Greystone Tavern

Talzhemir:
King Constantine the Twelfth, High Sovereign of Kasuria, Lion of the Noble House of Haala was found dead in his bed at the age of 63. His Majesty had four wives: Dillandra, Phaedria, Cilosia, and Buttercup. He is survived by twenty-four of his recognized children.

Succession was expected to go the first-born child of First Wife Dillandra but Princess Andrazeli tragically disappeared three years ago. She was 17. Succession thus falls to the second-born legitimate heir: Second Wife Phaedria's first-born, Callistin. (pronounced CAL-lis-teen).

Callistin had recently risen to popularity as a Prince by defeating a monstrous creature called the Etruzian Bane which was ravaging the countryside. Callistin has a well-known hatred of vampire furres, and also captured a number of these.

Many businesses were closed down for two weeks to mourn the passing of a very wise and just ruler. It was followed by a week of celebration for the coronation of King Callistin the First. The start of a king's rule is not all fun and games, so, this was followed by a week of trials and executions of enemies of the state, which provided immense patriotic amusement for the populace.

Funding for both the mourning and the merrymaking was generously granted from the royal treasury.

His Majesty King Callistin has announced his rule will bring about a revival of many old traditions. His first decree is titled, "The Reinstatement of the Natural Order." Under this doctrine, Carnivores are now accorded the highest station in society. Below them are Omnivores. Below this are the Herbivores. (Mythicals are exempted from these classifications.)

According to custom, two hundred and fifty warriors were knighted and sworn to the King's service. Of the fifty knights who are Herbivores, none are below the age of fifty-four. Rivalry between the various orders of Dracosaur and Scarhawk riders continues, as His Majesty chose equally from their numbers.

All members of Noble Houses (both Minor and Major) are required to marry Carnivore unto Carnivore, Omnivore unto Omnivore, and Herbivore unto Herbivore. To ensure that the sanctity of marriage is honored, only offspring who are "true to type" are now legally recognized as heirs.

His Majesty admits that it is possible for two tigers to have a horse child. He expresses His regret that such a child is ineligible for inheritance, but this unfortunate condition shall end after several generations of more appropriate breeding. He admonishes his loyal subjects in such a situation to try again, as odds favor the eventual birth of a child of the right species.

Lords and ladies who fail to produce a proper heir must cede control of their House unto the Crown. Then, King Callistin appoints a new Count/Countess.

The decree annuls all marriages which are "in violation of the Natural Order". Two Counts and one Countess have already taken new spouses, of the "correct" type, to comply.

As Eldest Wife, Queen Dillandra would have retained the title of Queen, but, as she is a Herbivore, her marriage to King Constantine was posthumously annulled. This has rendered Crown Princess Andrazeli and her two siblings illegitimate. King Callistin's mother, Lady Phaedria, has been crowned both the true Queen and Queen Mother.

House Risharrd respectfully submitted a petition which would create a practical status similar to marriage, but called by another name, allowing children of mixed noble marriages to inherit wealth, land, titles, and so on. The proposal was greeted with mocking laughter and thrown out.

Non-meat foods have been stricken from the Royal High Table. Omnivores (such as bears and opposums) are accorded honors at the High Tables. Herbivore nobles are assigned to the Low Tables.

A Mage whose workings resulted in a sheep furre being able to live on bird meat was accused of "tampering with the Natural Order" and put to death. King Callistin's judgment was viewed by many spellwielders as unnecessarily harsh.

Only Carnivores and Omnivores are allowed to take part in the frequent Royal Hunting Parties. Roughly half of King Constantine's sons and daughters are now consigned to the low tables, and thus, as Herbivores, may not attend the Royal Hunting Parties.

His Majesty has announced a generous bounty for leads on the whereabouts of any Ferian. There have already been several successful Ferian hunts; their strange quadrupedal carcasses have been turned into trophies for the Royal Hunting Lodge. The reward for information is only granted after a successful hunt. In several cases, the penalty for a false lead has been death.

"In matters of state, ink turns to blood..."
-k'Anne ti'Risharrd

Far to the southeast, dark petite Countess Anne of Risharrd, a weasel, curled her long neck to read the message sent back by her younger brother. "This is an outrage!" She was well into her forties but she ripped the paper into eyepatch-size pieces with blurring movements that would do a young furre credit. "This new king thinks to put us right back in the dark ages with this Taigorian-era revival madness."

Lorren, her Consort, an elegant elderly desert hare, came over and put a light lean paw to her shoulder to calm her. "You are a Risharrd. Before Kasuria was united, your family ruled sovereign here. We choose our own mates. We do not let our families appoint them, as in other Kasurian lands. No king hundreds of miles away can tell us who is and is not married."

"There is more," Anne said quickly, taking Lorren's hand in hers. "Unless I marry another Carnivore, and produce a Carnivore child, rulership of Desdemond will be granted to another. I am to be a brood-beast or a beggar." The core of her anger remained, and it made her slender shoulders and her whiskers quiver.

The hare's eyes, bluish with cataracts, became stormy and his lips pulled back from long front incisors. "To hell with that," he said, tone conversational but his grip on Anne's paw tighter.

Lady Anne gave a curt nod. "Send word to our Dracosaur riders. They must fly to Modesty, Ram, and Tilgore. They are to recruit more riders. In turn, those riders must gather warriors loyal to the line of Risharrd, and mercenaries. They must also get out the word that refugees from this 'Natural Order' madness are welcome in Desdemond."

With a proud bitter smile, Lorren said, "Yes, my lady and love. What of the tribute caravans?"

Anne said, "They are to go to Modesty instead of the Winding Road. We will sell those goods to Moorim. I will send discreet messengers to Tranzish and Darvin." She released Lorren's paw and sat herself down at an ornate desk made of dark red jade. She dipped a quill into ink and began the chore of phrasing instructions for her liegefurres and officers. "All Haalas and Paolos in our realm must be brought to Saffingwell. Any soldiers loyal to the Kasurian crown are to be arrested."

"They are innocent people, Anne..." Lorren's protest was gently voiced.

Anne K'Risharrd nodded with regret. "I know, but this measure ensures the safety of our people." To ease her conscience a little she added, "We will treat them very well."

Lorren sighed, pitying those soon to be made prisoners. "They will know they are hostages. They will live in fear, knowing that their lives hang in the balance of the peace between Malgrave's throne and the County of Desdemond." He knew that their actions were gentle now but, should conflict arise and escallate, the next action could well be, the execution of their captives.

The weasel noblewoman paused in her fervent scribbling, her keen eyes on Lorren. "In matters of state, ink turns to blood." Ferocity lurked in those dark eyes-- a predator's fierceness. In spite of himself, the fuzz on Lorren's arms prickled on goose bumps and a shiver went up his back. Then Anne took a breath, running her fingers through her headfur. "I have an important mission for our most trusted Dracosaur riders. Dillandra wrote to tell me, she and her sons are on their way to Moorim." As she mentioned her dearest childhood friend, Anne's eyes warmed up. "She says she is secretly being protected by a group that calls themselves 'The Covenant'. She asks us to "capture" her and the children, and bring them here."

Gentlemanly Lorren stroked his cheeks, and said, "I shall arrange it."

The Royal Hunting Party wound their way down the path by the stream. Up ahead the, trackers gave a signal that some spoor had been sighted. The king and captain paid them little mind, for it was generally an hour or so before the actual confrontation might occur.

At the king's side rode Sir Bantero, a scion of House Balsamud. A device of a silvery lamp shone upon his dark red cloak. He was a leopard who had once been entrusted to guard His Majesty as a boy. He loved Callistin as the son he had been too busy all his life to beget. Now that his ward was king, he enjoyed the post of Captain of the Palace Guard.

Years ago, Bantero had been in line for the throne of Glasny. After his mage talent manifested as a little storm that swirled foodstuffs into the air and left forks and other utensils embedded in the brocade walls, he was removed from the line of succession and sent to the Tower of the Magi for schooling, as custom decreed. He wore the ring of the trained sorceror upon his left paw.

"So, Bantero. Do you find your new quarters adequate?" Callistin inquired formally. He looked out at the shady trees, eyes peeled for a sign of the quarry-- or a possible ambush.

The Guard Captain's "apartments" were a sizable wing of one royal palace. Bantero answered heartily, "I have room for my magical researches at last." He described experimentation involving the regrowing of a warrior's lost limb-- a feat that, before now, neither Mage nor Alchemist could accomplish. "The blood of the strange creature you captured holds amazing potential. It's not like anything I've ever encountered. I want some Alchemists to continue this work."

The king nodded in approval, and replied, "I still want the source of the potion kept secret."

This would probably mean keeping the Alchemists prisoners for life. Bantero did not like it, but he was loyal to king and country, and he would not flinch from this duty. The leopard captain said, "I will do what must be done. They say your first decree is unpopular in the southeast."

"I pray to Scarlong they will find some lame excuse, and declare war." King Callistin sneered and shook his mane. "Nothing locks a ruler deeper in his power than battle. Nothing could be better for my reign. ...Especially since I will triumph again and again. Unlike my sire, I don't spend my days on a padded cushion and my nights in every little princess's boudoir."

As they spoke, the young leonine king relaxed his hard body of muscle and sinew upon an unpadded steel ostrix saddle. The device was something of a legend. Callistin had commissioned it while still a prince. The back came up like half an egg, shielding the monarch's back and affording a little shade. It was thin yet only a warsteed might bear it and a rider as well.

His current ostrix was a lovely golden orange with darker russet stripes. The king ordered his stablehands to treat her with utmost care. She had a terrible temper and, once, while staying at an inn, had bashed the door down with legs grown thick from her daily burden. She had even once attempted to bite the king, for which she was starved and re-broken to saddle until she was once more a serviceable beast.

Like the nearby rill, the conversation meandered to and fro, but then it broadened and deepened. Callistin asked Bantero, "How fares your new wife? Idalita. She's a lovely lass."

The captain's visage grew irritated. "She is a Sabine and a Mage-Consort, and so, as spoiled as she is useless. She expects me to give her a sizable allowance, and invite her to castle gatherings. However, she does not wish me to share her bedchamber. She says we do not know one another well enough yet."

Callistin gave a faint "Pfff." of derision. "You're almost fifty and you have no children. You're the finest battle-mage Kasuria has seen in generations." Bantero lowered his eyes modestly at this praise but it was true. The king continued haughtily, "Tell her if she does not bear a child within a year, I will send her back to Sontray, and order you to take a second Mage-Consort to wife. The magical potential of your line is too great to squander."

Captain Bantero said. "I have already hinted something to that effect."

The king nodded in approval. "What about that witch mistress of yours? Have you any children by her?"

"Aufanya, you mean?" Bantero said. "Pure white tigress, yet not related to a Greater or Lesser House. Very good with magic, she is."

"We must be practical furres, my friend," said the king. "Kasuria must have a new generation of mages to serve her..."

Aufanya was a higher-ranked member of the Tower of the Magi, which, amongst other things, functioned as a school for young mages. She was known to be unmarried. Pregnancy without a husband would mean scandal and the loss of her position. Bantero wondered if he would be able to talk her into stepping down.

Callistin declared, "If Idalita remains difficult, just marry Aufanya."

The guard captain mused, "You make everything sound so easy, my liege."

King Callistin mused, "I am simply not confounded by the bizarre notions of my prececessors. For instance, the Highlands have been largely ignored, marginalized. I've put out the call for Highlanders with combat training to be sent to Malgrave to join a new corp of Scarhawk riders, in exchange for a generous dragonscale gift to the families that will miss them."

A light bugle-call was given- game had been spotted. The king clipped a barbed quarrel upon his crossbow.

Bantero asked, "And from where is this money to be acquired?" Less bloodthirsty than his monarch, the chase had never been his favorite pastime. He was far more drawn to silver sigils, books and alembics.

Callistin said lightly, "From any treasonous County refusing to pay taxes, of course. Our troops will descend and take what is rightfully the king's, and put down any uprisings. It shall be carefully planned, so that Kasuria wins, but many of the recruits will perish and will require no further payment. They'll be heroes of a desperate war and the Highland Counties will thank me for their opportunity to die so nobly."

The words sent a chill up Bantero's spine but he kept his true thoughts to himself.

Cesare Lavec, you're a bit drunk as usual... but not so drunk that you miss the veiled woman
outside the inn with her three escorts wearing the livery of some obscure wealthy family...

Up and down the King's Road, the story travels: A mysterious lady with three armed guards
and two teenagers was approached by a gang of armed furres. To the assailants' surprise,
the locals rose to her defense, snagging whatever tools of the trade were handy to fight
them off. Make no mistake, this was a deadly encounter- they were very serious about taking
the ladyfurre prisoner. In the end, many of the locals were grievously wounded, but
fortunately, healing arrived in time. Two of the attackers were slain, leaving six left.
As they were not wearing the colors of any noble, they were taken to the local magistrate's
where, as soon as a knight who can deliver "low justice" arrives, they will probably be
executed (without a trial).

The rumor that the lady was Lady Dillandra, formerly the queen, is whispered about from
Creel to Malgrave but not very strongly. Mostly, it is the presence of two teenagers that
enforces the rumor. If they saw her face, the locals aren't admitting it. (Many of them
were apparently sympathetic.)

Young Captain Perrozi was a fine figure of a dog as he stood on the deck of the newly-outfitted Millarca, his beloved schooner. The blue coat reached to just below his knees and the quality fabric breathed so it was not hot over his light brown fur. A matching tricorner hat sat on his terrier's head.

Here and there on the deck, his crew of six worked at a relaxed pace to round the Cape of Tranzish. The sudden sight of a fleet of much-larger sea vessels brought an involuntary yelp to Perrozi's throat. He saw several dozen, their white sails far on the horizon, and they had the look of warships, not merchant brigs, about them. They were headed northwards, away from the Millarca. Perrozi cried out, "Sails down! Now!"

The sailors complied with practiced ease and the Millarca slowly drifted to an apparent stop. The captain felt his heart beating too fast and his hands felt icy-cold.

His first-mate, a nearsighted older bull furre with a ring in his nose, called over, "What is it, Cap'n?"

Perrozi said, "Kasurian warships, Tsolly."

Tsolly grunted. He said, "What we do, Cap'n...?"

King Callistin returned from one of his many hunting jaunts ready for a bath and hungry. Rather than go to his private quarters, he went straightaway to the castle bathing area for male soldiers. Guard Captain Sir Bantero walked at his side. Servants carried away their equipment and clothing, and poured the warm scented water over them. Several senior officers of the palace guard bowed respectfully and Callistin gave them a gracious wave.
A Siamese cat manservant named Edry brought a fur-brush to use upon the royal back. The king said, "So, how long have you been working here?" to Edry.
The middle-aged servant cat flicked his ears out to the sides in a submissive gesture. He said with surprise, "--Your Majesty?" Why would the king care how long he had been working the castle baths...? "I have been here since I was a young kit, Your Majesty."
The young lion king shook his head. "From this day forwards, you shall be known as... 'Master of the Royal Washing.' I place you in charge of the castle bathing areas, clean clothing, and all water carried forth from the well."
Edry felt his cheeks grow hot and a growing panic in his chest. "Y-your Majesty, sh-shall I report to Sir Philliam, who runs the laundries, then?"
"No; Philliam now reports to you," clarified the regal ruler.
"Y-yes, Your Majesty!" Edry bowed and, outwardly, he smiled, but his heart sank. Working in the baths had been hard- a life of hauling buckets of either water or coal, and prodding the fires beneath the cauldrons... but it had been peaceful, and enjoyable. He didn't know what it would be like now-- to not sniff the little bars of new soap, to not to stack crisp clean towels fresh from the laundry that was Master Philliam's province...?
While the king watched the bath-servant with a benevolent and bemused smile, Bantero caught sight of the messenger, Alleiya, a Phoenix, entering the steamy tiled hall. Bantero stood and walked over to intercept her. For modesty's sake, she was not normally permitted into this place of male undress but if the message was urgent enough, it was accepted that she might trespass. She recognized Bantero and held out the finger-sized cylinder with the seal of House Yasmeen.
Bantero carried the tube over immediately. "Your Majesty! News from your bride!"
"Ah!" said the lion, and he tore the end cap off impatiently. "My darling Safeeri! She--" The parchment that he drew out was written in the perfect script of a court scribe. Callistin's brow furrowed as he read. The furrowing went deeper as his mouth became a frown like an inverted Y. Rage burst forth, and he roared, "No!" He hurled the scroll away from him, and gripped a stone railing, one of his claws cracking at the pressure.
Without warning, King Callistin then said, "Bantero! Seize her!" and he pointed at the Phoenix.
Alleiya's crest feather went straight up and her beak gaped, "me?! I'm just the messenger, Your Majesty!"
An order was an order and Bantero never hesitated. He grappled Alleiya and wrestled her to the ground.
Callistin's great paw went out with blinding speed. He had a crazed gleam in his eye. Thick fingers closed around Alleiya's slender throat, crushing it. There was a blinding flash-- a flaring of flame-- the king withdrew his hand-paw-- Bantero screamed, but, he did not let go as the fire burned the side of his face, ruining one of his eyes forever.
Alleiya's body continued to give off hot tall flames, like a yule log. It smelled of burning feathers.
Forgotten in the fracas, Edry crouched behind one of the ancient statues. Through his pain, Bantero spotted him and he snarled at the cat, "You... saw... nothing!"
Still horrified, Edry nodded.
His normal genial self once more, Callistin stepped before the cadaver of the phoenix, and his guard captain. He said, "...She tried to kill me. Correct, Master Edry?"
In a choked voice, Edry gasped, "Y-yes, Your Majesty."
Bantero bellowed for a castle healer to come. In front of him, Alleiya's body had turned completely to an irregular broad stripe of ashes....

Meanwhile, over in County Darvin...

To the rest of Kasuria, he was 'Count Alnor' but to his people, he was Sultan Alnuri (May the Primes Bless and Watch Over Him). With scraggly black mane and lanky body, he took after his mother who was a rangy desert lioness, not his father, Omar, a durable desert horse. His first wife, Dia, had been a leopardess. Tragically, she had died giving birth to Principia Safeeri. Alnor took mongoose Lady Dor as his second wife. A few years later, Dor gave birth to Janeera, who strongly resembled her older sister. At the moment, Lady Dor was away at a merchants' meeting to trade the finest ostrixes.
This marriage proposal of Prince Callistin-- no, Alnuri corrected himself silently, King-- had troubled him greatly. This "Natural Order" made no sense. Brides and grooms, so the eastern desert furres believed, should be as different as possible, to birth the strongest children. It would have been a great honor to wed Safeeri to King Callistin. The marriage to the prosperous Haala family would have brought wealth to everyone in the territory. Torn between politics and the obvious gain for his people, Alnuri had decided to leave the final decision up to Safeeri.
Although she had no boyfriends and seemed to have gotten along with Callistin, Safeeri had said no. A counter offer had gone back with the Phoenix messenger: would Callistin ti'Haala k'Kasuria consider the hand of Janeera in a year or two?
Now, from the sandstone balcony, the Sultan watched his daughters racing their ostrixes across the sands in friendly rivalry. Safeeri had just turned seventeen and Janeera was fifteen. Both lion-girls wore white silken head-cloths, the ends of their long hair trailing out the back. The long-legged birds bounded down a steep dune. Alnuri raised a horn to his lips and played a melodious call to the girls.
The birds kicked up sand as they turned and scrambled back towards the palace wall. The lioness sisters dismounted and walked their winded birds the last part of the way. Janeera said, "I still think you are crazy to have turned him down..."
Safeeri said seriously, "He only wants to wed me because I am the right sex, age, and species!"
"So?" said Janeera. "What is wrong with wanting a lioness for a mate...? And Callistin is very handsome, and he loves going riding." Janeera had had a crush on Callistin ever since they had visited Malgrave and been introduced to King Constantine's many offspring.
Safeeri smiled to her sister and best friend. "You want me to marry him, yet you are the one in love with him!"
Janeera answered, "I know you would be happy together. So I would be happy, too."
That was not quite true. Safeeri knew Janeera had cried for days when the proposal had first arrived. Knowing that Janeera would have to watch Safeeri on Callistin's arm ever after had colored her decision. She couldn't do that to her little sister. On an impulse, Safeeri hugged Janeera. "Perhaps he will see the wisdom in marrying you instead."
Attendants took their birds at the city gate, and a litter carried the young ladies back to the Sultan's family quarters. Safeeri and Janeera put on their golden forehead ornaments, arranging the fine strands of beads to drape along their cheeks, sweeping up towards their ears.
When they entered the cloth-shaded evening eating area, Sultan Alnuri was seated between his sixteen noble advisors, in two neat groups of seven. Safeeri noticed right away: there should have been two groups of eight. Then she noticed that the number of guards was tripled.
It was one of the lords who spoke: "Princesses: Lord Khambadja and Lord Mansur have turned traitor. You are not safe now. We have decided upon a safe place for you. Sharif Khalim has been entrusted..."
Janeera listened obediently, but Safeeri felt a little dizzy as she realized that her life was about to drastically change. There would be no more freewheeling races on the dunes, not for a long time... if ever.

==========

The Fortress of Abjali was all that remained of the once-great once-proud city of Dalmoom. Normally it was just used as a camp site by caravans crossing this sea of sand. Nightwyrms, dark and flightless kin of the dracosaurs, prowled the jumbles of broken brick and jagged wall, burrowing to escape the sun by day.
Within, a tiny well still held water. It was an ugly hole broken into the middle of the floor of a beautiful swimming pool that was now dry. A ladder led up to the nearby complex of empty mud-brick rooms.
An entourage of forty furres surrounded the princesses, protecting them night and day. Three dracosaur riders were with them. It was a strain to keep the beasts fed. Their job was to whisk the princesses away to safety if they were discovered.
Although the young ladies were well-behaved, as a rule, the Sharif could not make them sit still in one of the caravan chambers...

No one was allowed into this part of Castle Malgrave anymore. Lately, the servants had begun to whisper of eerie screams and growls from something too large to be a furre, in the night. Several of the rooms were set aside for Captain Bantero's wife but the rest was locked off and only the captain himself was seen to enter or leave. A dumbwaiter, however, sent up enough food for half a dozen each day, and empty dishes were returned in the evening...

Varnetty, Ploem, and Osterwig sat at a rickety table with the food that arrived each morning. The trio of Alchemists (a bear, and two raccoons) looked disshevelled because they were all used to being waited upon, and here, no servant was provided. They had been living here as prisoners for weeks. Not one of them had any family; none of them were missed by the rest of Kasuria. Day in and day out, they bent their arcane talents to research for Captain Bantero.

"We have supplies here. We could poison him?" said the bear, Varnetty.
"No, he knows better than to taste anything from us..." Osterwig reflected.
"What about touch...? I know of a combination of herbs that, when combined, seep through the skin..."

In one part of the room were several cages. In the first was a half-wit Ferian-- he was normally a small dog-furre but he turned into a large kiwi whenever he got excited. The alchemists knew his name was Wamba and they mostly left him alone.

Varnetty had simply sat on Wamba while Ploem cut the Ferian's arm to collect blood. As that was done, the next cage's inmate went berserk, rattling the bars to which he was tightly lashed by all limbs.

He was also blindfolded and tied upright with his muzzle sticking out from between the bars. His name was Telfian; he was a vampire furre. His arms and legs were bound so tightly there could be no circulation. It didn't matter. Most of the alchemists' interaction consisted of holding a bowl of food bird's blood up to him and watching him lap it up in a pathetic fashion.

Nearby, elaborate set-ups of strangely-shaped custom glass containers, metal holders, and tiny miniature charcoal burners occupied several tables made of solid granite. The Alchemists surveyed their latest experiment contained in a row of small jars. Varnetty said, "I hope it works. Think of the veterans of battle whose arms and legs this could re-grow."

Stout Ploem frowned and stroked the wispy hairs under his chin. "Aye. Bantero says this is for the good of Kasuria. I hate him yet I can't argue with what he says."

As usual, Osterwig kept quiet and stared studiously at some of his notes.

Bantero came in, and the Alchemists could hear guards securing the door outside with huge wooden bars as well as steel locks. A cloth was wrapped around his head for some reason; the only part of his face they could see was one of his eyes. He pointed at the dumb-waiter. "Bring him into the infirmary."

The creaking of the pulleys was heard, and an unconscious and shackled furre appeared in the alcove that normally brought up castle cuisine. The Alchemists went over and together lifted the prisoner onto a stone countertop. He turned out to be a gray equine in butter-soft leather garments, his hooves bound up in finely crafted soft horse-boots. He was barely alive. His fur was missing in spots where severe frostbite had somehow injured him. All three guessed there had been a run-in with some kind of Mage.

"What is he?" the bear alchemist Varnetty asked Captain Bantero.

The leopard captain did not answer the question. He pointed to the results of their research, then back at the horse captive. His voice came through the cloth sounding muffled. "Burn the side of his face with the Fyre. Be sure and remove his eye."

When the Alchemists nervously glanced at each other instead of springing into action, Bantero drew his sword. "Do as I say, and we needn't test The Formula on you."

Still the Alchemists would not act.

Bantero kept his cool. "Feeling sorry for him, gentlefurres? Well, don't. His name is Rulford-- a professional assassin. One of the new knights- Narson or something- captured him last night."

Finally Varnetty moved forwards and used his bulk and strength to hold the groggy prisoner down, one large paw on the side of the horse's muzzle. Osterwig picked up a small jar with long-handled tongs and opened it. Blue flames immediately began flaring out. Osterwig held it to the horse assassin's cheek.

The smell of burning hair was joined by burning flesh; Rulford made a terrible noise and struggled in spite of his injuries. Ploem stood and went to a sink, where he threw up. They all felt queasy, including Bantero. The moment it was done, they all took a breath, relieved.

"Now," said the cloth-wrapped Bantero, "Pour a dose of the potion on him."

Varnetty did so, careful not to get any of it on himself. It was a secret mixture of powerful herbs, distilled powders, Ferian blood, and a purplish bile cut out of the vampire furre's insides. The side of Rulford's face that was a charred mess grew red and slimy, and slowly pulsed. Then, a glistening milky-white bulge pushed out the crimson slurry as it filled the empty eye socket so fast they could hear a moist noise.

Minutes later, Rulford's head was just as it had been. "Sweet Primes...!" Varnetty rumbled as he watched.

The Alchemists were so wrapped up in this culmination of their work that they didn't notice the Captain had helped himself to another jar of the restoration potion. The next time they looked, they saw that he had removed his head cloth and the side of his face was burned and soaked in some kind of pain-killing poultice. He tipped his head and poured the jar's precious contents onto himself.

Then Bantero was healed and whole and crying out in joy. "It works!" He had invented a salve that could regrow lost body parts. He had ended one one of the possible horrors of warfare. Kasuria's armies would be unstoppable! He was distracted momentarily by patriotic thoughts of a glorious future for his "son", King Callistin.

Upon the table, Rulford felt his strength returning. Places where frostbite had damaged his body and almost killed him were regrowing. The pain was gone. He groaned a bit. The golden-furred Bantero's attention jerked back to the present.

"Get out," Bantero commanded the Alchemists. "I'll deal with him." Without needing to be told twice this time, the trio exited hastily. They closed the door behind them.

The Captain of the Guard brought up his sword, then drove it into the horse's heart. It would not do for Rulford to survive. Suddenly, Bantero felt hungry-- a crazy and unstoppable urge. He grabbed up Rulford's forearm and bit into it, tearing away a mouthful... It was good, very good.[/size]