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Hardly had I set paw out of my room that I hear everybeast in earshot screaming "Massacre! Massacre!" Apparently, a Zhaer troop slaughtered a camp of Merkhazh nomads last night. And naturally, I was sleeping like a rock in my bed. Sometimes being a sound sleeper is a disadvantage.
King Rundaran asks for my presence, so I must be brief. I shall try to convince him to change his attitude towards this newest travesty and the changes it heralds. If I cannot move him, I will go on with my plans to leave the castle in search of the two.
The Seer's Journal
As written by Terbin
Seer of King Runderan
"Morning, Miz Reeso," the seer fox mumbled as he trudged past the midwife mouse, dressed in simple peasant's clothes with only the insigne of the royal family decorating an otherwise plain creature.
"Good morning to you, sir Seer," she replied pleasantly. "Off to see our brave leader?"
"Yes, actually. I'm going to try to get the mountain torn down so I don't get sick every time I look out the window." The completely deadpan response set the petite mouse to giggling. Finally, Terbin himself couldn't contain the laughter any longer, and he broke out chuckling.
"Hehehehaho, ask him to get the birds to walk, so they don't get all high and mighty, hahahaha!"
"Hahahah, or have him tie the moles' claws together so they can't undermine the Alliance."
"Hohoho, that's a good one," she guffawed. "Or tell the foxes to stop using the ol' noggin, so- er-" she realized what she was saying and trailed off.
Terbin gave a sad kind of grin, like one who knew where a bad joke was going. "Righto, I'll just go see Cap'n of the Guard and have the thing cut off. Cheerio!" he turned, faking good cheer.
"Oh, don't even joke about that, Mister Terbin!" the mouse scolded, suddenly dead serious. "They caught those terrible Zhaer barbarians this morning, and our good King Runderan was speaking of execution! Beheading for the lot of them!"
Terbin was impressed. Zhaer had a reputation for dodging capture, so they'd either been trapped or betrayed. "Miz Reeso, I've known Rundy all my life, and I don't think he'd do something as brash as that. He'll probably wind up setting them to menial work, or exiling them to the west."
The mouse, though a good three heads shorter than the fox, still managed to apply a strong headlock around the seer's neck. "Aye, and I was the nurse who watched you two play. Shall I bathe you and send you to bed without supper again?"
"Yah, stoppit! Gerroff! Limpy fumblepaws, King Rundy can learn a lesson in discipline from you!" The unlikely pair, the fox and the mouse, laughed as they wrestled and recalled happier days.
None of the good mood went with the seer as he entered the throne room of Highest Almighty King Runderan VIII. It was a throwback to the days of conquest and war; tapestries of battle scenes lined the wall, competing with torch sconces for space covering the damp stones that formed the hall. No amount of light, heat, or sun could make the chamber any less gloomy, but Runderan didn't mind. If anything, the fat little vole…enjoyed it.
And truly, Runderan was fat and little, compared to a fox, say, or an otter, or even a regular vole. The popular jibe of the day was that Runderan was "too round to run", which wasn't far off the mark – he rode in a palanquin when he traveled at all.
The royal vole lay in his palanquin as he spoke, which came out irritatingly high-pitched and nearly plaintive. "…I'm telling you, that unfortunate conflict last night was an isolated incident. It surely doesn't reflect the public opinion toward your nomads."
There were two others in the throne room, listening to the king's Utopian drivel. The Merkhazh representative, a heavily scarred, old fox from the mountains far to the northwest, replied with nary a drip of spite in his voice. "Perhaps. That still doesn't revive three-and-a-half score beasts we needed for farming new land. Or the five-and-twenty helpless children and mothers slaughtered for fun. Or bring back the knowledge and expertise of Blademane, the militia master."
The other, a red-furred maiden representing the Zhaer leadership, laughed in his face. "You rabble, farmers? You'd drop your rake for a sword and your crops for a horde in a heartbeat. True, Zhaer council never approved Treeleaf's actions. But we support his actions!"
Runderan broke in. "N-now, no need to use such language, Keera. Now, uh, Gorefleck, was it?"
The white fox took it in stride. "Garflik, if you please. I left that name long ago."
"Even though you still slaughter under it when the mood strikes you."
"That w-was uncalled for, Madam." Runderan finally noticed his seer standing at the door. "Please enter, friend Terbin. Fellow beasts, this is my loyal seer Terbin, of the Sok'oi line of mystic foxes."
Garflik huffed into his tunic. "Mystic, huh. Mystic my tail."
Keera finally agreed with the mountain fox on at least one issue.
"My Lord," intoned the seer, "I see and hear much of what goes on here and elsewhere. There is a party of raiders in the woods south of Urthtroff, across the river and armed with little more than slings and daggers. And speaking of daggers…" he gestured to the Zhaer squirrelmaid. "The dagger sheathed on your thigh. Set it on the ground and kick it away."
Garflik was irate. "A concealed weapon at a summit! I protest, my lord, this is sufficient proof for assassination charges!"
Terbin turned to face the Merkhazh on his right, before he watched the squirrel drop her blade. "Same goes for you, friend. That stone spearhead in your bracer, kick it away."
Keera stabbed her dagger at the seer as his back was turned to her.
CRACK!
The squirrelmaid collapsed on the floor, her snout crushed to pulp by the staff concealed in the seer's cloak. The dagger quivered in the floor, stopped by the thin metal plate he wore beneath his cloak.
"Remember well this day, for that wound shall never heal properly. Every time you look down your crooked nose, think of me, and thank me for straightening your path. Oh, and watch your step."
"Scum! Vermin! You'll regret this!" She tried to storm off, not noticing the unobtrusive end table lying in her path. She screeched as she hit the floor, landing on her already broken nose.
"Stay, or you forfeit your choice in punishment!" the seer muttered.
"You foul monster! Have you no compassion?" demanded the Merkhazh fox.
"She would have had none had she stabbed you."
The squirrel retreated, after making a few weak threats to the seer fox. Runderan stuttered, "W-w-wasn't that a bit much, Terbin?"
"Had the meeting not gone her way, she would have stabbed Master Garflik and might have gone for you next, Sire." The seer closed his eyes. "I know not why I see these things the way I do. Perhaps it is the fate of my family to look upon the world thus. So be it. Fate cannot be changed by mortal paws…" He opened one eye wide and smiled. "Or can it?"
Garflik was still unimpressed. "I still fail to see the point of this mumbo-jumbo you're pulling out of your hat. If, perhaps, we could go on to business…"
"Oh," murmured the vole, "of course. My apologies."
"The prisoners," began the Merkhazh fox to the Royal Court of Highkeep, "Orrin Treeleaf and a group of Zhaer Clan squirrels, rushed and slaughtered a camp of my brethren, the Merkhazh nomads. There were no survivors left over to tell us what happened, but the amount of Zhaer-marked weapons about makes it a certainty that they were responsible. Among the dead was a true master of defensive strategy, Blademane, a ferret from the southlands who'd renounced his former calling as a hordebeast. At least, so he said. It was no secret that he retained the thirst for blood and conflict that made him renowned as a fighter in the south. After a truly violent skirmish with another ferret several months ago, we sent an emissary south to find the real truth about Blademane.
"The message returned shocked us. Blademane had been no regular hordebeast – he had been Hordemaster! Leader of the army terrorizing the south! He'd taken his horde up against a camp of badgers, and got the whole lot killed. When we confronted him with his crimes, he broke down. We could not press any further, else we would be breaking the First Principle."
"The First what?"
"'Once a crime is truly repented, the wound of it need not be reopened.' That is the First Principle of the Merkhazh. May I continue?"
"Uh, certainly."
"What we did do is question him whether or not he was trying to turn the Merkhazh into his own army, which he vehemently denied. So we let him be.
"Then he started to get in trouble again. He was – down below, I believe, inside the merchant village at Lowkeep. The Zhaer squirrels were performing their usual mischief, until they dropped a foul, uh, concoction of their own making, from the roof onto Blademane. When he caught the ringleader of the sad, sorry ruffians, he just about broke him in half. I was there to see it. The Zhaer ringleader was Orrin-"
"Treeleaf? So this was-"
"Yes. The beginning of the rivalry. In my opinion, the Zhaer wanted to punish them for the tricks they were pulling but couldn't ignore the insult this interloper thrust upon them. So they began to harass any Merkhazh in sight. A few of the less patrolled city sections became violent. So we pulled all non-essential beasts out of the city, began looking for arable land for farming, to support ourselves.
"Yet the harassment continued. So we formally asked Blademane to form a defense force to shield us from attack." Garflik stopped for breath, absorbing the suspicious looks from the crowd. "Ex-raiders and Corsairs are just fine for attacking, pillaging and raiding," he explained, "but these trainees were born to nomad ways and strictures. They were brought directly into the Merkhazh culture of peace, didn't know the first thing about combat. The Council thought…it might keep them from killing unnecessarily. All it did, really, was get them killed faster."
"Garflik of the Merkhazh!" rumbled the High Justice of the Royal Court.
"My Lord."
"Stand before your tribe and unanimously decide punishment for these criminals."
"Yes, sir." The scarred white fox turned to his brethren. "Fellow Merkhazh, how shall we punish these criminals?"
The replies were varied in severity and mode of punishment, but equal in volume and in outcome: execution.
The courtroom was shaped much like an oblong bowl, with seats for nobles, royalty, and clansbeasts lining the south wall and the High Justice's stand on the northernmost extent of the oval. The stand that Garflik stood at was mere feet from the High Justice. Normally, the stand faced the High Justice, but in this case there was the possibility of a precision blade toss while a back was turned.
For the captives were held in a cage at the center of the room, open for all to see, Nearly as high as the ceiling, the cage was constructed of heavy iron wrought in a unique fashion – nearly decorative if it were not used for the purpose it was.
Orrin Trealeaf and his fellow Zhaer squirrels stood clutching the bars of this cage, detached and inert. In the seats, one noble whispered to another, "How could so few slay so many?" To which the other replied, "Zhaer squirrels are as good as twelve others in combat. They're as fierce as badgers when their blood's up!"
A long time passed in which the nomads deliberated in whispers, and when one of them contributed another idea, there was a thunderous clamor of disgust, rage, and distrust. Apparently the idea gained momentum, and eventually a consensus was reached.
"High Justice, we have reached a punishment!"
"Very well, present your intent to the approval of the Court."
"Firstly, imprisonment in Highkeep dungeons for Zhaer Clan regulars involved!"
"Granted." The crowd was certainly expecting execution for them, so this was a little bit of a surprise to them – surprise, and somewhat of a letdown.
"Second, execution by beheading for Zhaer Clan officers involved!"
"Granted." There was a muted cheer in the audience.
"Lastly, the permanent indentureship to King Runderan's service of Orrin Treeleaf!"
"Denied. This is a careless and foolish proposition, and I want to know why you brought it up."
"Treeleaf is dangerous, my Lord. He willingly ambushed and slaughtered a camp of our brethren for the sake of settling a grudge. We wish not to have him go free, yet death or imprisonment is ill recompense for the lives he has taken."
"A camp you freely admitted was for training soldiers."
"Sentries, my Lord. Defense, not attack."
"This is a realm of peace," interjected a noble from the seats. "What need have you of sentries?"
Garflik almost exploded. "When there is scum like Treeleaf and his radical brethren plotting to do us in, we must defend ourselves! Can't you see? The lazy days of peace and harmony are gone, no more! For us nomads, they never were there in the first place! Sit around a dying campfire in a bitter snowstorm, watching your best friend die of starvation! Hold lance at your side as you wait out a raiding party of citybeasts looking to cleanse us scum from the earth! Look out upon the vast plains and forests, hills and mountains, and realize that there is not one inch you can call home! That is the life of the Merkhazh, born in despair and wading through the foul mess called life." The white fox nearly broke down. "It's hard to go on sometimes. To be accused, shunned, and unwelcome wherever we go…we have no hearths to warm ourselves with, no friends to call upon, no home to retreat to. We eke out a living that wouldn't be fit for the poorest beggar in the streets of Elmridge-" he threw a paw towards the caged squirrels – "And then we are ambushed, slaughtered by ruffians who could care less of our plight! My Lords and Ladies, we cry out for a life worth living, but seek only justice. I, personally, want that – that – that monster to fight for survival every day, much like we are forced to!
"And yet, we refuse to drag even the most bitter criminal to our level. I, and many of my brethren, have set aside their desire to see Treeleaf die screaming, to instead bring him to his knees and show him the folly of his hatred – in short, to bring him back in line with the Credo of the Alliance: 'Thou art no less a creature than I.'"
"Orrin Trealeaf, you and your fellow prisoners are guilty of that most heinous of crimes; slaying your fellow creature in cold blood. You yourself are to be spared, and for that you should truly thank those you have wronged, the nomad clan of the Merkhazh. Your accessories in the crime will not be so lucky; death or dungeons now look them in the face.
"The Merkhazh have truly expressed great mercy towards you. I am certain that, had your clan been the one wronged, you would be punished by death, and I surely would have granted that request.
"I, nor any other in my position, will ever allow you any nearer to the king than sight range, and that will remain final.
"So the question remains: how shall you pay for your crimes? The mines could always use strong backs, but I understand murderers do not last very long in those places.
"So, the cities, then. There will never be a place for you in the streets. The mountain roads are treacherous in chains. The shops would never allow you to work there. The magnitude of your crimes is limiting the places you will be placed."
"The only place I can imagine you would be allowed to work in is as the gatekeeper's assistant. Secluded, not much in the way of interaction, only work to keep you busy."
"That is your punishment. You will work in the south gate until the official gatekeeper tells me you are fit to rejoin our society. You shall live there in the gatehouse upon the wall, and you shall be guarded day and night. There is no escape from there. And, believe me, there will be little chitchat where you're going.
"Long live the King!"
The chorus was loud, spirited, even exuberant. "Long live the King!"
"My Lord." The throne room doors creaked shut.
The King turned in his palanquin. "Ah, Terbin, what can I do for you?"
The blazingly red fox was stone-faced. "You cannot deny now that the violence is increasing, my Lord. This can't possibly be the end of anything. There will be protests, maybe even rioting in the streets. You must see it –"
"Ah, my loyal Seer, you obviously don't understand. This will frighten the populace; they will adhere more strictly to the Credo. They shall love their brethren. You will see."
"My Lord, the visions are becoming clearer. I have seen the castle fall onto Lowkeep, seen it fall as the Alliance will fall if we don't do something!"
"You have already stepped far out of line, Seer." The vole's voice was now harsh. "I advise that you curb your tongue before I have the Captain of the Guard cut it out."
Terbin's stony glare turned sinister, cynical. "Perhaps I should tell him that his family will die in chains if he silences me. Or perhaps High Justice Renzo would like to hear of those weasels you plan to torture in the Martyr's Glade a few days from now?" The Seer fox did not revel in his king's shocked expression. "Wherever there is great pain or grief or rage, I can see it. Even if it hasn't even happened yet. Did you really think that skinning a creature would escape my inner eye?" The fox turned his back to his King. "I am not a beast to cross, Rundy. I can see that which you would believe is nonexistent. Take my word or listen not!"
"You've gone mad…completely, truly insane!"
Terbin grabbed the vole by his cloak, frothing at the mouth with the injustice of it. "You simple dolt! Maybe you should shoulder my burden for a season! I have beheld more pain and misery that even the most battle-hardened Hordemaster! There's been more blood spilled in my mind than on the paws of the deadliest assassin! I have watched innocent beasts die in ways too gruesome to imagine, in numbers too great to comprehend! And you believe I am mad? There is not a creature in the East outside of the Sok'oi who could remain sane under the cruelty of it all!"
"Guards! Guards!" yelped Runderan. Terbin threw the vole to the floor and stormed out of the throne room, emanating an aura of rage that been better fit a Badger Lord in Bloodwrath.
