by Lee Dunning
A great many years had passed since Foxfire walked the streets of Teresland. The king at that time, King Oschell, had reigned much more moderately, and desired open, friendly dealings with non-humans. Foxfire had enjoyed acceptance at court as an exotic representative of a mysterious people. King Oschell, a man who possessed an endless enthusiasm for life, treated Foxfire with respect, and constantly quizzed the Wood Elf in his quest to learn about the wonders of the world.
Sadly, his great-great-grandson possessed none of those qualities. Worse, the nobles who had survived the battle behaved with the collective sense of a single goblin.
Despite Foxfire’s anger toward K’hul, he had to admit the Voice of the First’s heavy-handed approach to negotiations worked better than patient reasoning. In fact, Foxfire felt bad about chewing W’rath and Raven out for their rough handling of their captives during the battle. After a couple of days spent conversing with the court of Teresland, he now realized his naivety in expecting them to behave like their ancestors from four generations past. He had nearly reached the point of wanting to step on someone’s throat, too. Gone were the people he’d known, replaced by a folk much more close-minded and superstitious.
He’d hoped Lady Swiftbrook could manage to smooth things over. Instead, the befuddled nobles assumed she wished to offer herself as part of a political marriage. While elves often paired off, sometimes for hundreds of years, the concept of marriage struck them as something akin to slavery. She had reacted precisely as most elves would at the suggestion that a single person possess them for all time. She’d blown up in a fury and left the men staring after her, mouths agape, completely baffled as to how they had offended her.
Even though his initial attempts had failed, Foxfire still felt his language skills and worldliness made him the best person to see them through their current difficulties. Right now K’hul and Kiat focused on a group of men who had served as King Oblund’s advisors. K’hul tried to force them to put forth a candidate for the throne, and the lot of them dithered in turn, most likely stalling in the hope the problem would magically resolve itself. As advisors, the king must have found them maddeningly inept. If Oblund hadn’t proven himself such an ass, Foxfire would feel sorry for him.
With the council worthless, Foxfire went through his other options. He looked toward Kela and Lady Swiftbrook, both of them glaring daggers at everyone involved in the proceedings. Definitely no help there.
Foxfire sighed. He’d dragged his feet long enough. He’d spent the majority of the last two days trying to research the changes since his last visit to Teresland. Time to put his newly acquired knowledge to the test. He’d toyed with an idea ever since the unfortunate marriage misunderstanding between Lady Swiftbrook and the nobles. He didn’t know how his suggestion would go over. Things had simply changed too much over the last one two hundred years.
He approached the scarred priest, Chalice Renoir, and Queen Cherish. The two were being largely ignored, much the same as he, but he thought they offered his best chance for finding minds open enough to hear him out. Of course, it almost all depended on the queen. She might have little power in the making of war, but she should have a greater hand in determining the course of the kingdom as a whole. If not, her people would starve this winter.
“Your Majesty, Chalice,” he said politely, bowing to the two. The queen gave him a tired smile in reply. At her side the servant boy from before continued to cling to her. The queen kept a protective arm around him. Foxfire felt fairly traumatized himself by the events out on the battlefield. He couldn’t imagine what such a thing would do to a child.
Renoir’s expectant gaze forced Foxfire back on track. “I don’t think I have to tell you we’re getting nowhere with the noble council.”
The priest shook his head and gave a small laugh. “You’re as unfamiliar with conquering a people as we are at being conquered,” he said. “I didn’t approve of His Majesty ignoring his advisors, but he’s largely right in his belief they are old and ineffectual. Your people won, Councilor—you can force the issue and appoint whomever you wish. If you wait for them to present a new king, you’ll grow old even by your standards.”
“This isn’t what we wanted. We just wanted to be left alone.”
“Unfortunate for both of us. Aside from the Wood Elves, your people exist as hardly more than myths to us. I’ve traveled some, but until two days ago I never laid eyes upon a First Born, Sky Elf or Shadow Elf. It was eye-opening.”
“That’s an understatement, Chalice,” Queen Cherish said, her words only slightly slurred from the teeth she’d lost from Oblund’s brutality. Healers had tended to her bruises and her broken nose, but they could do nothing to help her grow new teeth. “It seemed as if the world had come to an end. We woke something in you with our invasion. I fear the rest of the world will not thank us. Please tell me, you didn’t come over just to commiserate, Councilor, that you have some thoughts on how to resolve our woes?”
Foxfire smiled at the queen's bluntness. From what he’d learned of her these past two days, she must hate living under the constraints of Teresland’s twin gods. She’d held the title of Baroness before her uncle arranged her marriage to King Oblund. She’d put aside her own religion and adopted that of her new husband.
At the time, it had seemed an ideal arrangement for both countries as Erin’s country, Scoffula, had a strong navy and access to numerous trade goods. Teresland, though wood-poor, had access to a great deal of prime mining fields. They produced large quantities of high quality iron, silver and gold. They also had a river, making access to and from Scoffula relatively convenient.
Unfortunately, Queen Cherish had failed to fulfill one of the major obligations of a king’s wife: She failed to get pregnant. Even the poorest peasant snickered and called her the Barrenness behind her back. It was the sort of word play Foxfire would have enjoyed working into one of his songs. He didn’t think this lady deserved such scorn, though, and felt bad his plans involved using her as a pawn yet again.
“As I understand it, women work directly in all aspects of government in Scoffula, Your Majesty. Both women and men have occupied the throne since your earliest days, and your god, a single entity, embodies both sexes. How could you stand to give that up, and live in the shadow of King Oblund?”
The queen stiffened. His choice of topic took her by surprise, and most likely, stung, an unwelcome subject, especially in front of her friend, a priest of the Duality. “I did it for the sake of my country,” she said diplomatically. “In truth, I am not the best wife. I don’t conform well. It wasn’t my place to join His Majesty during his campaign. I forced the issue by threatening to withhold funds and supplies if he did not allow me into his camp.”
“Your concern lay with the welfare of your people, Your Majesty. No one can fault you for that,” Renoir replied, just as diplomatically.
“And yet we now approach winter, short on food because I couldn’t keep the most vulnerable of my subjects safe.”
“The rules limited Your Majesty’s options,” Foxfire interjected. “You’re expected to see to the everyday maintenance of the kingdom, but the king made that impossible by running off with a huge chunk of the country’s work force.”
The queen grimaced, making a helpless gesture with her hands. “In the end it matters not. People will starve this winter regardless of where the fault lies.”
“Your Majesty’s uncle?” Ungren asked.
“Can send some aid, but Scoffula has always relied on trade rather than agriculture. They mostly trade across the seas for what they need. They fish, of course. He has his hands full right now with a northern invasion of pirates. He’ll do what he can, but he can’t provide enough to feed a whole country.”
That was the opening Foxfire had been hoping for. “What if I offered you a way to lead your people to a new beginning?”
“I already told your Lord W’rath the people will not accept me as head of their army. And in truth, mine is not a military mind.
”
“Your Majesty, I think perhaps Lord Foxfire means something else entirely,” Renoir said.
“Then do continue, Councilor,” the queen said.
“It’s still pretty radical,” Foxfire admitted. He grimaced at the odd looks his phrasing garnered, but after a moment pressed on. “What if you merged Teresland with your neighbor, Renlin?”
For the longest time, Queen Cherish just gaped at him, eyebrows raised so high they seemed about to disappear into her hairline. For his part, Renoir kept his face neutral. Perhaps he had already suspected what Foxfire would say. “That is unconventional,” he murmured. “Majesty?”
The Queen clapped a hand over her mouth. Foxfire thought she would burst into tears, but instead she started to laugh. She slapped her thigh and continued on in a very unladylike fashion until she grew breathless and tears ran down her face. Even the boy lifted his head, perhaps afraid the one stable refuge in his life had lost her mind.
At last she got control of herself and wiped her eyes, waving away the concerned retainers who converged on them. “Oh, that’s rich,” she chuckled. “All these years, His Majesty feared Renlin would swoop in and gobble us up, and now I’m actually considering handing Teresland over on a platter.”
“You’ve done some fast learning, Councilor,” the priest said. “Whatever made you think of such a thing?”
Foxfire hesitated. He had no desire to embarrass the queen. He decided to attempt to be circumspect. “I learned King Luccan’s wife died giving birth to their third son. It occurred to me he might have need of a new queen.”
“You mean a queen who won’t muddy the waters with her own sons,” the queen said, nodding her understanding.
Foxfire winced, but the queen merely gave him a sad smile. “I know what people say about me. Everyone knows His Majesty sent a request to the church asking that they find a surrogate who could provide him an heir. I’ve lived with the shame and now I see, as the good Chalice here has told me numerous times, all things happen for a reason. An unexpected path has opened up for me. Chalice, will the church support this move and aid in its fulfillment?”
“I will personally present the case to them, Your Majesty. For quite some time they have felt Renlin hasn’t supported the church with a proper tithing. Renlin’s queen was so tight with their gold, my superiors referred to her as the Dragoness. I think if you eased the church’s mind—make it clear they can expect a more generous tithing as part of the merger—they will more than support a union between King Luccan and Your Majesty’s respective countries.”
“Very good. Now we just have to hope King Luccan agrees to the idea.”
“Majesty, have you ever known a king to turn down more land and wealth?” Foxfire said.
“No, I have not,” she said, smiling, this time with more sincerity than she’d shown earlier. She gently pried the boy from her side. “You sit right here for a minute. I need to do something … queenly.”
Cherish stood, adjusted her gown, and squared her shoulders. “I must thank you, Councilor Foxfire. You’ve helped me clear my head and see my way to leading my people again.”
She turned and glided toward the dais where the noble council argued, and K’hul grew angrier and more frustrated by the minute. Foxfire knew K’hul would soon lose all patience and do something none of them would enjoy. Or he might simply turn and leave—let the dithering nobles starve with the rest of their people this winter. What the queen was about to do would require her to deal with men who weren’t used to doing more than paying lip service to her. He understood the courage it took to purposely draw the attention of every soul in a crowd. That sort of thing could make a man’s legs quake as badly as Foxfire’s had during the battle.
Foxfire continued to watch, curiously, as the queen entered the area dominated by her husband’s depleted council and the handful of elves attempting to negotiate with them. He hadn’t expected her to take to his idea so readily. But he supposed, when born into a family of royals, a person grew up expecting to make such sacrifices.
Currently, King Oblund stewed in his own dungeon. However, until the higher ups from the church arrived and provided their determination of his guilt, he technically retained his crown. While Foxfire didn’t think much of the institution of marriage, he understood it better than most elves, and knew the majority of humans took it very seriously. Regardless of the situation, Oblund remained Queen Cherish’s husband, and turning her back on him couldn’t be easy. But the danger facing her people meant more than the fate of one man. She had an entire populace to feed, and in this area, she had every right by their rules to speak with authority and guide their future. Even the squabbling old men who had advised Oblund should defer to her.
As the Queen took the dais, she stood in front of both thrones. The room grew quiet. Even K’hul stopped bullying one of the old nobles and waited expectantly for the queen to address them. Once every eye focused on her she spoke. “Gentlemen, have you reached a decision?”
When no one answered immediately, K’hul scowled and addressed the queen, his voice full of disgust. “We have attempted to urge haste in resolving the situation, but these relics cannot decide what to eat for breakfast, much less choose one among you to replace Oblund.”
“It’s complicated,” wheezed one of the old men. Foxfire thought he might be Lord Duncraft. He’d lost two sons and one daughter in the battle. The boys had served as soldiers and the girl had worked as one of the field healers. All three perished when the demons went berserk. He couldn’t possibly have any love for Oblund, though Foxfire suspected he wasn’t feeling particularly fond of the elves either.
Other advisors chimed in with their agreement, citing the need for a proper study concerning lineage and the requirement of church approval. It seemed as though things would deteriorate into another round of arguments when the queen broke in. “Gentlemen!” she shouted, instantly bringing the babble to a halt. “I understand the difficulties involved in determining succession.”
“Majesty, we have yet to even convict King Oblund of any wrong doing,” another voice piped, his tone indicating he felt the queen trod territory not suited to her.
“Lord Basil,” the queen said, “let me make this simple for you. King Oblund is guilty of conspiring with demonologists to use our people as vessels for possession. Even now, a delegation from the Church of the Duality travels here to excommunicate him. They will arrive within the week. We already look foolish, let us not make things worse by giving the impression we condone his behavior.
“The man who should have guided us to glory allowed greed to corrupt him. The Duality granted him the crown and he squandered it. The sooner all of you accept that he is dead, dead and lost to us, the better.”
“Outrageous!” a fellow with an enormous ruff protested. “Your Majesty speaks out of turn!”
Casually, K’hul grabbed the man by his ruff and gave him a good shake before dropping him. He yelped, and he and his chair clattered to the floor. Silence reigned unto Queen Cherish spoke again.
“Gentlemen, let me reiterate: I will make this simple for you,” the queen continued as though nothing had just happened. “The war has ended. We lost. The church will excommunicate King Oblund, relieve him of his crown and his head.”
“Fuck me,” Foxfire murmured. It had taken some doing to get the queen to stand up to her husband’s men, but now that she’d committed herself to a course of action, she played the part of imperious ruler to the hilt.
“With no king to lead us, and a royal council unable to make a decision, the general welfare of our citizens is threatened. We face a shortage of manpower and a shortage of food, both items which fall well into my purview. As such, I will send an emissary to King Luccan in Renlin.”
The old men muttered, confused. “That’s very nice, Majesty,” Lord Basil said, keeping a wary eye on K’hul. “However, Renlin holds no love for us. Luccan will simply laugh at our emissary and send him back to starve with the rest of us. Our coffers
lay mostly empty, thanks to the war, so we cannot even offer him payment.”
“You misunderstand my intent, Lord Basil,” Queen Cherish said. “I’m not a beggar at King Luccan’s door. I am a queen, who will soon find herself widowed, and in need of a king. I shall offer myself to him, and all that goes with that. I shall offer him a kingdom.”
The room erupted into a frenzy almost as chaotic as the battlefield had been. Elves moved in to protect the queen and subdue the angry nobles. “I’ve never seen this side of her,” Renoir said. He reached for his mace before remembering the elves had taken it from him days ago.
“Will the church approve?” Foxfire asked.
“As long as they have a suitable subject to blame for this debacle, and they gain access to a greater piece of Renlin’s wealth, they’ll gladly support the union. The mercenaries from Tassilia will make excellent scapegoats, and Her Majesty already gives most generously to the church.”
That’s not the sort of thing I would expect a loyal member of the clergy to say.”
“I am loyal to my calling. I believe in the words of our Brother and Sister. But that doesn’t change reality, Councilor. Men run the church and as such the weaknesses of our kind—greed, hunger for power, lust, and any number of other shortcomings—creep into the running of an institution intended to guide and nurture the masses. The church can only stay as pure as the people running it. As such, the church concerns itself with what is best for the church. Everything else falls somewhere lower on the list of priorities.”
“Does anyone else realize you’re this cynical?”
Chalice Renoir’s laugh sounded weary. “Only my wife. If you should ever speak of this to anyone I shall soundly deny it.”
