmarek the once over. Rhysmarek was still reasonably young, in the prime of his life - whatever that meant on this world with its paradoxical poor sanitation and nutrition, but counterbalancing healing magic. He had lean, wolfish features, softened by a well-trimmed mustache, and under his chainmail, he looked to be in excellent trim. As he was introduced to Foxglove, Rhysmarek gave her an appreciative look, and they each spotted the other checking them out. There was silent exchange of acknowledgment and interest.

Rhysmarek became several degrees more pleasant. "So, you are with the Patriarchal Reconnaissance Mission. I understand that you are the ones responsible for the destruction of Flournoy and the Plandury bridge."

"And you have problems with this?" Justin bristled.

"Quite the opposite! I'm glad that there's someone around here who understands strategy beyond 'line 'em up and hit 'em hard'."

"Yes," Avon agreed smoothly, "that is a rather large problem, especially since we have seen the Darklings use very sophisticated strategies."

That tore Rhysmarek's attention away from Foxglove's cleavage. "Oh? Such as?" Then he held up a hand. "No, wait - where are my manners? We should discuss this at length in my quarters." Giving his Lieutenant a few gestures that conveyed a lot of information, Rhysmarek offered Foxglove his arm. Smiling broadly, Foxglove took it, and allowed herself to be lead to Rhysmarek's quarters. Avon and Justin waited for a moment, to be invited to join, but had to hurry up when Rhysmarek showed no sign of saying anything to them.

Rhysmarek's quarters were paradoxically opulent and spartan. While the chairs and tables and other furnishings were obviously made to fold up and be easily transported, they were also of excellent materials and masterful craftsmanship. Rhysmarek obviously enjoyed living well, but didn't allow that to slow him down in the least. Foxglove settled into one of the camp chairs and accepted the goblet of wine that Rhysmarek offered.

Avon started going over the situation, but neither Foxglove nor Rhysmarek paid him that much attention. As Simon Brewer, Foxglove had never really understood the attraction that a 'bad boy' like Rhysmarek might hold for women, but now as Foxglove she was getting the idea. Rhysmarek made no bones about his appreciation for Foxglove's charms, and at the same time, he offered no complicated prolonged difficulties. He was pure, instant gratification, and he might sweep her up into his arms right then and there and whisk her off to his bed. How exciting!

"-And then there's the matter of what we're going to do when the darklings actually arrive." Avon forced Rhysmarek to pay more attention to the map on the table than to swell of Foxglove's chest.

"Oh?" Rhysmarek refocused himself with effort. "Oh. That depends on when we can get an accurate report on the size and construction of the Army."

"It's between two and two and a half thousand, of various darkling breeds. And that's not counting the various breeds of the Undead."

"Undead? Zombies? Vampires? Ghouls?"

"Definitely Vampires, probably Zombies. Couldn't say about Ghouls."

"Well then - the most logical choice is to establish our lines on the near side of the Jarrow River, forcing them to send their living troops across the stream to secure the other side without the backing of the Undead troops."

<Sigh> "It doesn't work, Rhysmarek." Justin explained about the Vampire's foraging raids deep within the Empire's lands, and how the Vampires must have a method of crossing running water quickly.

"Ah. If that's so-"

"Then Jarrow Bend would be like standing at the far end of a jousting alley."

"My troops' shield walls-" Foxglove wordlessly whipped up her 'strategic display' illusions and showed Rhysmarek a scene of his troops being run over by the Juggernaut.

"I—See—Are you Sure about that thing?"

Foxglove, Justin and Avon nodded their heads in weary unison.

"Well, then- I guess the logical thing to do is to meet them at Jarrow Bend, try and take out as many as we can and withdraw to the city. We dig trenches here-here- here- and here to prevent them from using that Juggernaut thing against the city walls, and send out harrying parties to whittle down their numbers, as we wait for reinforcements from the Empire. You say that there are between two thousand and two and a half thousand of them?"

Foxglove nodded. The plan that Rhysmarek described was logical. And that bothered her.

"Well then! If we flood this part of the lowlands outside the city by diverting this canal, we can force the darklings to set up their siege encampment here. Then we pull our troops from their posts guarding the Ysfarren Woods. The Elves won't be able to resist a chance of raiding the darklings. Thus, we can set Fair Folk against the Unfair, without needing their approval."

Indeed, a very good plan, thought Foxglove. But Rhysmarek didn't know the War Horseman. No, if she was reading the Horseman properly, then Foxglove knew that he would have seen this tactic coming. So, he had a way around it. But what was it? She looked at Rhysmarek's plan of the city. The city was planned so that, in times of crisis, it could be completely shut off from the rest of the countryside, and nothing could get in. Or out. Quarantined.

Quarantined! Foxglove's eyes snapped wide open and she gave a gasp of awful realization. "No, Rhysmarek, that is absolutely the LAST thing that we need to do!"

"What are you talking about?"

Foxglove described the War Horseman to him, and also related their experience with the Horseman of Famine. Rhysmarek nodded. "So? It sounds like you severely hampered the first one and destroyed the second one. A job well done, my lords and lady!"

"You don't understand, Colonel. There are FOUR horsemen! And the third horseman is described as being the Bringer of Plague! Look at this!" She pointed her finger at the map of the city. "By encamping here and here, the Horsemen can infect the city at their leisure, without infecting their own troops, and capture anyone who tries to escape the contagion. And I'll lay odds that they've hexed whatever plague the Yellow Horseman is carrying so that when they die, they become some sort of Undead. Rhysmarek, we can't let that Army get anywhere near Seth-Barrak."

Rhysmarek slumped into a camp chair and worried at a hangnail. "Damn." He glared at Avon and Justin. "I won't let those yokels use my men as dragon fodder to tire out the darklings so that their own precious forces can sweep in and claim victory over our dead bodies. I'll pull my men out and let the darklings take Seth-Barrak first."

Avon looked cagey. "What if I could get the Grand Marshall's word that that won't happen?"

"Pildash is the only one of that turnip-breathed lot that I'd trust to both keep his word and do the job right. And the Margraves would rather jump on a bonfire than let him be Grand Marshall."

"Will you join us at the feast that the Prince is holding tonight, and help us lobby for Pildash's nomination?"

"I warn you - I won't add my voice to that nonsense about affirming Setacius' claim to the throne of Barrak."

Foxglove stood up and laid her hand on Rhysmarek's. "Even so, won't you come? It isn't seemly for a Lady to come to dinner without a Lord's arm to keep her steady." She favored him with a knowing smile.

Rhysmarek returned a like smile. "Now how could I say no to an invitation like that?"

*****

Dinner was delicious, the politicking was furious, and Rhysmarek took advantage of every opportunity to discretely put a hand somewhere on Foxglove. Foxglove discretely returned his gropes.

At the end of the evening, only one thing was really settled, and that had been a foregone conclusion. As Rhysmarek and she got up, Foxglove leaned over to Kitsune and whispered, "You won't mind seeking other lodgings tonight, Dear?" She cast her eyes meaningfully in Zohar's direction.

Kitsune followed Foxglove's gaze, and murmured with a knowing smile, "Brav-VA, Sister!"

Once inside the chambers that Foxglove shared with Kitsune, they both dropped all pretense of discretion. They launched themselves at each other like a pair of hungry animals. Whatever hesitations Foxglove may have had left over from being Simon were swept away in a flood of pure lust. She let him carry her over to her bed, never breaking the lip-lock in the process. Rhysmarek ripped the red velvet gown from her shoulders and began making small bites down her neck and on her shoulders. She slipped completely out of the gown, and let the undershift part to show her breasts.

Rhysmarek paused long enough to shed his embroidered doublet and then took her breasts in his hands and began nuzzling at them. Foxglove giggled at the tickling of his mustache against her sensitive nipples, and began to work at the laces on his codpiece.

*Ker-Rasshhh!*

Suddenly, the door to the chamber flew open, and the seething figure of Justin Invictus was there, his hands clenched in rage and the features of his long face set in a rictus of fury. "_Get _Your _Filthy _Hands _OFF _Of _Her!" he rasped.

Rhysmarek looked from Justin to Foxglove with the expert sang froid of an experienced Tomcat. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Old Man - I had _No Idea_ that you two were involved."

"Get OUT!"

"Dammit, Justin, what do you think you are doing?"

Rhysmarek dropped Foxglove and pulled his doublet back on. "Really, you can't really blame me. The woman has needs! And if you aren't-"

"GET OUT!"

"Rhysmarek, don't you-" It was too late. The Colonel had already put on his doublet and was out the door. "Damn!" Foxglove pounded her fists into the bed in frustration. "Justin, what do you think you are doing here?"

"What am _I_ doing? What do you think YOU are doing? Coming here with that man!"

"Justin, these are MY bedchambers, and what I do here is MY business! Who do you think you are, my father?" Then realization replaced anger. "Why, Justin! You were Jealous! That's so SWEET!" She got up and walked over to the Paladin, a puckish smile on her face. "You DO realize that since you've chased off Rhysmarek, that you ARE rather obligated to take his place?"

This knocked the wind completely out of Justin's sails. "Oh. Ah. Well, really, Foxglove, that wasn't why I came here."

"Oh? And exactly why did you come here, kicking in my door and all but breathing fire?" Foxglove pressed herself against Justin's front and gazed up into his eyes invitingly.

"Now, now, Foxglove, let's not get carried away. I was only worried that a dog like Rhysmarek might get the wrong idea about your attentions."

"Or worse, that he might get the right idea." Foxglove grinned wantonly.

"Aaahhh... I think I should go now."

"No, I think you should stop playing the Boy Scout and come to bed with me."

Justin pulled away. "NO! No, I'm afraid that would be grossly inappropriate."

"_What?_"

"Yes, I'm afraid that I have to go."

"You're serious?"

"Foxglove, the only reason that I came here was to keep Rhysmarek from taking advantage of you."

"Taking Advantage? He wasn't taking advantage of ME, _I_ was taking advantage of HIM! Or at least I _WAS_, until YOU came barging in-"

"Now, Foxglove-"

"You come barging in here, scare off this first piece of decent Sex that I've had in months-"

"Now, please!"

"And now after playing dog in the manger, you want to go and leave me hanging?"

"Please, it's for your own good!"

At the sound of 'for your own good', Foxglove completely lost it. With a mindless shriek of primal rage, she reached for the broadsword at Justin's belt and had it out. She gave another scream and swung the sword over her head. She shouldn't have been able to lift it, the sword was that heavy, but she hefted it like it was a feather.

Whatever his shortcomings in the romance department, Justin wasn't a total idiot. He turned on his heels and ran out of the chamber as fast as his legs could carry him. Even without her elven boots and carrying the heavy broadsword over her head with both hands, Foxglove was hot on his heels. "FOR MY OWN GOOD? I'LL GIVE YOU FOR MY OWN GOOD!"

She chased him down the hall and through an arch and around a chapel, swinging the broadsword wildly. She kept chasing him until Kitsune, dressed in a sleeping shift, tackled her. "Chill out, Red! You aren't going to get him in bed this way!"

"I KNOW! But at least I'll feel better!"

Since 08/23/03