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Triumph

A Dictator must have been previously declared a Hero of the Republic by assent of the Senate.

A Triumph is not necessary for consideration, but welcome.

It was one thing to take a city, it was a whole other matter to rule it. Had I the full military behind me, I would have left a small garrison and moved onto the next milestone. With Pest and the Danube secured, the wolves would have trouble supplying their soldiers and would turn to banditry at the slightest setback, angering the local wolven ranchers who would, all of a sudden, be more amenable to foxen rule and willing to forgive our own earlier raids.

Sadly, I did not have the numbers I desired and we soon had to govern the blasted place. A provisional government was established consisting of a few members of prominent fox families along with the occasional wolf who had shown sufficient skill, loyalty, or fear of us. As promised, we gave Tulo his position back and he established a team to clean up the bloody streets of Pest and another team to scout and fortify the tunnels. I was the defacto governor, though I delegated Vito to handle most matters, and I sent word back to Vulpezzia o my victory and for them to send word to the Carpathian Senator that the Carpathian Republic had been liberated.

And liberated just in time it was. Only a few days after we took the city, about fifty of the Alphate's heavy cavalry with their nomadic mercenary cohorts showed up and circled the city. If they had arrived when we were still outside the walls, we would have been forced into a disorganized retreat that would have been the end of us.

They wanted to have the last, petty laugh though. Five foxes, whose wrists were bound to a rope that tied around a horse's saddle, were with them and they were scrawny and covered in such bright, bloody lashes that we could see them from the walls like they were a distant lighthouse; our missing scouts. The foxes ropes were cut but their wrists were still bound and they were marched into an open field and shoved to the ground, lined up in a row. I swallowed and rubbed my claws through Galip's raised hackles; of all of us, despite having every reason to hate any damned fox he met, he was the one most horrified by what was about to happen.

A sharp whistle screeched through the air and a terrifying rumble echoed through the plains as the armored wolven nobles galloped forward two at a time towards the line of prone foxes, kicking up a storm of dust. Even over the stomp of hooves and their mocking howls, we could hear bones snap and crush. When the dust settled, there wasn't a lot left of our scouts except for a pulped mess of broken limbs. The commander of the wolves, a black wolf in jet-black plate-mail ordered his horse to trot confidently across the bodies and he took his horned helmet off and lifted his muzzle to stare at me atop the wall with arrogance. His soldiers howled, raising their lances in the air, some of which had fox tails tied to the shaft as war trophies.

Any fox worth a damn would have been justified in ordering a charge to show those arrogant nobles and their horse-mating nomad sell-swords whats what. But that was what the wolves wanted and I could tell that their commander was not another Galip, this wolf was serious about war and knew how to get under the enemy's pelt.

But so did I.

I ordered the gates to be opened and after a few objections, reasonable ones at that, my foxes obeyed and the gates flew open. The wolven commander froze, staring at the open streets of Pest and the rows of pikes awaiting them. He would have also, if he hadn't already, smelled the oil boiling above the gateway. This was his chance for glory, there was no way in hell he was going to try and storm our walls with a bunch of rich, noble wolves on horses and some nomads who were born in the saddle and awkward with their paws on the ground, if he wanted to lead a glorious cavalry charge, this was his chance.

But he didn't. With one last ounce of contempt, he spat on the remains of our scouts and ordered his horse around. His wolves followed behind, away from the city and into the plains.

He was either a coward or smart. Either way, he would trouble me no longer.

A week later, I learned that the enormous wolf who had thrown log-sized javelins at us during the siege had been captured and was being held in the cells. The soldier who captured him was rewarded generously and he was a good enough soldier not to demand I go down on him like I promised in the heat of battle. I ordered Carlo to take me to him, down a narrow, winding staircase and away from the luxurious trappings of the main floors of the palace. The scent of mildew and filth assaulted my nostrils, but after traveling through the tunnels, I was still used to it.

The wolf was hunched over in his cell, if it had been an inch smaller he wouldn't have it and already he was incapable of lying down. His fur was orange with a broad, cream muzzle and his tail was covered in fine furs that ended with a white tip. Despite his colors being unusual for a wolf, it took me a while to realize the truth and only found out after I almost shoved my nose through the bars to smell him.

"You, my friend, are the largest fox I've ever seen!" I exclaimed, mouth agape with shock. The giant fox merely shrugged, having not a whole lot of room to do anything else. If I hadn't known better, I'd have said he was born from a wolf and a bear mating with a fox at the same time and he was the offspring.

"I could use a bodyguard like you, what do you say?"

"Sure."

And with that, Goliath was freed and armed. He was the kind of fox that you could trust in seconds after meeting him, having no real ambition aside from doing whatever job he was given. He was purchased from his parents by a wolven circus troupe and then was purchased by the Governor of Pest as a bodyguard, and now he was mine.

Not long after returning from the basement, with the giant fox leading the way and barely fitting through the massive staircase, a messenger ran into Goliath, falling over backwards and dropping a scroll onto the carpeted floor.

"You m-m-monst...!" the messenger stopped himself upon seeing me saunter out from behind Goliath and began stammering out an apology, "G-general, I bring word from Admiral Philippe!"

The messenger scratched at the rolled up piece of paper, failing to get a grip on it. Goliath calmly bent over, picked it up and handed it to me. I sliced open the wax seal and unrolled it.

General Marco,

I hope my letter finds you well and your casualties minimal.

The Doge and the Senate have received word of your victory in Pest and have invited us, along with a few other officers back to Vulpezzia for a council.

I have ordered a transport fleet to rendevous with you in Istria. Please go there at your earliest convenience and meet with Captain Allesandro. The Republic is counting on us.

Regards,

Admiral Philippe

PS: I would recommend keeping Beaumont's adjunct out of the loop on this matter. From what I understand, the Marshal is not invited.

This was it. My heart began to beat like a drum. I didn't even care about that filthy pirate's remark about casualties, I was being ordered back to the capital and without that glory-hog Beaumont! This could only mean one thing, either a promotion or a very big promotion.

The Admiral would be there too, that was unfortunate but they needed to honor his victories as well, however small, and reward him fittingly. Like hell was I going to take his ship though, that would be just what he wanted. Even without him being in charge, I'd take a horse any day. If an army was routed, you could escape in the chaos no matter how bad the situation was, while if you were on a ship and it started sinking you were at the mercy of the sea.

Even worse if you were tied down and thrown overboard.

I gathered Vito and Livio, who brought along Sister, for a private farewell in my quarters in the palace. They congratulated me on my new orders and the inevitable promotion that it would bring, and we exchanged farewell hugs before having one last meal together, made from a local human cook, guly_á_s, that was the food I had as a kit and it tasted even better than I remembered. Guy was not invited, of course, being busy with some municipal matters in the city hall; not that it would matter in the end, even if he were to rush a message to Beaumont, by the time he found out I'd already be in the capital, but I understood clearly that the Senate and the Doge wanted to prevent a tantrum from the Marshal or at least delay it until it was more convenient.

Vito, being the commanding officer after myself, was put in charge of the army. He accepted this duty gratefully and gave his first orders, to assign a small detachment of soldiers to escort me back to the capital.

Surrounded by my escort, we marched through the city atop our horses. It would have been more expedient for us to exit through the Buda Palace gate, but I wanted our presence to be known and to be greeted by the inhabitants who turned up in droves. The crowds, mostly foxes, cheered as we passed them by. Some threw flowers and others sang songs:

Marco, Marco,

Hero of the Republic!

Marco, Marco,

Conqueror of the wolves!

Galip, shirtless and seated behind me in the saddle with his arms wrapped around my chest, stared in awe at this sight.

"Alpha, they really love you!" he exclaimed, rubbing his pads against the breast of my gambeson. "I've never anyone sing like this before!"

Of course I paid them to so this and I had already paid bards to sing my praises from here to Iberia, but I didn't want to break my wolf's awe. Besides, I had only paid a few bards in Pest and there were more than a few others joining in for free.

Proud though he was,

Aokus did whimper,

When Marco did free us all!

Who doesn't like a good song? I know I do.

We left behind the city, where most of the praise petered out, save for the occasional cheers by fox farm workers who were no doubt ordered to be as polite as possible to the new order by their wolven land owners, who were afraid that any sign of sedition would prompt us to seize their land and give it to a worthy fox.

Taking a moment atop a small hill to look back at my prize. I had taken every square inch of it, everything from the smallest hovel to the resplendent city hall were now flying the red banner of the Republic. Foxen rule had been restored after almost thirty years and I had done it and I did it clean: the walls still stood and not a single priceless historical building had been harmed, aside from the occasional chipped stone or punctured wood wall from stray crossbow bolts. Pest still remained intact, its markets still flowed with paprika and other exotic spices, and it was safe from any would-be conquerors under the watchful eye of the foxen guards. This was all because of me.

But still, I couldn't help but notice how small Pest was...

The march back to Vulpezzia was long and hard, full of treachery and hardship...

I believe that's what the official historians have written about it, regardless if they were biased in favor or against me. The former would say that during the excursion, we were beset by hired bandits, pursued by wolven marauders, and even had a traitor in the midst by the name of Postumus who tried to sell us out to the wolves so he could get his own Duchy. The latter would bleat endlessly about how we pillaged the countryside, engaged in wanton rape, and at one point I murdered a guardsman, once again going by the name of Postumus, after we had an argument over the romantic advances of a human prostitute.

Both were wrong in too many ways to count, but the truth is that regardless of their intentions, they were just trying to make a more interesting story. The truth was that it was more of a drunken, hedonistic vacation that was otherwise uneventful aside from quantifying how much ale we drank, how many foxes and vixens we laid with, and if you really wanted to stretch for interesting material: we had at least one argument about which of our cocks were the largest (And I must confess: Goliath had a package to match his height.). I gave an order that we were to stop at every tavern from Pest to Vulpezzia and it turned out that there were way more than we ever bargained for.

So, I'll give you a quick rundown, for although it was great fun for me at the time, I understand needlessly bragging about having ancient parties is the height of boredom. In a small town bordering Carpathia and the former Slovenian Republic, we drank their entire season's worth of ale and they were more than happy to accept a bundle of gold as compensation.

When we arrived at the capital of the former republic, Lubiana, we bought a cask of wine and began to sip and spit it out into the canals like wealthy nobles do; upon seeing an unassuming and collarless human, we surrounded him and forced him to drink what was left of the cask to see if the rumors were true about humans being able to drink wine without getting poisoned (The human ruined this experiment by vomiting midway.).

Lastly, and the least decadent of such activities, we stopped by the shores of the Adriatic and camped, staring off into the distant horizons of the sea to see if we could see any traces of the ancient, sunken human city of Venezzia; one of my guards, the infamous and wrongly maligned Postumus (Who is still alive to this date and with a healthy litter of kits who have also had their own kits, and as far as I know has never had a dishonest bone in his body) swam out into the sea, dove underwater and brought back a stone he claimed was from a tall spire, but to us it just looked like a muddy pebble.

In the end, our throats and cocks got wet, and in the case of Postumus, his entire body from tail to head got wet. Nothing exciting in hindsight.

But it was this bout of hedonism that built up our arrival to the capital. By the time we were approaching the City of Vulpezzia, we were all convinced that a Triumph stretching from the capital to the Alps was due to us, a Triumph that could only have been beaten in splendor by Canis himself descending down from heaven, putting a crown atop my brow and personally officiating a marriage between me and his fairest virgin daughter.

To describe our reaction, upon ascending the steady hill leading to the ferry docks and finding not a single soul eagerly awaiting our arrival, as disappointed would be an understatement. Grumblings had already started among my escort when we passed through Vincenza and got as similarly chilly reception, which was greatly concerning to me as I had paid bards to spread the word.

But here, at the figurative gateway to Vulpezzia, we were looked upon like a pile of rotten meat by the one-eyed ferry-master, a fox whose orange fur was just beginning to turn pale with age.

"Well, where is it?" I trotted my horse forward, cockily looking down at the ferry-master who nervously glanced at the galley that was being loaded up at the end of the pier behind him.

"I'm afraid I don't know to whom I'm speaking with, sir," the ferry-master meekly replied.

Goliath snorted almost in tandem with the bulky, almost fat-looking, horse that he was mounted atop; a thick lance in his hand, leaning back against his shoulder.

"He doesn't know!" I peered back at my escort and laughed. Turning back to the ferry-master, I announced my arrival. "I am General Marco, liberator of Pest, returning on the Doge and the Senate's orders, and I require passage on your ferry!"

"Oh! Uh, my pardon, General, but we weren't informed of your arrival, you'll have to pay for..."

I tossed a small sack of coin at him, which he bounced around a few times before clumsily clutching it and peering inside.

"This should be enough, General. But you'll have to leave your horses on the mainland, we have a trusty stable-master who will..."

"No, we'll be taking them aboard."

"B-but, my General, there's a strict limit on how many horses or mules a merchant can take into the city which you, with all due respect, are over."

"Are there no exceptions to the rule?"

"Holidays, circuses...all of which need the magistrate's approval," he paused, scratching at the scabbed over wound across his eye. "Oh, and Triumphal parades..."

"Yes," I said softly, flicking the reins. My horse slowly walked forward, hooves clomping on the wooden boards of the pier before stepping onto the galley. The porters and dockworkers stared in confusion, "a Triumph."

My guards followed suit and soon the entire deck was a makeshift stable. The ferry-master, frustrated but unable to argue further, gave the captain the orders to proceed and the ship lurched away from the pier and the thick, strong sweeps began to row towards the city on the horizon.

Much like the sunken human city beneath the waves nearby, Vulpezzia was a city of many islands bridged together and ringed by countless canals. The buildings were made of stone and brightly painted plaster, with red clay tiles adorning the roofs. Thankfully, for the sake of my Triumph, we could ride our horses from the docks to the forum inPrato della Vallewithout having to stop and get in a gondola.

Still, without an official welcome, we'd have to improvise. There was a peddler on the galley, a scared, little fox with an equally terrified looking donkey. I bought the pitiful creature and placed Galip upon him, which the donkey did not like, nearly kicking the wolf off before I calmed it down. Then I acquired a length of rope from the ship's storage and tied it to his wrists, running a drag-line behind my horse to him, letting anyone who saw him know that he was my captive. Lastly, I wrapped the purple caparison with Galip's family crest on it, around the naked wolf's shoulders, a fitting mockery of the proud Kutlar family, and the foxes of Vulpezzia would surely not recognize the Pesht-Kutlar cadet heraldry.

I ordered Goliath to dismount his horse and lead the parade as an announcer. He was a fox of few words, but he did have the most booming voice of us all when he put his mind to it.

Lastly, I ordered a group of my guards to ride behind with a collection of wolven coins and treasures to toss among the crowd. My gift to the fine people of Vulpezzia.

The galley bumped against the docks and the gangplank was lowered. Without any hesitation, I ordered my horse onto the pier and went into the city.

"THE VICTORIOUS GENERAL MARCO HAS RETURNED!" Goliath boomed as we left the docks and into the narrow streets of Vulpezzia. Bystanders were staring at us in awe, but not the kind of awe I had hoped. They were darting into buildings or crevices, trying to avoid our horses.

This was a rare moment of uncertainty for myself. I peered around, catching uncertain and confused glares from the populace and I wasn't sure what to do.

"Goliath, introduce the captive!" I hissed under my breath just loud enough for the enormous fox to hear.

"HE HAS BROUGHT GALIP, OF THE PES...!"

"Kutlar!" I growled.

"...OF THE KUTLARS AS HIS CAPTIVE AND SLAVE! HE HAS MOUNTED HIM LIKE A VIXEN! THE ALPHATE WEEPS AT THIS DISGRACE!"

Muzzles turned to face the wolf, who was now trying to cover his face in shame with his bound wrists. Finally, the locals got into the right sort of mindset and they laughed at the weak, pathetic wolf.

A few foxes began to throw rotten tomatoes at the Kutlar, from where they got them on such short notice, I could not guess, but it suggested that the taverns and eateries on the Doge's Road were to not receive my patronage in the future. Red juices pelted the wolf, dying his fur red.

All was going well until my rear-guard caught up to us and began distributing treasures. It was at this point that I learned that there was an art to organizing a parade and many steps that I had skipped to get what I wanted. For my guards were trained, hardened soldiers, not an honor-guard that's trotted out for special occasions, and they were more used to throwing objects to kill, or at least wound, and to aim at the enemy. When it was just a paw-full of coins, this didn't matter too much, just a few bruises that the target was more than willing to forgive because he was now standing atop a pile of gold.

However, then one of my guards had the bright idea to grab a large candelabra with three holders and chuck it into the crowd. It caught a fox in a ragged, brown tunic right in the stomach, just as he was about to toss a tomato at my captive. The fox fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes and the tomato went wide, hitting the donkey square between the eyes.

With a braying cry, the donkey began to fiercely kick, easily sending the wolf flying onto the stone road. His rider gone, the donkey felt no need to comply with the rules of the parade and stomped down the road, stopping to kick a ramshackle fruit stand and sending hundred of round oranges rolling onto the streets.

This disturbance was enough to spook one of my soldier's horses, which reared up and kicked, screaming madly, before galloping away. It didn't get far before its hoof landed on a pile of oranges and slipped sideways, smashing itself and my guard into a stand, sending splintered wood flying everywhere. I caught the sight of crimson blood as a peddler crawled from under the wreck, a stake of wood driven through his palm.

"Halt! Damn it, halt!" I ordered a stop to the parade.

The city guard poured in from the alleys, armed with hook-bills and adorned with polished half-plate. They were more concerned with the loose donkey and the injured horse, both of whom were kicking wildly and threatening to cause more damage, but a contingent blocked our path, halting us from continuing.

My Triumph had been a disaster. A humiliation beyond all humiliations. Instead of marching to the square and receiving honors from the government, I spent the rest of the afternoon in the guard's barracks, explaining myself and eventually having to bribe them so that me and my soldiers didn't spend the night in a cell.

On top of that, I had to pay to ship the horses to a stable back on the mainland, along with the medical bills for all injured. The soldier whose horse fell over was fine, having managed to avoid getting his legs crushed, but the horse was not, having broken a hind-leg. The horse would never fight in another war again, perhaps the merchant I sold him to would sell him to a farm and he'd spend the rest of his life helping them till the fields, but chances are he would be served for dinner in a few nights.

My mood was dark and my disappointment unparalleled. I was not in the mood to endure the rocking of a gondola, so much did I despise boats and ships that even the canal gondolas irritated me, but it was the quickest way to get where I needed to go and I did not feel like walking the dark streets of the city.

The rower pushed us forward, led by the white light of the lantern hanging from a hook above the bow, through the murky and filthy waters of the canals. The boat rocked, nearly spilling over into the murk when Goliath first got aboard with me.

Finally, we arrived and I disembarked, paying him for his services. I grabbed my lantern, lighting the candle of it from the rower's, and stepped into the alley with Goliath following close behind.

It wasn't long before I found my destination, a heavy, wooden door on a street corner. Square windows lined the white plaster, their shutters drawn, giving no hint of life lurking within.

I pulled the door-handle and it shook, but did not budge.

Smart girl.

I knocked. Three quick raps, followed by two slow ones. When I didn't get a response, I repeated the special knock.

Finally, I heard something rumble from within. Someone dashing down the steps, claws clacking against the wood. There was a thud as the bar on the other side of the door was flung off its hinges and the door flew open.

Standing there was a short vixen with pale, orange fur, almost to the point where it looked gold. She was slim, seemingly having not grown an inch in width or height since I last saw her. Wrapped around her was a white, cotton night-robe that clung to her slender figure. Her eyes were a deep, dark amber, much darker than mine, more like my father's than my mother's.

"Sofia, my sister. I've..."

She leaped forward, wrapping her arms around me in silence and pressing her face into my chest. I leaned my head down, taking in her familiar scent of delicate lilac. It had been too long, far too long. It was good to find someone who was glad to see me return.