A New Dimension
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2024 by Walter Reimer

Characters are courtesy of  eocostello, set in  tegerio’s Realm of Faerie universe

Prompt: trick


Account of Westersloe Winterbough V, Corporal, Master of Elfhame:

During my on-again, off-again exile to my homeland, Elfhame, I took steps to safeguard the seven villages and associated territories against enemy attack. Not that I expected the High King of Faerie to muster the Imperial & Royal Army against Elfhame, like his illustrious ancestor Irenaeus Lacktail had done. King Adler of respected and honored memory would not, and King Gawain (of slightly less honored memory, Elves Don’t Lie) had far too many things on his plate to direct his gaze toward my homeland.

Still, there was the possibility that someone might come around for tea uninvited, so I and my fellow roebucks began to make certain preparations. In this we were aided by the ex-Prisoners from the Grand Duchy of the Gray Horde. The wolves had their own fighting style, and their population had grown to the point that they could assemble a good force in support.

As Master, the defense of Elfhame was my responsibility, and I took it seriously. So on a certain day I picked up the scrying-sphere in my study and made contact with my liege-lord Prince Roland, the Marshal of Faerie. It shouldn’t have to be mentioned that he was King Adler’s younger brother, and King Gawain’s uncle.

Perhaps not surprisingly, he agreed to come by Gate to Elfhame, so I sent out runners and sent messages by Elf-mind that the Marshal was coming, and in his honor there would be a full Muster, to include Maneuvers.

A coach emerged from the Gate on the Greytor on the appointed day to be met by the surviving veterans of the Marshal’s Elfhame Rangers command, wearing their old uniforms (whether they fit or not) and cheering him to the echo before falling in behind the coach as it made its way to the Master’s Lodge.

I met the coach outside the front door dressed in my ‘A’ uniform, Valor Medal and all, and saluted as the Marshal emerged from the coach. “Welcome to Elfhame, [gracious lord],” I said after he returned my salute. “I have suitable quarters arranged for you nearby.”

“Nearby, [teashor]?” the Royal Skunk asked.

“Yes, [gracious lord].” I had caused it to be built as a wedding gift for my son, the Sixth of his Name, his wife and his companion, but it had been largely vacant since he and his household moved down to Westpocket. Still, it was neat as a pin, and I had engaged a few furs to maintain it and to maintain His Highness in suitable state during his stay.

Notable by their absence from the welcome was the entire [Doe-Moot] and my wife and daughter. Anastasia had definite Opinions about the skunks who ruled the Empire, and as [First-of-Eldest] in her own demesne she could snub whoever she wanted to. My daughter Stella, as her Heiress, was also keeping her distance.

Still, it was a fairly pleasant welcome, and the Marshal settled into the house. His review of the Muster, and resulting Maneuvers, would occur the next day.

I kept my Elf-mind tightly locked down.

The next day started inauspiciously, with a chill wind from the direction of Mount Humbert and a few small rain showers. Still, the clouds had parted and the sun was shining as the Marshal, in full uniform, reviewed the [Muster of Elfhame].

The regeneration of the demesne had resulted in enough roebucks to equip two companies of archers and slingers, all in the mint-green uniform of the old Elfhame Rangers. Between the two companies stood a schiltron, a densely-packed unit of ex-Prisoners and their grown cubs, dressed in kilts and each bearing round shields and either sword or axe. To the rear my adopted son Dotto and daughter Sturmhilde were superintending the camp kitchen as part of the commissariat, and some of the younger roe-does had turned out to tend any wounded.

Prince Roland walked along the ranks accompanied by me, inspecting the assembled troops and pausing to exchange a word here and there in both Standard (for the wolves) and Elhamian (for the roebucks). He finally turned to me, and I saluted.

“Satisfactory, Master,” he said perfunctorily. “Elfhame is in good paws.”

“Thank you, [gracious lord]. I shall move the force to positions for the maneuvers, with your leave.” He nodded, and I cast an amplification cantrip on my throat. “Muster of Elfhame! ADVANCE!”

The Wolves started beating a tattoo on their shields with their fists and all three units moved forward to take positions on and to either side of a hill overlooking a broad field stretching off toward Widdershins Country, while the Marshal and I trailed along behind them.

“You’ve done a good job integrating the two forces, [teashor],” Prince Roland said.

“Thank you, Sir,” I said. “I want Elfhame to be ready, in case something happens.”

He gave me an appraising look, and nodded. “Good planning.”

I smiled at that, even as I sent out a call in Elf-mind, and it was answered enthusiastically.

The schiltron took up their position in a semicircle midway up the hill, the two Ranger companies to either flank. The field before them was crowded with effigies made of bundled straw and arrayed in the standard Royal & Imperial Army infantry assault formation.

A stout chair had been built, and the Marshal sat in it and watched from a remove as two of the Wolves began to raise an unearthly racket with baglutes. The sound died away, and I called out, “Prepare to attack!”

The schiltron drew sword and axe, pike-carriers ran out in front of the archer companies to defend them against cavalry, and the archers and slingers prepared to loose arrows and stones, respectively.

There was a pause.

And a distant roar that made the Marshal’s ears and tail go up. He looked about him with a wild surmise until it occurred to him to look up at the sun.

Diving out of the sun came two dragons, wyverns in fact; one was slightly larger than the other and with ice-blue scales, while the other’s hide was a mottled gray and green. Both wore mint-green bandanas around their necks that fluttered in the slipstream as they banked away from each other.

They swooped low over each end of the opposing force, Windsong breathing fire and Westinghouse using his ice-magics. Their attack done, the two gained altitude, flapping their huge batlike wings.

There was almost nothing left of the opposing force, and the assembled Elves on the hill tossed their caps in the air and cheered before the Wolves charged, the shield wall morphing into a flying wedge to strike the heaviest point of what was left of the enemy infantry.

Westinghouse and Windsong landed nearby, looking very pleased with themselves.

Prince Roland shuddered, giving the two wyrms a look before turning to me. He swallowed before saying, “An interesting stratagem, Master. One would not expect an attack from above, let alone one so devastating. I can see that Elfhame is well-defended, [teashor].”

I smiled. “Thank you, [gracious lord]. Whoever tries to invade us will get a very hot – and cold – welcome.”



end