FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Tranquil Waters: The Lead Crown Ch 5.6 Malcom

Malcom stood in the out-of-the-way Alley as he listened as Henry provided him many interesting pieces of information. It was all quite difficult to take in and process, but the Wolf tried nevertheless. It wasn't that Malcom doubted the Human's report, rather it just seemed as though things were getting more complicated after hearing it. "So... you're CERTAIN that this Alarice woman is actually Nicole Arnswold?"

The man nodded in a casual, matter-of-fact manner, "Sure's I have more 'air on my balls than a Dragon 'as on 'is, yea, Sir."

The Wolf smiled at Henry's rather blunt confirmation, "And you left her with her group at the Jerkin & Firkin?"

Henry nodded again, "Aye... short while bafore we met outside th' Council 'all. Far as I can tell they'll take a day or so settlin' in... 'cept fer Alarice. Either way, they're 'ere for a reason, yer Grace... I'm sure a it... and I'm sure as all get out it has somethin' t'do with that Arnswold place."

Malcom reached out and pressed a paw to the man's shoulder, "Thank you for your help, Henry. As usual, I am in your debt."

The Human laughed, shrugging off the Wolf's paw before giving him a gentle punch to the chest; it was, of course, fully expected. "Bah! You already done plenty fer me, Sire... y'know that I'm yer man no matter what."

The Prince nodded, bowing his head slightly to his loyal follower, "You are not treated nearly as well as you deserve, Henry. I hope once everything settles down that you will be able to find happiness."

The usually outgoing Human offered the faintest hint of a coy smile, "What makes ya think I ain't 'appy already."

Malcom did not resist when Henry leaned forward and kissed him on the chest; it was not a Lehsunian custom, but was a sign of great respect and devotion among the Wyrenese... granted, it was usually reserved for lovers from different classes, but the Wolf had not forgotten the time the two of them had spent together in the wilds when they had first met-- but that felt as though it was a different lifetime. Regardless, Malcom reached out and clasped the Human's wrist, "Are you staying in town long, Henry?"

Henry shrugged, "Long enough t'know whether ya need me or not... then I'm thinkin' I'll head south t'see if there's any work along the delta bafore headin' inland fer th' winter. Don't worry yer fuzzy head, yer Grace... y'know I'm never too far away t' be called."

It wasn't precisely a traditional farewell, but it was the norm for Henry. Malcom had known the Human for almost a decade and he never knew him to do anything 'the usual way'. They had met far out in the field during a horrible storm. Although each were capable survivalists on their own, the forces of nature threatened their lives and it was only through working together that they had made it.

They spent the night in little more than a hole in the ground, kept warm only by one another's body heat. Traveling together for the next three days, they slept together each night with little more than a single summer blanket to share but, by the third night, they found even more common ground, and something else to keep them warm. It had never become a relationship... at least, not in the traditional sense-- again, just another sign of Henry, but they remained friends or, as the Human preferred to put it: Lord and Linked. There was humor to the term, but Malcom was content to know that he was an ally.

And so it was, with Henry Evans on his mind, Prince Malcom crossed the width of the city on his journey to the finer manors of Vallara. It had been several years since he'd last visited the small group of nobility -- only four families really called Vallara home. The first two manors he passed held coat of arms he recognized, but he'd never actually met with anyone from the homes. The third manor, however, was his destination, and he stopped at the gate of the city's eastmost manor.

The Arnswold family had once been numerous and was one of the strongest lines of nobility within Vallara. After numerous events struck the household the Arnswolds dwindled to less than a handful. The final Lord of Vallara, Bandon Arnswold, had died most unfortunately, falling off a cliff while drunk, leaving his only heir, a young daughter named Nicole. While Malcom had met them both during his short stay in Vallara before being passed off to the Oak Tribe, he did not remember much about either of them. Apaprently, some years after Lord Arnswold's death, Nicole had disappeared, and never returned.

The Prince was about to reach for the gate when a pile of rags shifted at its a spot next to the wall and spoke up, offering words in a friendly tone, "Afternoon, my Lord... seeking audience with the caretaker of Arnswold Manor?"

Although the figure was completely covered by the cloth, the man's voice was masculine, at least allowing Malcom to know something about him. "I am, good sir. Can you tell me who he is, and whether he is home or not?"

The vagrant chuckled, "SHE is home, yes, my Lord."

The Wolf nodded thoughtfully, "Many thanks. I suppose I had best go extend a greeting then. Here you are."

The pile of rags shifted slightly when Malcom placed a few coins on the street next to what the wolf thought was a foot. The rags shifted away from a black-and-gray-furred, Fox-like face; milky eyes stared out at the Wolf from beneath the man's hood. He spoke with the distinct accent of a Tribesman. "I appreciate your generosity, Prince Malcom, but you should save your money for the more needy."

Only once the pile of cloth had moved did the Prince realize that the man beneath was dressed far too well to be a beggar, and a moment of embarrassment came over the Wolf. He quickly let it pass however, following up on the conversation with an apology and a question, "I apologize-- obviously I misunderstood your presence here, sir. May I ask why you've chosen to linger at this spot if not destitute?"

The stranger smiled up at him, managing to look toward him even though his eyes were obviously useless, "I enjoy watching people."

"Watching?"

The man laughed in response, "So to speak... yes. There is no law among man or nature that suggests we must see only with our eyes."

Something about the comment made Malcom smile, and he opened is muzzle to further address the man, but his inquiry was cut short by the sound of a call from within the manor's grounds, "Father? Father! Where are you?"

The aging man chuckled, slowly getting to his feet, "And THERE would be the manor's caretaker, if you wish to speak with her. Come... I'll show you inside."

The Prince stepped aside obligingly as the mobile pile of cloth slid past him to open the gate. Malcom watched as a pretty young Fox woman trotted down the gravel walkway toward the two of them. She came to a stop when she was in walking distance, looking first to the older man, and then toward the Wolf, "Good afternoon... Welcome to Arnswold Manor. Are you here on business, or simply come to make a social call, Sir?"

The Prince smiled at her keen etiquette, but he could distinctly hear the faint hint of a tribal dialect in her voice. He switched to the People's Tongue, "Meeting your father was a pleasant surprise, so in that sense, social... but I am here to speak with you."

The young Fox shook her head, "I'm sorry, Sir, but I do not speak the Tribal Tongue... just the common one."

The old man sighed and addressed Malcom in the People's Tongue, "Sadly, we left home when she was still very young. We have been tending to this home here ever since."

Malcom cocked his head to the side as he observed the young lady, who's muzzle turned down in a slight pout, "Father... you know I don't like it when you talk in front of me like that... can we keep to Common please?"

The old Fox chuckled and shrugged, reaching out a paw for her, "Children."

She obediently took his paw, but not before objecting, "I'm almost twenty."

He laughed, "Well, you will always be my little girl, Farika."

"Father... please."

The old man reached out and patted his daughter on the head, "Be calm, my dear... Prince Malcom does not mind me showing my affection for my daughter."

The Wolf saw his own incredulous gaze mirrored by the young woman. He, however, spoke up before she could, "How do you know who I am?"

A full bodied laugh emerged from the mobile pile of rags, "As I said, my Lord... there are ways to see other than with one's eyes."

They led Malcom to the house, where the old Fox began to doff his many layers of clothing. The young Fox woman explained, but stumbled with an overabundance of emotion as she tried, "My father has become sensitive to the sun after... after a... trying time."

The Prince smiled comfortingly, "No need to apologize, Miss Farika... here sir, shall I help you with that?"

The man did not object, letting the Wolf assist with making sure the garments got to their correct hooks next to the door, "Thank you, your Highness-- not many would be so willing to help an old man."

Farika rolled her eyes, "You're not OLD, Father."

Smiling at their interaction, Malcom glanced to the young woman, "Your name isn't like most others I've heard of from the Brush Tribe... how did you come by it?"

The young woman stared at him in response before saying, "We aren't of the Brush Tribe."

Malcom paused at that; he knew of no other tribes of Foxes anywhere near Lehsunia. It wasn't until she moved to help her father put his cloak up on a hook that everything sank in; he saw a long, criss-cross line of surgeon scars on her underarm. More than that, once the old man had his cloak off, his large, leathery wings were all the more obvious. The Prince was unable to hide his surprise. "You're from the Mist Tribe!"

The old Bat smiled, extending a paw to him, "Ma'heed, of the Mist."

As the Prince accepted the paw for a clasp, Farika sighed, "Formerly of the Mist... now of Arnswold Manor."

Ma'heed chuckled, "Ah, children... no, my dear... I will never be FORMERLY of the Mist... I will ALWAYS be of the Mist."

She crossed her arms defiantly, "Well now we call Arnswold Manor home."

The old bat simply tsk'ed at the young one, "We are merely here as guests and caretakers, young lady... I am holding true to my promise."

Malcom's ears raised, "A promise?"

Ma'heed nodded, "Yes, my Lord-- to Lady Arnswold. I promised that I would one day see her home, and so now my daughter and I care for it until her return."

Farika sighed, "IF she returns."

The Prince shifted his weight from foot to foot as he regarded both of the Bats, "Perhaps you may spare some time to talk? I have a feeling that we each have information that could benefit the other."

Malcom and both of the Bats were soon to learn just how right he was.