《For King and Kin: A Fox's Journey》 Prologue - The Legacy of the Whitetips Boyd Whitetip and his children Ryan and Mia were fox-kin. As such, they could take the form of a fox or a form that... resembles a human. It would take quite a lot to pass for a human though. At least a hooded robe, gloves and boots reaching halfway up the calf. Depending on the individual, a set of false teeth may also be required. Most of their relatives lived in a small community further to the north. One of several communities in that land of rough brown grass and cracked soil. A land the siblings loved to visit in winter or autumn, never summer. ¡°Out home¡±, Boyd called it. In that land, many years ago, a nobleman tested his fortune with a copper mine. As these things go, the operation was abandoned not two years after it had begun. Nonetheless, it began the involvement of fox-kin in the affairs of men. Boyd told them of their great grandfather and his three trustworthy companions. He spoke of how they''d negotiated for some of the stubby cattle the miners'' used to pull their carts. With the help of the whole community, they bred them until there were roughly one thousand. Then they drove five hundred all the way to the kingdom''s capital. Sixty two days later, they returned with thirty wagons. Each was full with all manner of goods. Thus, they prospered. When Mia had asked why the mine failed, Boyd commented dryly. ¡°Perhaps if the short-horns were not so delicious, the logistical costs would not have exceeded their expectations,¡± he''d said. Later, when the siblings were in bed and asleep, she asked Ryan what ¡°logistical¡± meant. He didn''t know either. For the longest time, they thought their great granddad must''ve been the best person there ever was. A pioneer. A fox of the land. A shrewd man who¡¯d feared no opportunity. It wasn¡¯t until another visit that his grandfather clarified, saying, ¡°He was a man of few words. Your cattle or your life, he''d say.¡± Such was their great grandfather. ¡°Still friggen awesome,¡± Ryan had said. Mia was unsure, but could sympathise. They were delicious. The story didn''t end there. Boyd told them of how the times had changed when their grandfather was young. In those days, they were well beneath His Majesty''s notice. He neither collected taxes nor accepted them as citizens. The fox-kin were content with this lack of arrangement. Yet it wouldn''t last. Many of the nobles at the time vied to appropriate their land as it could only be rightly managed by humans. Such befit the natural order. Of course. Some humans were like that. Granddad had interrupted at the time. He said that if it were merely that, he would not have acted with such recklessness in the events that followed. But he had trotted the upper parts of the capital city. He had listened from the street as a fox as they talked in the apparent privacy of their fancy homes. ¡°You pay attention to your studies,¡± he had said, ¡°so you can work out the meaning of their prattle.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. From there, granddad picked up the tale. In not so few words, he told them that he acted the day he learned the price of cattle had tripled in six short months. The reason, it transpired, was the increasing raids on villages in the south. The army was recruiting, and there was talk of rationing. He feared the King''s men would soon take their cattle in what might have been an amusing turn of fate. So he dusted his coat, wiped the mud off his boots, and approached the palace. Thus knelt Ted Whitetip with hat in hand, before His Majesty King James the Second, Ruler of Falencia. ¡°What''s a turn of fate?¡± Mia had asked. To which granddad said ¡°Hush. It''s when a thistle sticks you in the ahh!¡± ending as grandma dug her claws into his arm. The night was dragging on, so Boyd skipped through the tale. The King found in them something of greater value than cattle or land. He offered them semi independence if only they would serve him as scouts. Ten years on the kingdom to the south, Rhysland, finally sent a standing army. The fox-kin demonstrated their worth as scouts, then saboteurs on three separate occasions. The war repeated itself fourteen years later. But that time, there was a much greater degree of sophistication. Boyd distinguished himself in six bloody years of conflict. He led the fox-kin. He led them well. With reluctance the nobles deemed them an indispensable component of the military. The king was pleased. Boyd finished with the words, ¡°His Majesty gifted us this very manor, promoting me to the rank of General.¡± And so the siblings learned of the fame and sometime infamy of their ancestors. Six years passed. Their grandparents had moved ¡°out home¡±. Their manor was empty save for the siblings and their father. In that time, they had both spent much time training. To be sure, they enjoyed themselves but skill at arms was their way. Ryan, now seventeen, had trained in the style of his great grandfather. That is to say, twin shortswords. Whether or not his great granddad had a style is not something Ryan questioned. At his grandma''s insistence, he conceded to only use swords with handguards. Mia, now fourteen, had her own interests and direction. She flitted from time to time. Sometimes, she trained with a sword. Sometimes, she made complicated patterns with a whip. More recently, both. Mia had been exchanging letters with the princess over the past year. They were friends, as they had bonded in the siblings'' one visit to the palace. It was in one of those parcels that Mia got a copy of A Primer on the Elements. Since then, she played with water. Ryan had found affinity with lightning, but tended not to practice. He committed himself to swords first. As for their old man, he did not want his children to see war. Yet he made sure that they were ever ready for a fight. Fox-kin were smaller than most humans. So they compensated with speed, dexterity... and initiative. He knew a thin sheet of parchment was all that held the kingdoms apart, to say nothing of merchant fleets. The armistice. By rights, the war had not ended. His chief contribution to that peace was questionable. He had swapped a pot of ink with one of blood. It was excessive. Embittered by loss, he''d ensured the nobles had no choice. It was the first step on a silent track. He used his discretion to aid the king, and it earned him fear. But he wasn''t stupid. It wouldn''t last. Revision 2.3 1 – Father and Son ¡°To the runner, With bloody feet, At ease. Mind us, lad. We¡¯re right sorry, We didn¡¯t get y¡¯ name. But please ya t¡¯ know, His Lordship rests, Down the river. Thereabouts. Pardon us, Majesty, To spare his name, This chisel. Ain¡¯t fit. In memorial, Of one fine man. We¡¯re much obliged.¡± Inscription at thatch fords. ~ Ryan ~ Ryan crouched in his sister''s bedroom, peering between the largest gap in the floorboards into his dad¡¯s study. In the form of a fox, his black nose pressed into the wood. Ears up. Motionless. His father, General Boyd Whitetip, was a gruff man. A fine man, of mettle and mirth, lithely muscled yet scarless. That is to say, physically. Ryan suppressed a snuffle at the dry wood itching his nose. He pulled back a little, licked it, and pressed again to the notch. A pang of sorrow struck. Mum told him not to, many times. He shut his eyes and inhaled, the smell of pine comforting. The study was a modest size with a bookcase, two chairs, grandfather''s carved wooden desk, and one cabinet. Ryan couldn''t see it, but he knew a map filled the wall opposite the door. In front of the table stood an officer. A human. Ryan could see two small pins on his left shoulder. A lieutenant. He whiffed of woodsmoke and cleaning oil. If it wasn''t for the urge to see the stranger, he wouldn''t have left his bedroom. He could hear just fine from there. But where''s the fun in that? So here he was, having snuck past his sister Mia without waking her. She was splayed atop her blankets, across the room. Ryan listened to her breathing, and pressed his fangs lightly into his lower lip. Careless. This time, dad, for sure. ¡°Sir,¡± the officer said, handing over a parcel with the thick wax seal of the royal house. ¡°Thank you, you may go,¡± Boyd said. The officer saluted, turned and reached for the doorknob as Boyd slit the package open. Of course that¡¯s all. Well, maybe there¡¯s something for sis. ¡°Wait,¡± Boyd said, ¡°What''s up with you?¡± The officer stopped. ¡°Sir... it¡¯s. Me and the boys from the third comp¡¯ny got together with Gatrie. You won''t be needing to get Ryan swords,¡± he said. What? Ryan dug his claws into the floorboards. The saboteurs... This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. ¡°That old codger? He wouldn''t agree to anything! And he''s a runesmith, not a blacksmith,¡± Boyd said. Ryan kept silent. His tail didn¡¯t, a touch too close to the wall. Thump-thump-thump. Ryan skittered away. Damn. He peeked back through. ¡°Gatrie is both,¡± the lieutenant paused, ¡°And it¡¯s only right.¡± Then he gazed upwards. ¡°Alright Ryan, since you''re up, come down here. It¡¯s time we spoke about your training,¡± Boyd said, looking straight at Ryan. His voice kept soft. Ryan transformed into human form, such as it was called. It was nothing so ugly as that, of course. His ears were as they should be. Not like those squash in, pasty skin flaps. For that matter, so were his tail, claws and teeth. Poor blighters don¡¯t even have tails. Wonder if sis¡¯ll believe me if I tell her they cut them off. Ryan looked at her. She still slept. He tugged at the cross straps holding his swords, ensuring they were just so. His dad expected them to be armed at all times, except when sleeping. Even then they must be close at hand. Ryan smiled. Mia had her whip coiled around her left wrist. He didn¡¯t mean it that way. He slipped from the room, taking care to lift the door on its hinges. It wisped shut. As he descended the stairs, his father spoke, ¡°You''re sure he didn''t skin your purse?¡± ¡°We all chipped in,¡± the man said. Ryan entered the study. ¡°Ryan, this is Lieutenant Harris,¡± Boyd said. He was a man with hard eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. Plain and sharp. He''d look gentlemanly, Ryan supposed, but for the jagged scar along his right arm. It ran from a little below the elbow to the back of his hand, all the way to the gap between his pinky and his ring finger. ¡°Ryan. It¡¯s rude to stare,¡± Boyd said. Ryan blinked, looked away, and resisted the urge to sniff. Humans don¡¯t like that, too. The lieutenant chuckled. ¡°Have a good look, lad. If you''re not careful, you''ll get one of these,¡± he said. Ryan looked him in the eyes. ¡°Good to meet you,¡± he said. Boyd smiled. ¡°In three months you''ll begin training with the military, under the same tutors as the prince.¡± He paused, surely to let it sink in. ¡°In all likelihood you''ll get to spar with him. Don''t throttle him too badly.¡± At last. Since Ryan¡¯s dad had returned from the war, he¡¯d set to teaching Ryan with a passion. Those days had been painful, but they didn¡¯t compare to the sadness he saw, often, in his father¡¯s eyes. ¡°Also,¡± Boyd said, ¡°Since I will be returning to active duty, Mia will be going with you. You¡¯ll be living there, in the palace.¡± They had been to the palace once, last year, when their father had finally allowed them to come. It was a week-long celebration, and they made the best of every hour. Mia had got on well with Princess Abigail, exchanging a couple of letters since then. ¡°Really?¡± a small voice spoke from on high. Mia had woken. ¡°Yes,¡± Boyd said, his smile gone, his brow a little drawn. ¡°Your uncle John will be around.¡± ¡°Now then.¡±, he said, smiling once again, ¡°Since you failed to escape Harris''s notice, you won''t learn any more about those swords.¡± Naturally. ¡°And Harris,¡± his gaze set on the officer. ¡°Yes, sir?¡± Harris said. ¡°You know how good my hearing is,¡± Boyd said, then waved him off. ¡°Yes, sir.¡± he said, then sighed and left. ~ Boyd ~ Boyd thumbed through the parcel¡¯s contents. Recruitment reports, and a letter. He unsealed the letter. Sir Boyd Whitetip, His majesty requires your assistance in investigating a matter of urgency. It is imperative that this matter be concluded prior to the merchant''s council, not two weeks hence. As you may have gathered, The Silver Fleet merchants wish to review existing trade agreements concerning iron and lumber. They must not be allowed any additional leeway in these negotiations, as I am sure you well understand. With respect, Minister Firson Misers (\ /) - - He coughed to suppress his laughter. Oh, Abigail. None but the princess would dare append to His Majesty¡¯s missive. She¡¯s not half wrong, though. ¡°What?¡± Ryan said. His son was the perfect image of a fox-kin, his fur a stunning shade of red-orange. Ears and tail tipped in white, like his own. Even his claws were pure black, tapering with a gentle curve. Ryan¡¯s twitched his right ear, reminding him of Mayla. ¡°Nothing,¡± Boyd said, dropping the letter to the desk, ¡°I''m needed at the capital. It''ll just be you and Mia here for a couple of days, ¡®till John¡¯s here. If anything happens go to the village, but be mindful.¡± He shoved the reports into his belt. ¡°Take care, and burn that.¡± With that he shifted down and took off at a four pawed jog. Revision 3.0 2 – The Missive and Bliss. The Princess and Magic. The following day was bliss. It wasn''t long after sunrise that they''d both gone outside. Mia was playing by the creek with water magic, while trying not to get mud on her clothes. Making little arches in a concentric pattern. Ryan was under a tree nearby, booting it before working his blades in a flurry of motion to cut the leaves that fell. Or so he tried. The short steel swords he practised with were chipped, a little rusted, and not quite sharp enough to slice cleanly through. Unless he got them right near the tip. "Six!", Ryan exclaimed. "No it wasn''t, you missed the one behind. " "Damn it. What''s your record?" "Four arches..." , she sounded sad. "Hey that''s not bad. " "Abby can do more" "Abby''s older than you, and she''s a human. Princess human. She''s got a tutor for each element. You''ve just got a creek and that book she sent you. " The creek didn''t amount to much. Last summer, it had become a series of lagoons before several big storms passed. This was one of the deeper spots, not fifty meters from the back of the manor. "Nine", Mia insisted "Her record is nine." This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. "Oh" "Hey, if you don''t come up with some better consolation, I''ll tell her you called her ''princess human''." "Will pancakes do?" "Maybe" * * * Meanwhile, away in the capital, princess human was doing her own training. She was seated opposite a fountain. A small ball of water shimmered over her hand. Her eyes were closed. The smell of apricots wafted in the air. Her tutor, Mr Hemsley, was standing to the side with a solemn look on on his face. The ball formed into a featureless humanoid shape. He sighed. ¡°Excellent mana manipulation, your highness. Now for your next lesson...¡±, his voice droned. The princess nodded along. She reasoned his explanation must be reaching its conclusion as the terms became more esoteric. ¡°Let the mana resonate as it embodies the image in your mind.¡± She stifled a snicker. He was still going at it. ¡°Slow your breathing as you infuse mana. Draw it gently from the cycle at the crux of your being. ¡± She started paying attention again. This was the way she wished to master. If she reached his level, perhaps that Von''Reim snot would lose his interest. And that was the end of his instruction. ¡°At your ready. I want to see as many details as possible.¡±, he encouraged. She formed a projection again, morphing it into a rough depiction of the chief cook. It was notably wider at the waist and longer of the nose than the man himself. ¡°Your Highness, please. Projection is a delicate art. This crude display is beneath you. Observe closely. ¡± And watch she did. Mr Hemsley''s projection was of the chief cook. Unlike hers, it was detailed to the fingernail. A bench, pot and ladle appeared. The projection hunched down and slowly lifted the ladle up to its mouth before dropping it back in the pot. The princess was stunned. This was the first time she''d seen such fine control. She watched as the water began to emit a bright light. Then it dimmed, the light changing into many colours giving the appearance of real, solid object. Mr Hemsley smirked. Three tentacles reached from the pot, snaking up the ladle. The little man yanked the ladle away and slammed a lid down. The tentacles pushed back, up as two more emerged. The cook jumped up on the table in one smooth leap. He then slammed his foot down on the lid, stomping repeatedly. Ripples appeared about the pot in perfect timing with each stomp. The end of a tentacle dropped to the bench, quivering. A moment passed. The cook climbed down. Then he poked the severed end of the tentacle with one finger, and put his finger in its his mouth. He nodded. And then, the whole display burst. A drop of water struck the princess''s cheek. ¡°That will be all for today. ¡± It was time for lunch. 3 – The Village; The Siblings Back at the Whitetip manor, the siblings were staring into the kitchen cabinets. Ryan grabbed three strips of dried meat as Mia peered deeper into the void. "I already checked. ", Ryan said. She sniffed at the dried meat, tentatively biting into one before reassessing her hunger. Ryan transformed, a strip of meat dangling out of his jaws. He chewed slowly. "Does that really work?", Mia asked. Ryan grunted, by way of answer, and trotted to the door. "Wait, I need to get my shoes. ", she said. * * * It wasn''t long before the pair made it to the village. They stood overlooking the some fourty odd buildings. Ryan transformed back. He liked to be in his fox form, but standing below grass-height really wasn''t ideal. "Is that it?", Mia pointed to a building somewhat larger than the average shack, in the shape of an L. One side of it was open to a wooden pen, where a man cracked a whip by a stubborn old cow, coaxing it in without actually hitting it.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. "Yeah. That''s the milking shed. He keeps some goods in the room on the side. " They headed towards the shed, watching as the man hooked a rope behind the cow, shutting it in a stall. Entering through the front, Ryan rapped his knuckles on the wall to make his presense known. "Come on in!" the man yelled, sliding a bucket under the cow before glancing back over his shoulder to see who it was. "Oh, if it isn''t the Whitetips. What can I get for you. ", after a pause, "Bill, get over here and start milking!". "Yessir". A small boy entered from the side room, glanced at the siblings twice as he hurredly went to the stall. He headed around the opposite side, crouching low as he milked. Staring at them. Mia took a small step back. Ryan, on the other hand, smiled, parting his lips to reveal his teeth. The boy''s eyes returned to the bucket. "Milk and eggs", Ryan said. As Ryan was trying to pick out the four largest eggs out of an identical dozen, Mia was already turning away to the door. Apparently, she had had enough of the smell of cow manure and the kid who was looking at her between squirts of the udder. It wasn''t until they were half way back that Mia spoke. "I don''t like that kid. " Mia said. "He wasn''t there last time. " Ryan said. "But they all react like that for awhile. You should have seen the cobbler. " "Hey, what happened? Dad just said he was an ''excitable fellow''" "Ahh, yeah. He didn''t want us to know about his feet. " "He said they were just sore. " She paused "What had he done?" "I never saw them up close. And he didn''t tell me either. But the cobbler had to help him get his boots off. I could see him cutting away at them with a big pair of sheers. " "But you told me he panicked" "Oh he did. He''d thought we were human. See, dad was wearing that big black jacket of his with the hood up to keep the rain off. The poor sod didn''t notice anything until the boot came off. " Ryan smirked "Its also the only time I''ve heard dad yelp. Right in the cobbler''s ear. " "Huh" "Oh but the best part was when dad asked for help with the other boot. " 4 – Visitors The next morning, the siblings were enjoying breakfast when Mia pointed out five people walking along the track towards the house. Ryan observed them while Mia liberated a pancake from his plate. Each of them wore the standard military garb of the kingdom. Grey pants, brown long sleeve shirts with leather bracers, grieves and vest, topped off with an open helm. The insignia of the kingdom was stitched on the vest, right over the heart. Thick concentric circles of white, red and blue. It was visible even at this distance against the otherwise drab brown. Below the insignia were two horizontal stripes. Orange and white. He tried to remember which company that signified. Boyd had never bothered to teach them the symbolism of the placement, or the meaning of the insignia''s colours. One of the few things Ryan remembered of his mother was her stitching extra pockets onto a big pile of vests. As they huddled by the hearth, she would cut and stitch. The company stripes were grafted to the flap of the pocket, where it could be tucked in if necessary. The insignia disappeared altogether. No one made much of a fuss over it until after several members of the third company had received recognition for their service under his father''s command. The King was not pleased when he learned of it. However, punishing scouts for subtly, or guerilla soldiers for initiative did not seem quite appropriate. Certainly not at that time. Later, after the King''s passed the crown to his son, the military was reorganised. The uniform was revised. The pockets were included. A sash was added with the insignia, but it was only issued to the palace guard and the royal lancers. It was now six years since the signing of the armistice. The changes completed only in the last winter. The kingdom was rebuilding, after all. And so Ryan finally realised why he couldn''t recognise the company. Those are old uniforms. And they were nearing the front door. "Mia!", he hissed, "Go to my room and don''t make a sound. If you hear anything suspicious, climb out and we''ll meet at the village. " She looked confused, but nodded and went. Ryan tried to think of the possibilities. Retired soldiers from the same company... travelling together? Deserters? Foreigners with the clothes of the dead? Yet they could be here with information. Sharp knocking interrupted his thoughts. He listened for any noise from his bedroom before he moved to the door. Then he stopped. What if they attacked the moment he opened the door? Glancing around, he spied the rag and small bottle atop the fireplace. Oil to keep his swords from further rust. He dashed over, uncorked the bottle spilling oil in the process. Best they don''t notice a dry cloth. He held a sword in his left hand, and moved back near the base of the stairs. They knocked again. Ryan stilled his nerves. Slowly, he ran the cloth once down the length of the blade. "Come on in. Its unbarred. "Stolen novel; please report. The door opened wide. They entered one at a time. Two men, two woman... and a boy? He appeared no older than Ryan, but humans all looked a little older. Ryan himself was the legal age, barely, so that would make this guy underage. But was it so rare? Soldiers received three meals a day and four silvers a month. There were strict numbers to fill, too. "We need to speak with Sir Whitetip. ", one of the woman spoke with a respectful tone. Ryan remembered his father''s words. Son, don''t wait to confirm suspicions. If you can''t fight, leave. If you can''t leave, fight. Never give them the first move. They were spreading out. The first room in the manor was large and wide. Ryan was by the left side, a metre ahead of the base of the stairs. There was an opening in the wall granting access to kitchen counter. To his right a long table dominated the space, with eight chairs tucked in. It was too large for the room but no one really cared. Further to the right, a fireplace dominated the wall. On the back wall, a door closed off the hallway. "Of course." he said, placing the oil rag on the back of a chair. "He''s in his study at the moment. Down the hall and to your left. " The woman gestured. Two of them split off down the hall. That leaves three: the woman, a man with a halberd and the boy. The man was resting the halberd casually on his shoulder. The boy didn''t move further in. The woman glared at the boy but didn''t say anything. The boy''s knuckles were starting to turn white from how tightly he was gripping the haft of his shortspear. "Any good with those?", the man nodded to Ryan. The question was followed by a crash from down the hall, and some swearing. The boy jumped. The man didn''t react. The woman started drawing her blade. She was the closest. "Yes", Ryan muttered as he lunged. She tried parry, instinctively perhaps, but her sword was only half drawn. Ryan''s blade slid in below her leather vest. Her attempted deflection twisted his blade after it had already gone in. The motion pulled it from his grasp. Her face slackened in shock. The boy''s gasped. Ryan drew his right hand blade. The man grinned. She started sliding to the ground. The axe-edge of the halberd cut a thin slice in her shoulder as the man lowered and thrust in a practiced motion. Ryan brought his right hand weapon around. The flat of his sword met the gap between the spear and axe, his left hand pushing against the flat of the blade. Ryan stumbled back. The man took a step forward, pulling his weapon back. The boy jumped up onto the table, discarding his shield as he clambered across. Sparks were jolting off from his spear were blackening the table. Ryan could hear the others. One of them was coming back while another was slamming against the door to the "dark room". "This one''s locked!" A man shouted. It wasn''t locked, Ryan knew. You had to lift the door a bit or it''d get caught on a wonky floorboard. Ryan glanced at the sword still embedded in the dieing woman. No. While the boy clearly wasn''t adept with his own two feet, let alone that shortspear, he could smell smoke from the table. He sheathed his sword, and turned back. The man was still smiling as he thrust again, but Ryan was already transforming. The halberd passed above his head, about where his chest had been. The man tried to turn his thrust into a downward hack. It should be noted at this time that the clothing beast-kin wear stretches and shrinks to form, including belts belts which were made of the same material. Folded over many times and sewn tight. Swords do not shrink, of course, which is why Ryan wore his across his back. If he were not so small such a placement of swords might work as armour. On a fox, however, all that would happen if a halberd struck down with enough force is a broken spine. So Ryan didn''t run forward. He jumped forward. He felt something against the fur on the side of his tail as he scrambled up the stairs. Accustomed as he was to these stairs, he still hated them. They were not made for a fox''s stride. Ryan could see Mia standing just inside his room. He barked. Dammit. Go! She was pointing inside. Probably at the window he couldn''t yet see. The window you should have left through, idiot. Entering the room he looked for something to bar the door, forgetting he would need hands for that. He saw the rope tied to the bedpost and out the window as Mia grabbed him with both arms. And dived out of the window. Utterly confused, Ryan instinctively bit the rope as Mia crossed her legs around it. They dangled. "Looser" she yelled. This is not how you slide down a rope. He started to ease his death-bite. What if the rope rips my teeth out? He bit down again with a vengence. If I transform back, I can grab it, but we''ll be falling. Mia grabbed the rope with one hand, squeezing his guts as she tightened her hold around his middle. Relieved, he let go. They slid to the ground. Mia looked back at the window. Ryan nipped her on the arm. She let go. The front door banged open. Ryan bit his lips as Mia morphed. "Jack! Did you find it?" The siblings heard one of the men shout as they took off down the path to the village. They didn''t stop running until they were standing inside the village hall, panting heavily in front of a startled elder. 5 – Lively Villagers The elder stared at the two foxes, and the sword strapped across Ryan''s back. "Y-young Whitetips?" Ryan had seen the elder, but Mia hadn''t. Mia was Grey and white. The effect was soft and subtle compared to Ryan''s vibrant red-orange fur. Her eyes were a deep blue. Ryan transformed. "What happened?", the elder said as he stood. The rocking chair creaked as it swung from his absence. "Some men attacked the manor in the guise of soldiers. ", Ryan responded. The elder paled, turned, and hurredly shuffled over into the next room. Mia yipped. A curse sounded from the other room. Mia growled. When will this get easy? She still wasn''t used to going back. Her her tiny thumping heart always distracting her from her grip on mana. She sat down, deliberately slowing her panting to a fraction of the speed. In. Out. In. Ou- a dull ringing resonated through her scull. It was the town bell, and the elder was belting it for all he was worth. There was no rythm to it. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. She instinctively tried to cover her ears with her hands. It sort of helped. Ryan picked her up and ran outside, standing by under the tree that marked the centre of the village "square", some twenty metres in front of the village hall. A man and woman armed with a spade and mattock were the first to arrive. "What''s going on?" the man demanded. The woman elbowed him. He put on an a smile. They were never quite sure what to think of the family. When they had first come here, the villagers were...not entirely welcoming. The manor the King had so causally given them was formerly the property of a kindly old Baron, who had passed away some months after receiving news of the death of his only son. And if they heard the Whitetip name, it held additonal associations from earlier days. But whatever they each thought, they would always smile. Ryan sighed. At least they don''t treat us as kids. He explained briefly. Mia had calmed down enough to transform, but wasn''t comfortable attempting itin front of the gathering people. Ryan began explaining again in more detail. Mia saw Bill from the Milk shed approach, a few steps ahead of the old farmer. He''s looking right at me. The farmer jabbed him with the butt end of the rake. Hard. He fell face first into the dirt, and he planted his right hand dead centre into a thistle. Is he okay? Ryan paused his explanation. Serves him bloody right! The villagers began to discuss a course of action. "Nothing needs to be done. They''re safe now. ", one man said. "They tried to kill a couple of kids! ", said another, wearing a blacksmith''s apron. "Not my problem! I''ll have you know-", a voice from the back. "Shut up the lot of yeh! I lost three sons in the war, I did! And if it wasn''t for his old man, it would have been four!", a rounded old lady said. She was gripping a simple wooden mallet in her wrinkled hands. Some of the villagers slipped away. "Can you track?" a bearded man asked Ryan. "Sure but-" "Are you daft?!", Mallet lady yelled, "He just got here. Now move!". She spanked the poor sod. "Dammit woman" "Joe! You can track. ", she declared. "A-alright. ", Joe caved under the assault. Mallet lady stomped off. The blacksmith jogged to catch up, unwilling to see her forge ahead on her own. That was all they needed by way of leadership. They either joined her or dispersed. Heh, looks like an old bull at the head of a drive. At last, Mia transformed. "Are we gunna help?" Ryan snorted. "No." 6 – To Listen The next morning the siblings were back at the manor. While the mob did not find anything in their pursuit, they weren''t about to let two kids to remove a body and mop away the blood. Marcy, as the siblings had come to know the name of the mallet toting woman, had insisted they spend the night at her house. They accepted. Ryan tried to ignore the lingering scent of blood. "Uncle John should be coming today.", Mia said. She wasn''t wrong. Boyd had arranged for him to come and mind the two while he returned to duty, before that letter came. He arrived with a wagon and a cheesecake, which he nearly dropped when he opened the door. His eyes darted between them. "Not yours.", he said. The door swung shut on its own. "The blood.", he added. Mia looked relieved. So was Ryan, but not so much because of the cake. Well, that too. And so, ten days passed. * * * Away in the capital, Boyd walked along the docks in the heat of the early afternoon. His Majesty, or perhaps he should say, his steward, had tasked him with determining where the kingdom''s copper was going. The obvious answer would be some kind of smuggling. Copper was a valued resource as it was equally effective at transferring mana as it was at channelling lightning. There were substitutes, but unless someone wanted their expensive enchantment to degrade, they used copper. Something about the nature of mana tended to cause hairline fractures in steel that only got worse over time. Silver was another good material, but it had no practical advantage other than flaunting one''s wealth.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. So that is why Boyd was at the docks. What Boyd did know is that one man had been arrested for substituting a metal known as grylis, which has a similar appearance, in one of the warehouses where it was kept. After some persuasion by members of the city guard, it was determined the copper had been loaded onto a small merchant vessel. Boyd had wished to see the man himself, but apparently his constitution had been too weak during questioning. Damn guards. You''d think they could wait for the execution. A man''s got a right to his last supper. He didn''t have much sympathy, though. For all he knew that copper was destined to be sunk into the grooves of staves, stacked up in some armoury in long rows. Perhaps those southern chaps were merely awaiting sufficient quantities before resuming the war that never quite ended. No time for those thoughts now. He frowned. He had reached the end of the dock. There were no more or less ships than expected. There was not much more he could do here, short of examining each and every hull. That was no way for a fox to find things. He sighed. He''d have to roam the upper districts again that night, in fox form. Picking up the jumble of all that was said. If he heard begging again tonight, he wasn''t sure what he''d do. He briefly considered leaving his weapons at the inn. Six days. Just six days, and the fleet''ll be gone. Then I''ll drown him in the sewers. He shuddered. Perhaps he should find a way to stay here for a month or so. Clean up the place before his kids came here. But he knew it would never end and that just like him, they would listen. Gods, what''ll they hear. But this was what the Whitetips had agreed to when they chose to serve the King. Someone had to act as a liaison of sorts, and to give them incentive to leave their land alone. John will be here. 7 – Boyds Report. And Runesmithing. Two days later, in a modest room in the palace, Boyd bowed. "Rise. ", said the princess. Cunning sod must be up to his neck. Boyd forced all expression from his face. And then rose. The princess sat in a raised black leather armchair. Behind her and to her left stood Minister Firson. Further to the left, an elderly scribe poised over a small desk flush with the wall. A tapestry covered the entire back wall. She was supported by three identical silk cushions. Her feet were some distance from the carpet. The cushions were pink with white frills. "Sir Whitetip, what have you to report?", she said. Her face, too, was expressionless. Boyd glanced at the minister, but the man was stiff as a board. Even his eyes were motionless. Hah. Alright, minister. I s''pose it won''t hurt. Boyd straightened his back. "Your Highness, I''m sorry to say that all three hundred ingots taken from the warehouse are no doubt on their way to the west isles. Its gone, as are the culprits. " The princess pursed her lips. "What more do you know?" The truth was mundane. A merchant had sold his possessions for a brig, which left three days later. He had a wife, four daughters and a declining income. If gossip were to be believed, she was pregnant again. How will I spin this? "Three days ago a merchant purchased a sleek, two masted craft. ", Boyd began, his voice a little lower than before. A common brig. "In addition, he was seen entering an inn that same night. ", he continued. With his wife and daughters. "Which inn?", the princess responded quickly. "The ahh... I''m afraid it isn''t appropriate to tell someone of your age. That is, I mean, His Majesty may not approve.", he mock stammered. I''ve got to take the kids the next time we''re all here. Those lamb ribs in black sauce are too good. "Father has entrusted me with this. Are you questioning his judgement?", she said. There we go. Amazing she kept the irritation out of her tone. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. "No, Your Highness. Far be it from me to do such a thing. Why, if I-", he continued. "Tell me.",she said as she clutched the chair. There it is. Minister Firson was smiling now, safe from her line of sight. Boyd put on a frown. "The Lizard''s Nook. Men of all occupations congregate there. " But mostly craftsmen. He continued, "Its situated in the lower district, not far from the docks. " An equal distance to the open markets. Or the "Cherry Circle" as some say. She gulped. "Do you think they are corsairs?". Boyd rubbed his beard. "I couldn''t say. But he took his wife and daughters along. " She swivelled in place. The minister didn''t have time to react. "You, you cad!", Abby formed a globs of ice in her fists. Got ''im! Boyd handed his written report to the scribe, who nodded and tucked it away. Boyd sighed. Back to it. * * * Gatrie of Crystalspire Caverns was a dwalf aching in his bones. In his youth, he''d wandered the lands with his two toolbelts strapped crossways about his chest and his swag on his back. He''d had a rather large felt hat that served double duty as shade and shelter, which he''d eventually traded for a pipe now nestled between his teeth. He took a puff as he tapped away his moniker on the crossguard of the first blade. His hand ached as he fused mana through the chisel. I''ll test it once I''m done. It was a familiar pattern. He had designed the rune years ago in after he''d reworked the shine enchantment and seen in its structure some similarity to the "este" in "Jester". And so he made the rune into a word. He''d thought he was a genius until a merchant girl showed him her elven dagger. It had "Glennellis o'' Lusse" formed of three separate enchantments. All that for a sad melody. Elves. He''d tried to trade for it of course but she wasn''t willing to part with it. In the end he''d paid for her meal and she allowed him copy the runes. Lets see now. He leafed though the notes he had made earlier, and slowly worked out the new rune. It would be a rather more advanced enchantment than Shine. He had taken some patterns from Concealmeent and Void Flare, working the new rune into the form "Whitetip". Hmm. Too rigid around the second join. To put it simply it would draw in the light that "Jester" emitted and feed the mana back into the runes along the blade. He was excited to see the effect. Assuming he didn''t make any mistakes, the mana draw would be negligible compared to the primary enchantment. He stopped when he heard a voice in the street below. It was a dead end alley with nothing but some rotted wooden crates and a manhole into the sewers. Gatrie dragged his stool over by the window and peered down. A man was advancing on a young girl who held jagged bit of wood in one hand. Gatrie grumbled and and looked at the mallet in his hands. Been awhile. He couldn''t hear what the man was saying, but the girl was tensing up. There y''are. Steady now. Gatrie threw. The mallet head struck the man across the shoulder. The man pulled out a knife from his coat and turned to the alley entrance. The girl lunged at him. She rammed the bit of wood into his neck. Twice. Then when she couldn''t get it out, she grabbed his mallet and set to breaking the man''s ribs. Never can pick ''em. He waited until she was done before yelling, "Would you mind tossing it back up?". She dropped it and ran. Young people these days. 8 – Footwork in Mud Two months passed. The siblings had not wasted their time. Uncle John had dug out a muddy incline at the bank of the creek which they used for a few different games. Today, however, they were using the slope for a different purpose. The mud at the bottom would go halfway up Ryan''s calf. That was were John stood, legs wide, butt end of a shovel forward. A dulled kitchen knife was strapped to the back of his left forarm. Ryan held the upper ground. A distinct disadvantage given that he would need to close the distance to have a chance. It was much harder to go down than up. In his hands were the halves of a former rake handle. It had had a split in it, and was thus declared unfit for service, with some enthusiasm that morning. Of course it wasn''t the same, but none of them were game to find out what mud, blades and a steep incline would do. They had done a few times. Last time, he ended up rolling down after three steps. He''d had the presece of mind to grab John around the legs and they both ended up in the water. The crack of Mia''s whip cut the silence. Ryan decided. If he couldn''t walk down, much less parry at the same time, he''d just have to take a different approach. I''ll slide down. And jumped into the slope. He twisted and slid, wildly swinging against his uncle''s thrust with his right "blade". He struck his left hard into the ground to stop from twisting further. He slid past the end of the shovel. His right arm struck John across the chest. John swung the shovel, using it to push him further past. Ryan landed on his side in the water. Ten minutes later, he sat with a bucket and a rag, trying to work the black soil out of his fur. That''s how long it''d taken to get it out of Mia''s fur. She hadn''t been a part of this training, instead sparring on a relatively flat part of the creek ban. As such, the mud hadn''t extended much past her ankles. Not that they minded.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. To think he calls this "the forbidden way". Mia was beside him, working water magic through the fur in his right ear. "Stop it", she said. "You try hold still when someone runs magic through your ear. ", he reached over and poked her in the belly, a spark skipping from his finger. She flinched, and water fell from his ear. He wouldn''t try what she was doing of course. He couldn''t dream of controlling it along the fur the way she had been. Uncle John passed Ryan a fresh bucket. "Ryan, how do you think you did?", John asked. Ryan snorted. "Well, that''s true. I mean on the last run. ", he added. Ryan switched scrubbing to the other foot. "I thought I was onto something but it was even harder in the slide. The one strike I had ended up as a wild parry. " "That''s right. In a real fight, I''d call that suicidal. " "And that makes you happy.", Mia inserted. "Ryan made the right choice. There is no way to slowly inch down that slope without getting skewered. You have to commit to an attack. Of course, your choice of weapons doesn''t help. If we had more time I''d have you practice a slow descent while Mia supports you with her whip. " Ryan nodded. It was a situation where his speed offered him no real advantage. "But enough of that. Mia, you''ve also been doing fairly well, considering. You would even be ready for the next stage of your training, but lucky for you the mottled hornet is not found this far from the home country. " "Wasps", Mia said. Her tail stiffened. She''d been stung when she was ten. Twenty seven times. "No, its a hornet. And the nests are much smaller than the blue stripes you have here. Three or four, usually. Its really the best way to train with a whip. " "I''ll bet it is. ", Ryan commented and squeezed Mia''s hand. Mia caught his tone of voice, and relaxed her tail. "See? Listen to your older brother. Now then, when you''re all cleaned up go and pack your things. We''ll head off at sunrise. " The siblings exchanged glances. They weren''t about to question why they were going early. They''d been looking forward to it for months.