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I Was a College Professor Reincarnated as a Wolf King?!

Chapter 3

By StripedKittyScribe

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Trevor Gates was just an old college professor that was facing retirement down with a scowl. When he's unexpectedly killed, otherworldly beings take his soul and bring it into a new world so that he can end centuries of stagnation. Unfortunately for him, this involves not just a new culture, but a new species, and not all of the aspects of either sit well with him.

This story will contain sexual acts, including dubious/non-consentual, homosexual, and themes of domination/submission, as well as violence and death. The medieval world that Trevor finds himself in is not kind in many respects. If you are not of legal age to consume adult material, do not proceed.

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Trevor and Sir Javeth; Distal Bend, Village Square

Plow Steerer took off, calling out for everyone to assemble in the clearing, and it was as if someone had stirred an anthill. It wasn't quite panic, but damn close to it. By the time that the rider had reached the area that the bonfire had been in, everyone was in their various family groupings with mothers holding small children in their arms, or in cases where that wasn't enough, fathers and older siblings helping out. Timber Hauler and Net Weaver were at the head with their own family.

For just a moment, Trevor boggled at how Autumn Leaf could want more children; there were ten pups milling around the pair, with an infant and toddler tucked up in her arms, and Timber Hauler holding an older toddler, while the oldest child was holding the hands of the next two youngest. River Blossom had come running out of the house almost the instant that Plow Steerer had bellowed in the front door about the rider, and she ran straight into his arms, shivering.

"I'm so sorry, Trevor, I didn't mean to, I just wanted to warm it for you before you arrived and I fell asleep."

He shushed her, and in spite of his better judgment, he hugged her because she was obviously terrified. "I'm not angry with you," he promised. "Now tell me why you're so frightened."

She'd told him that Sir Javeth was the local Knight, and that he would be furious that he'd lost a village to a Chosen one. He couldn't legally do anything about it, but that didn't mean he couldn't take it out on them in other ways.

Trevor petted her ears a few times, and then told her to stand by his side, and that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. Or to anyone else. She'd obeyed, and once he got her situated, he looked to where everyone was focused.

It was his first real glance at some of the local livestock, and the closest thing that he could compare the beast to was a small moose, or maybe a deer. The impressive rack of antlers were where the reins had been tied off, instead of a bit and bridle. The antlers themselves looked more like a moose, with broad curved planes rather than simply prongs with branches. There didn't seem to be velvet covering the planes, though, which could mean it had been scraped clean already or it simply didn't grow. And the tips weren't rounded, each one coming to a point that Trevor didn't doubt could cause some real harm. Perhaps filed. Perhaps not. It wasn't as large as a moose, at least not as tall. Probably shorter from nose to tail but about as broad. Good for a saddle, but not too tall to mount. What he wouldn't give for a single accurate meter stick to just appear in his hand to confirm any number of things.

The wolf riding the beast was wearing leather armor with metal studs and fastenings. He wasn't wearing any kind of helm or cap, but one had been left to hang tied to the saddle. The armor looked like it was generally one set, rather than parts from different suits. It fit him well, and the sword at his side looked as if he'd used it, and used it well. Trevor didn't know if he was more shocked that it was, essentially a khopesh from ancient Egypt, or that he wasn't shocked that the design that had worked so well there had been adopted here.

Sir Javeth looked directly at Trevor, and then Timber Hauler, and guided his mount at a walk to one of the tables, and then used one of the benches as a step to dismount. He pointed at one of the young women and called out, "You, girl, come and hold my mount."

The indicated youth gulped out and then dashed forward, bowing quickly and murmuring something to Sir Javeth before she took the reins.

He didn't respond to her as he dropped off of the bench, giving Trevor a chance to see the knight fully. Sir Javeth was larger than anyone in the village, except for him. If the largest person in the village was five feet tall, Sir Javeth was five and a half. The knight walked with a bit of a swagger, one hand swinging freely, while the other rested on the pommel of his sword.

Some may have taken that as a sign of aggression, but Trevor knew better. It was a natural resting place, and the added weight pushed the blade and sheath back enough that it cleared his legs for easy walking. A true threat would have been both hands on the sword, with the handle pulled more forward and central for an easy draw. What surprised Trevor in an odd sort of way was that Sir Javeth was wearing pants, not an armored kilt. He supposed that it made sense for riding, especially long distances.

Still, there was absolutely no affection or even joviality in Sir Javeth's gaze as he took in the newcomer. "Well, now," he said, stopping a few feet from Trevor. "It seems that my monk wasn't utterly incompetent after all. He'd mentioned that a Chosen had been sent yesterday. We didn't know where you were until we got a report from the lookouts of a fire in this area. Either the town had fallen to raiders and been torched, or a major celebration had taken place outside of the holy days."

Trevor was wary, and didn't say anything. Timber Hauler spoke up, and the instant he'd gotten 'Sir' out, Sir Javesh said, "Silence. I have nothing to say to you, for your office is ended. I speak to the Chosen one." That explained why no one had given a general form of submission, taking the knee or something like that. They weren't his any more, and both he and they knew it. They belonged to Trevor, as far as the legal code was concerned.

Trevor shrugged. "I arrived yesterday in the sheriff's house. There was a feast. I'm not sure what else there is to say."

Sir Javesh made an 'mmhmm' sound, looking at the way that River Blossom was standing next to Trevor. When his gaze fell on her, she instinctively tucked herself in close, putting Trevor between her and the knight. "I see that you've moved quickly to pluck the choicest flower," the knight said with a leer. "At least you at least have good taste, given the choices available."

Trevor's blood first ran cold, and then surged hot. He wanted to wring this little bastard's neck. "I have done nothing outside of the customs of this land."

The knight made another 'mmhmm' sound. "Well. As I am sure that you are aware, you now are the lord of this village. I hold no legal claim here. You are beholden to neither me nor my Baron. I do hope that I can speak to you alone. I brought a wineskin with me, and if you'll allow me to avail myself of your hospitality, we can have a pleasant afternoon discussing affairs of state. I wouldn't dream of asking for your flower, but sampling the lass holding my mount would be rather enjoyable."

Trevor flexed his hands, then forced them to relax. "You'll forgive me, I prefer not to mix business with pleasure. I find that it sullies the attention of those who deserve my focus." He then turned to Timber Hauler. "Return everyone to their duties. I will discuss things with Sir Javeth here." He touched River Blossom on her shoulder. "Take several buckets of these coal chunks up to my room, and then seek out large pieces of bark from the trees. The broader and longer, the better."

When he turned back to Sir Javeth, he knew that he'd given the 'wrong' answer. "Now," Trevor said before a good and proper indignant rant could wind up, "let us sit and discuss what brought you here." Turning to get the point across that he was neither concerned nor threatened by the knight, he walked toward the bench slowly before he took a seat far enough away from the young woman holding the mount that their conversation could be private.

It was hard to stomp angrily on dirt, but Sir Javeth managed it quite well, moving to the saddle bags and jerking it free. Trevor had been in meetings with people like this before, and he knew how to deal with the type. Maintain a calm and steady demeanor. Don't give in to any provocations. Make sure that they recognize that they truly don't have any power, but don't rub it in their faces.

The problem was that this was the first time Trevor had ever dealt with someone who had legal hereditary power, and that power had been taken away. Sir Javeth was likely in his 20s, from a human perspective. Young enough to still be brash and reckless, but not so young that he didn't have experience. Trevor remembered, the sword looked like it had seen action.

Sir Javeth sat heavily down on the seat across from Trevor, glowering as he pulled the stopper from the wineskin and took a pull from it. Perhaps it was a calculated slight, not offering the drink to Trevor first. Perhaps not. Either way, Trevor showed no annoyance because it let him observe how to drink from such a vessel in this new body. It wasn't too different from what he expected, with the tip of the wineskin acting like the nipple of a squeeze bottle from Earth.

"Doubtless, you know little of this place," the knight said as he shoved the wine skin across the table, and Trevor shrugged before he took a drink. It was, honestly, a horrible vintage. Trevor hadn't been one for hard drinks, but he did love dry red wines, and this was just awful. It wasn't just dry, it was harsh enough to be used as a tanning solution. It was bitter and raw, and he very nearly spat it out. It was strong though, he had to give it at least that.

"I know a little bit. I am, for lack of a better word, forgive me, the lord of this village now. I am outside of your chain of command, and while I wish to maintain good relations between our," he fumbled for a moment, "territories, you can make requests of me and I can choose to answer them or not. I am responsible for everything here; food, trade, defense, justice." Trevor handed the skin back, and saw that his words weren't kindly received.

"You say 'war' oddly. I wonder if that is a lack of familiarity with our language or something else. You are responsible for war. For making sure that your serfs are armed and prepared to fight."

Trevor sighed, having anticipated something like this ever since he got the word from Timber Hauler about Sir Javeth's personality. It didn't surprise him. Wars had been started by petty tyrants for all of history, and while there were doubtless many that were instigated by warmongers for personal glory, that was almost never the selling point to the populace. When it came down to it, wars were fought over resources. And the most valuable resource to an economy like this was food. Crop yields couldn't increase because industrial farming hadn't been invented. So the only way to get more food was to get more land.

You couldn't hold land unless you had people to defend it. You couldn't get people to defend land unless you had soldiers. Soldiers couldn't farm. So you needed to take farmers from someone else. It was a vicious cycle. And Trevor knew how to break it. He just needed time.

"I have no intention of going to war on the offensive. I may not look it, but I have seen more war than your whole world has, no offense intended."

That made Sir Javeth snort in derision. "You're barely two hands of years older than I am. Impossible."

Trevor sighed, and leaned forward, putting his hands together and looking over at the knight who was sloshing more wine back. "I came from a world where in the wake of one war that involved every nation that existed, another started. You wouldn't believe me if I told you how many soldiers died per day. You wouldn't believe me if I told you how vicious and fast it was."

Sir Javeth scowled. "Try me. I led the charge of cavalry that swept the equids from the field last summer. I personally slew three hands of the enemy with my own blade."

Trevor couldn't help but laugh, and he knew that it was wrong. It was the absolute wrong thing to do. But the idea of someone riding cavalry, which he still thought of as horses, against horses who were sentient, was simply too rich not to react to. "Please, please, I beg, forgive me. You said that I said 'war' oddly. Where I came from, equids are the cavalry."

"Well of course the equids had cavalry," Sir Javeth snapped.

"No, I mean... never mind. Please. Accept my apology, I was not mocking your valor."

Sir Javeth snorted, but motioned for Trevor to continue.

So he did. "How large was that cavalry? How many soldiers?"

Sir Javeth shrugged. "A box of cavalry."

Trevor had to convert the figures and do some math. About 250 in a box. He considered, and made a rough guess. "That means... what, 6,000 to 9,000 infantry? Perhaps 4,000 archers?" He prayed to his new gods that they would translate the numbers for him, that was simply too large for him to do in his head. The number made Sir Javeth consider for a moment.

"Oddly specific numbers. Far too many infantry. Far too few archers. But close enough for scale."

Trevor leaned further forward. "And the enemy. There were about that many? Twice that many? Half?"

Sir Javeth beamed with pride. "Half again as many."

Trevor wished that he had something to write with, he could do basic math but keeping track of this many numbers in his head was too much. As much as 12,000 on one side and as much as 18,000 on the other.

"That is a truly impressive feat, Sir Javeth. No matter what the numbers are, the proportion of forces makes it an accomplishment worthy of note." He withheld comment about whether it was a good or bad note. Especially as he didn't know whether it was an offensive or a defensive war. "The war that I was involved in, I was in the navy. Do you know what a navy is?"

That made Sir Javeth's ears pin back. "We know of warships, but only fools and convicts serve off the land." That almost made Trevor laugh. There were times that he'd certainly felt like a convict. "The navy was very large. I was someone who worked on building things, not sailing the ships. Does that make sense?" After getting a nod, Trevor continued. "One of the camps that I built for soldiers would have housed both sides of the battle you fought in. And I led the group that built almost 16 of them."

Sir Javeth's jaw fell open, and he sputtered some of the wine he had been drinking.

Trevor continued. "You recall that I said there was one war that was just on the heels of another?"

Sir Javeth nodded.

"The later one, the one I was involved with, was the smaller war. There were days in the larger war, where each side killed as many as were involved in your whole battle. Not total. Each side."

Sir Javeth shook his head. "Impossible. Absolutely impossible. I could believe that armies that size went to war, but not that many soldiers died in a day, and anything was left."

Trevor sighed, and looked down. "At the start of that larger war, the attacking side covered..." he trailed off, and then shook his head. "Sorry, I just realized that I was about to use a word that doesn't make sense here. I assume you know how to read a map?"

Sir Javeth nodded, and Trevor said, "Give me a moment. I can show you." He stood up and moved to the fire to grab a chunk of charcoal, then returned. A quick sketch of the European continent was old practice for him, and while it wasn't anywhere close to accurate enough for modern navigation, it was better than an old Roman map would have been, and included the rough borders of what was then Czechoslovakia, Poland, France, Belgium, Spain, Germany, The Netherlands, Italy, Switzerland and Denmark. He was in his element, lecturing, and it came easily to him. "In just 4 of your weeks, this country," he tapped Germany, "invaded these countries," he tapped the lowlands areas, "and pushed and killed until there were nearly 340,000 soldiers packed together right here, from the losing army. Not counting the ones who were attacking."

He scribbled a few numbers on the side of the table, clumsily converting figures while Sir Javeth looked on, still in disbelief. "The distance from here, to here," he pointed roughly where Berlin and Paris should have been, "is roughly 2,100 posts. And they covered all of this," he shaded the area, "in 16 days."

Sir Javeth shook his head, simply not able to accept it. "You speak madness," the knight growled.

"War is madness. What I speak is truth. I have seen war on a scale that you simply cannot believe. And I will not participate in any war that does not come directly to my lands. I will defend, but that is all. If you deem that to be cowardice, then I cannot change your opinion of me. But I have no desire to see any more battlefields."

Sir Javeth stood in anger, fists on the table, and said, "You have deprived me of some of the best archers in the kingdom. And if your," he chewed on his words for a moment, and Trevor knew that the unspoken word was, in fact, 'cowardice'. "Your decision becomes known, you will drain my lands of farmers. Craftsmen. Soldiers. And not just my lands, but the lands of my fellow Knights. And the Baron. And perhaps even the Viscount. You will grow, and whether you are in the nobility or not, you will be seen as a threat, and crushed." The knight stabbed a finger practically into Trevor's muzzle as he said, "You will reverse this decision you have foolishly made. And you will do so now. Or by the gods, I will have a box of soldiers on your doorstep by the end of this season."

The finger shoved into his face made Trevor angry, but the threat got him into action. He'd taken some of the 'softer' martial arts as classes after he left the military, but never progressed because he lacked the dedication to truly pursue it. Some of the most basic joint locks were still familiar though. What shocked him was just how fast he was. He'd never been exceptionally quick, either on his feet or with his hands. His mind had always been his fastest attribute, and he liked it that way. Now? He'd snatched the wrist and twisted it hard, putting Sir Javeth's elbow up toward the sky. His other hand came down on top of the triceps, and with a pull forward and a drop of his weight, he slammed the other wolf's head into the table.

His hackles were up once more, and this time it wasn't because River Blossom was waving her tail in his face. His adrenaline was running high, dumping straight into his bloodstream, and there was little that Sir Javeth could do. Looked like Aikido hadn't been developed here to any kind of wide knowledge, because a human would have either recognized that the hold was effective and stopped struggling, or would have applied a counter move.

The Knight tried to jerk his hand free, but didn't have the strength to break Trevor's grip. Then he thrashed a few times, his other hand wildly swinging to strike Trevor in the head.

It took almost no skill to hunch his shoulder up and take the blow there, not that there was much in the way of real power behind it. "Stop struggling. I said stop. Stop! Fighting! Me!" Trevor had to roar the last words down into Javeth's ear. The Knight refused, though, and either petty pride or confidence in his skills was enough to convince him that he still had a chance.

His free hand dropped down under the table, fighting to get his sword free, though his hand was on the wrong side to easily clear it from the scabbard.

Trevor leaned in with his teeth bared, and growled, "You draw that blade and I'll rip your arm off and beat you to death with it."

That roar had drawn the attention of several people, and Trevor looked up at their shocked faces. He couldn't pull either of his hands away without risking his grip, so he looked at Timber Hauler. "Take his sword belt off. Remove all of his weapons." He looked at Three Feather, telling her, "Get your bow and arrows. If you didn't see them this morning, there is a set in my room in Timber Hauler's house, use those." He turned his head to address the girl who was holding the reins.

The Knight attempted one last surge to break free.

Trevor put a stop to that by breaking the arm at the elbow. He knew the damage that would cause. He knew that he had very likely just ended this young noble's military career. Broken bones were nothing to sneer at at this stage of society's development. The ligament and joint damage alone would take years to heal, if not longer, and he would probably never have full use of it again.

The crack made Timber Hauler's ears pin back and he winced, but he quickly worked the sword belt open and then pulled it free while Sir Javeth screamed in pain and outrage. Timber Hauler quickly stepped back, holding the belt in front of him while Three Feather dashed into the house to get the bow and arrows.

Trevor had to raise his voice over the howling, saying, "Search his... mount." He'd almost said horse. "Take any weapons you find there, leave the money and food." Two of the other villagers quickly moved over and did as he said. It took a few minutes for the screaming to stop, and by the time that it had, the situation was mostly under control. Mostly.

Trevor had pulled back from his hold, and the Knight cradled his broken limb to his side, tears streaming down his face as he glared pure hatred up at Trevor. Trevor stared right back, and said clearly enough that everyone heard it, "Three Feather. You will draw your bow and point it at his heart. If I give the word, you will kill him."

"Yes, Chosen," she stated flatly, and Trevor was certain that she would do as he said. She'd already been to war, and doubtless had military training of some sort. "Will you require anyone else to join you?"

For just a moment, he felt her hesitation, before she named seven other people. "Some are not here," she quickly added, almost as an afterthought. He nodded, and held his hand out toward Timber Hauler. "Give me his sword." Turning toward Plow Steerer, he said, "Send runners to find them. Tell them to bring their bows and get here as fast as they can. This is not a Rrrg." He scowled. "Practice. This is not practice."

Plow Steerer turned to the task while Timber Hauler walked around the table and offered the handle of the sword to Trevor.

Drawing it took a bit of work, the curved blade took a certain motion to break free that he didn't know. The weight of the weapon in his hand was light enough to be easy to wield, and heavy enough that he hated it. He leveled it at the injured Knight and said, "You will stay exactly where you are. If you even bare your teeth at anyone, I will cut your head off. Tell me that you understand me."

"You have just signed the death warrant for everyone here. I will bring not just my army but every army in this region," the Knight promised.

Trevor brought the blade up under the Knight's throat, forcing his chin up. "I didn't tell you to threaten my village. I told you to tell me that you understand that if you threaten or behave aggressively toward anyone here, that I would cut your head off. Now tell me that you understand."

It took nearly a minute before the Knight spat, "I understand."

Trevor lowered the blade just a touch. "Good. Timber Hauler, have someone fetch whoever your healer is. Tell them to bring material to bind his arm to his chest so that the injury doesn't get worse as he rides back."

That shocked everyone, and Timber Hauler hesitated, but then called for one of the elders that Trevor had barely met.

"While the healer is on their way, let me explain to you exactly what you're going to do, Sir Javeth. You're going to endure the pain of that arm being set. And then you're going to get on your mount, and you're going to ride back to your town. I will not spread word of my decision about participating in war among your peasants. And you will not return here, ever, not even under a banner of truce. If I ever see you in this village again, I will show you the madness that comes from how I know to conduct war. I will slaughter every single person under arms that you bring with you, save for one. I will let one person return to spread the word. Repeat what I just told you."

By the time that Sir Javeth finished the recitation, Reed Weaver had arrived at the edge of the clearing. She moved as quickly as she was able to, and didn't need instructions. She asked the injured if he wanted something for the pain, and he told her to just get on with it. The words started harsher, and a single shift of the sword sent a reflection of the sun into his eyes. It was enough to get the point across.

Setting the arm took a few minutes, and Trevor had to at least give Sir Javeth credit for being able to withstand the pain with little more than a moan of discomfort. Once Reed Weaver had tied his hand across his chest to secure it, she stepped back. "Now get on your mount," Trevor ordered, and walked with him all the way there. He took the reins from the girl, and sent her off. Three Feather had maintained her aim the whole time, and Trevor appreciated her skill and the fact that she had kept everyone else out of her line of fire.

Once Sir Javeth had clambered back into his saddle, Trevor chopped the sword into the end of the table, then bent it so that the handle was almost perpendicular to the tang. He knew that bronze was soft enough to do this, so he wasn't testing his own strength. He'd seen tests of swords where someone had just braced the weapon across their thigh and pushed to get a bend out of a blade. Doubtless it could be repaired by a skilled smith, but for the ride back, it would be useless, and most importantly it would deny him an effective cavalry weapon. Trevor stuffed the sword as much back into it's scabbard as he could, and then secured it to the saddle straps. "Three Feather, you will hold that aim until he has departed, and you will stand guard for the rest of the day. If he returns, you will put a shaft through his heart, or his eye."

"Yes, Chosen."

He looked up at Sir Javeth. "I don't know how diplomacy works here. But where I come from, making a declaration of war with no pretext violates those rules. I would tell you what you are in my world, but the word would doubtless not translate. Now get out of my lands." He held the reins up with one hand until the Knight took them. Then he slapped the flank of the mount, hard, startling it and sending it bolting off. Three Feather tracked him, along with her companions, until he got about a hundred yards out, then let the tension out of her bow and lowered it.

"At this distance, hitting a single moving target would be a challenge, Chosen," she said, and he nodded his understanding. Archers were frequently employed at longer ranges, but only against massed troops. Trevor stood there for another little while, watching until the Knight had crested a ridge, and then he turned to the village.

As one, they looked utterly stunned, and on some levels, he couldn't blame them. What he had just done was doubtless going to bring grief and more to them. But the alternative was to send them into the meat grinder of endless wars. "Timber Hauler. Where I come from, we can measure time by the span of a hand as the sun travels. Do you all know how to do this?"

Timber Hauler nodded, still mute.

"In two hand spans, I want everyone who is an adult here. Anyone who could be forced to serve in the armies is an adult. Those who are too young to serve in the armies will take charge of all of the children, along with one or two adults who have spouses who can speak for them. I want all of the elders here. This will be a long meeting. Ensure that there is water and food for refreshment. Bring me a sample of every weapon that we have in the village. Move the benches close enough to the group watching for anyone to return that they can listen and participate while still looking."

Timber Hauler opened his muzzle a few times, and then sighed. "As you command, my lord." With that, he turned to the crowd, and started to assign tasks.

River Blossom slipped toward him and put a gentle hand on Trevor's shoulder as he stood there. "Trevor," she said, concern in her eyes. "Are... are you well?"

"No," he admitted. "I just lost my temper with someone who has real power to destroy us. And the fact that he threatened us doesn't change that I handled that poorly. Damn it, I'm no diplomat or general. I'm a teacher." He reached out, not really thinking about the action, and drew her head in against his chest, stroking her hair. The action calmed him somewhat, and he was so distracted that he didn't feel her tense up, then wrap her own arms around him in a fierce embrace.

The adrenaline was leaving his system, and he felt the effects of it hitting him. It wasn't quite like he'd experienced before; his hands didn't shake quite as much. But he also had a tail that was tucked and almost vibrating against his kilt. He didn't realize that he'd been standing there with her for as long as he had, when someone called for him, and he turned to see that almost everyone had gathered, and there was a question about where to place the samples of weapons.

"Alright, River Blossom, it's time." He patted her head, and she pushed into him, squeezing her arms around his chest and for just a moment he thought that she would refuse. But then she loosened her grip from around his middle, and then stepped away so that she could join the crowd.

Village Population; Distal Bend, Village Square

No one was particularly happy with him. And he couldn't blame them. He wasn't particularly happy with himself, but he couldn't put that genie back in the bottle. They had many disadvantages in any kind of military conflict; their numbers were small. They had no mages. They had no clerics. On the one hand, Trevor was grateful that the injury that he gave Sir Javeth wasn't as serious as he'd originally thought. That would possibly make the retaliation less severe. On the other hand, he'd been counting at least a little bit on the idea that if Sir Javeth couldn't lead his forces personally on a quest for vengeance, it might prevent such an expedition from setting out.

They had few actual weapons. The few that they had were bows and arrows, and from what Trevor saw of them, they were basic short bows, no recurve or composite. No crossbows. No mounts. And while he didn't think about it at the time, 'military age' appeared to be anywhere from 13 to 60. He'd known that teenagers were frequently drafted into service. He'd known that this happened in history. He just hadn't thought about it. Ever since democracies had taken hold, one of the corollaries was that if you didn't vote, you didn't join the military, and if you didn't vote, you were 'a child'. That meant that while Timber Hauler had told him they had 48 people who could fight, the number that wouldn't make Trevor want to damn himself for war crimes was closer to 30.

Distal Bend was about 100 posts from Javeth Point. That meant that Sir Javeth had almost certainly set off the instant that he had a direction to travel. That meant that if an army set out at a normal march, they would have two days, perhaps three warning before battle would take place.

Trevor wanted to bury his face in his hands, but he knew that would be the single worst thing that he could do for morale. If they saw their leader giving up hope, it would destroy any chance they had.

On the other hand, it wasn't all bad. The mounts were called klika, and he could blame his lack of context and unstated assumptions for why he didn't know about them. He'd asked about draft animals, and klika's hooves were too small to be hooked to heavy loads. They dug into the ground on anything other than stone while anything heavier than a rider were on them, and even then it needed to be firm ground, not loam or even mud. There was one semi-broken klika that fed near the fields that had been used for travel before, but it tended to run wild in the forest, and one of the villagers was the designated messenger that had a saddle and tack.

And flipping the coin to the other side, if they did have to fight, he could easily teach them to produce more and better weapons. Three Feather was a competent bowyer in her own right, it just wasn't enough of an occupation that she used it more than her leather working. It was why she'd gotten her name. Necessity being the mother of invention, she had experimented with using three smaller feathers for arrows rather than two large ones, because she could get more fletchings out of a bird than was normally possible. She had outfitted the town's archers with the weapons for the last war, and her experimentation had given the archers far more accuracy. Distal Bend truly did have the best archers in the world, for the time being.

There was no stone road between Distal Bend and Javeth Point. Which meant that any army that marched from there would have all of their gear brought by soldiers, or camp followers. The baggage train would be massive, and slow. There was also a chance that the call for soldiers would go out and not be fully heeded. It was still early in the spring, which meant that all hands were needed in the villages that Sir Javeth had sway over. His personal retinue would be somewhere around 30, and they could move at an instant, but they were cavalry. They couldn't move unsupported, and the area around Distal Bend was totally unsuited for a cavalry charge; it was too marshy.

Distal Bend was also, amusingly, the most distant of Sir Javeth's holdings, until Trevor had taken it. They were on a small peninsula that Javeth Point held the pass to the mainland. 100 posts was a bit further than most villages from a Knight could normally hold, but due to the fact that sea travel was a cultural taboo of sorts, and due to the fact that no one could get an invasion force across the waters of the local seas without being spotted, there were no other Knights in the area. None were needed to defend it.

Sir Javeth was also intensely disliked by his subjects. His habit of 'sampling' local young women was well known, and while it didn't quite fall into the realm of rape, it danced along that line and was well into the realm of sexual assault.

"As I see it," Trevor said as he paced in front of everyone, "we have three basic options. Spread the word to the other villages on the peninsula. Call them to arms to defend themselves against him and break off, or simply refuse to join the army that he sends. That's option one. Option two, we send a rider to the Baron, right now, telling him that a Chosen has appeared here, and that Sir Javeth illegally tried to demand military service from him and the village. Any actions taken against Sir Javeth were done in defense of the new lord's independence.

"Third," he continued, ticking them off on his fingers and finding it odd how he had ended up on his pinky, rather than his ring finger. "We preempt him and block his access to this area. There has to be some area of the pass that's narrow and easy to block off with an avalanche. I don't think that the third one should be anything other than a last resort. The first one goes back on my word, but we can play a very fine game there. I don't think that it's wise, given how antagonistic he already would be toward us, but I will take those steps if I have to."

Trevor was starting to get frustrated at the number of idioms he would normally have used that he simply couldn't, because he wasn't sure if it would translate, and the last thing that he needed was to dissolve into growling every four words while trying to be articulate and clear. It reminded him of that Star Trek episode where the captain had to learn how to talk with someone who only was able to speak in literary allusions.

"I know what my preferences are, but I also know that there are things that I don't know. I want you all to tell me the challenges with those ideas, and tell me if you have any other suggestions."

For nearly a minute, he was worried that no one would have anything to say, and that he'd have to start calling on people.

Reed Weaver saved him from that, rising and leaning on her cane as she faced him. "I do not know if what you did was right. I do not know if what you did was wrong. I do know that nothing you did would truly have made a difference, once you declared that you would not supply him with his archers. Sir Javeth is an ambitious man, and he sees everything as a chance for him to advance in rank. He is the next in line for taking on a Barony, after his performance last year at that battle. I don't doubt that his need for good archers overrode his other desires and responsibilities."

Trevor crossed his arms, listening to her. She hadn't really said anything ground-breaking yet, which annoyed him, but also he had to admit that she was good at establishing ground to work from, and she'd publicly absolved him of any guilt.

"I think that sending someone to the Baron would be wise. The Baron isn't much better, but he also knows that there are larger issues in play than one village getting taken out of his line of battle. The problem that we have is that we cannot send you, my lord. Even if you knew where the Baron's seat was and how to get there, you're too valuable to leave your seat of power so soon after getting it."

Trevor shifted his weight. "It sounds like what you're very carefully not saying, Reed Weaver, is that you think that I am too valuable of a hostage to be captured."

She gave him a weary smile. "I suppose that you seeing that is why I didn't have to say it, my lord."

She sat down, and for a while, no one said anything. Trevor scanned the crowd. "It sounds like we have a solution that no one has problems with. Who is the rider?"

One of the farmer's sons raised his hand. Trevor thought that his name was Furrow Plower, or something along those lines. "I am the rider," he said, and only after he started getting looks of disapproval from a few around him did he grudgingly add, "my lord. I know the route and can bear both a message there, and one back."

Trevor thought, and played the various scenarios out in his mind. He'd never been good at this 'but what if they expect this move' type of play. It was why he'd constantly lost to Dean Wilson in chess. But as one of the greatest generals said, plans are useless, but the act of planning is priceless.

"Someone bring me material to write with." River Blossom stood up and then dashed off toward Timber Bringer's shop. Trevor almost asked where she was going, but he had more immediate things to deal with.

That caused a bit of a stir, not the least from Furrow Plower, who sputtered, and then said, "I have always just relayed messages by word of mouth, m'lord."

Trevor was focused on his thoughts, and barely noticed. "That's not the impression that I want to present. I want this Baron and his knights to understand that they're not dealing with anything they expect. A written message is something that not just anyone could do. Can you read?" He looked up in time to see Furrow Plower shake his head. "Pity. I don't have time to teach you, but when you get back we can start that for everyone. If our message succeeds, that is. Now. What does everyone think about the other villages in the area?"

Timber Hauler stood. "They will know that something is odd here. Like Sir Javeth said, we had a celebration last night several weeks ahead of the spring festival. The fire will have been seen through the whole valley. I wouldn't be surprised if we had several people show up tonight to ask what happened. As soon as they show up, they'll know that you're here. And he's right. There will be many people who desert his lands for yours. Chosen are rare, but the legends are that you can bring great bounty to a land. On the other hand, the legends say that they can also be cruel and even more warlike than some of the nobles."

Plow Steerer spoke up this time, "No one will come today, look at the sky. I don't doubt that our former lord expected to stay the night. This will be an intense storm."

As if the gods decided to punctuate that thought, a low roll of distant thunder thudded its way across the gathering. "Let's go to the barn," Trevor said. "I don't know about the rest of you but I hate trying to discuss things in the rain."

Before anyone could say anything else, Three Feather called, "I'll stay here with three others and keep watch. I won't be able to talk with you all in there, so I'll say this now. I can devote myself to being a bowyer, and by the time that we require the arms, we could have more than enough to supply everyone in the village to defend themselves. The problem will be that a group as small as us simply couldn't put enough arrows in the air to make a difference."

Trevor sighed. "I don't want to fight, but if we have to, I'll keep that in mind. Thank you for standing watch. Pick your three, and keep them with you. I'll make sure that you can take breaks in the barn when you need to."

She shook her head. "I've stood worse than this night will be, under worse circumstances. I'll hear from my husband later." She told her companions to unstring their bows, and tucked all four of the strings into a rough leather pouch at her side.

When Trevor gave her an odd look, she chuckled at him. "Wet bow strings stretch, give less power." He let out an 'aah', and nodded, grateful for such practical experience. It was a lesson for him; he could have known that, if he'd known to ask the question. Now that he did know it, he confirmed it; the battle of Crecy had at least one legend attached to it that the English archers kept their bowstrings dry by tucking them under their helmets, while the crossbows of the French couldn't be kept dry and thus were far less effective than they should have been.

The population retreated into the barn, most bearing the food and water buckets and cups with them. A few climbed up into the loft to make space for those below. One of the slaves who had gone with the children reported that they were going to have to seek shelter and would be going to Timber Hauler's home so that they could stay warm and dry. Someone commented that it was only right, since Autumn Leaf's brood made up half of them, and that got a laugh, enough to lighten the mood at least a touch.

River Blossom returned with a small awl and several planks of wood. She offered them to Trevor, but Timber Hauler intercepted them. "I'll prepare the wood for you, My lord. I've done it before." He took the wood pieces, bracing one across the other, and then started scoring lines all the way across the wood in long, smooth strokes.

Trevor wanted to watch, but he knew that he needed to focus on keeping the discussion going. "So, you all have heard what Timber Hauler said. There will be people trying to come to live here now that a Chosen is present. What do you all think of that?"

Again, no one had anything to say at first. Trevor decided to change tactics. "What do we not have in the village? Potter? Carpenter? What else?"

Timber Bringer spoke up. "I do some carpentry, but if you want stuff besides boards and timber and split timbers, then I don't really have that."

River Blossom actually squeaked out something before she coughed, and then said, "We don't have a smith of any kind; brown, white, or otherwise."

Once she spoke up, several other people chimed in; they didn't have a cooper, or a cobbler, or a mason. They admitted that they had people who could do some of that, just not in a specialized manner.

Trevor couldn't miss the way that River Blossom looked at his still-unclad feet. "Alright, so those are things that we don't have. I don't know about how things work here, but back in my world, there were a few others. We had iron. A lot of iron, especially compared to your world. I don't know why that is, but that's something that we can go over later. When our world was about this level of development, we had several jobs tied to iron; blacksmithing, armorer, ferrier." He paused. "Did that come out right? Do you all know what a farrier is?"

A few of the villagers looked at each other, and then too Trevor. "Someone who makes armor and other things for mounts?"

Trevor shrugged. "Close enough for now. The point is, that's something that we also don't have. Where do you get those goods from at this point?"

Furrow Plower had assumed a station on the wall, arms crossed and scowling. "Until you showed up, we got them from Javeth. Now, we're cut off."

Trevor knew that the nobles were named after their holding, which just annoyed him. It was as if it wasn't "Queen Elizabeth", it was simply "Queen England". It was the most annoying combination of problems, at least in his mind, of the old Roman naming system and the English rank system. So he knew that the young farmhand was talking about the town, not the Knight.

"And doubtless now that I've angered him, we are unable to get anything further from him. I'm betting that the other villages don't have anything of the sort," Trevor asked.

That got a general round of towns that had some sort of specialist, but that trade was generally not really 'done'. It was almost like a military requisition system. You produced food, and made a few items for your community, but all excess was sent to the local town along with requests for things. If any were to be spared, you got what you wanted.

"By the gods, no wonder things are so messed up here, you have a military-focused command rrrgrgrrgrgggrrrrr." He threw his hands up, "Oh come on! How is there a local word for farrier and not one for how goods and money get exchanged between parties?!"

Everyone else looked at him as if he were starting to lose his mind. The worst part was that he couldn't just fall back on giving them a loan word. Most of the phonemes for human vocalization just didn't work for this new form. He thought, formed sentences and understood in English (thank the gods for that small gift) but he could hear the growl-yip-grunt language and knew that forming more than half the sounds that humans made simply wouldn't work.

A thought occurred to him, and he looked over at River Blossom. "Bring me a few pieces of charred wood, please." It hadn't started raining yet, but looking out the doors of the barn, they could see the sheet of water falling out of the sky approaching in the distance. It would probably be here in about a half hour, as Trevor guessed. "Does anyone else want anything from their homes? What we're going to be discussing may take a while and if anyone wishes to get things, now would be the time."

The short break was needed. Several people called from the loft to have something brought, but Trevor didn't hear anyone asking for anything that sounded like rain gear. Just small items, or too check on the children and make sure that there were enough toys there, or blankets for the Elders to cover up with or sit on. When River Blossom returned, she had several bits of the charcoal that he'd asked for, and he took one then brushed an area of the floor clear with his foot, about a square foot across. He positioned the bit of wood in his hand where the narrowest point was angled down, and scrawled 'wolf'. In English. "That's going to be useful," he said, and then tried something else. He quickly looked up the quadratic equation, and wrote that. "Good," he said, then wiped the area clear.

River Blossom watched, and asked, "What were those strange runes, Mas...My Lord?"

He felt a flash of anger, but stamped it down. She'd caught herself and corrected it before saying the forbidden word. "Those are some languages from my old world. The first was my spoken language. The second was our... numeric language." He wasn't sure that the concept of 'mathematics' would translate, and the last thing that he needed was to try to explain that there was more math than just counting and arithmetics.

She was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Can you teach me?"

He looked at her, and for just a moment, he wanted to say 'no'. Being able to write in English, something that would be secret to everyone, would be invaluable. The only way to keep a secret between two people is if one of them is dead, after all. "I can teach you to read," he allowed, and then frowned. "I... I genuinely don't know if I can teach you how I do numbers. I will try," he emphasized when she looked dejected. "But even the way that I count is different." She didn't understand, and he could see that, but getting someone who was already conversant in math to really grasp the idea of different base counting systems was hard.

He'd have to do what the bankers did when they were required by the church to show their books in Roman Numerals instead of the infidel Arabic; convert, do the math the easy way, convert back.

Everyone had returned to the barn who was going to be back, and Trevor organized his thoughts. "How common is literacy? Are sheriffs all able to read?"

Timber Hauler nodded. "All sheriffs are required to be able to read and write, though usually we just scratch numbers onto the wood that they send out, with only minor additions in comments." He made one last line in the wood pieces that he'd been handling, and stacked them before motioning toward them while offering the awl to Trevor.

"I'll inscribe them once we determine how to phrase whatever it is we're going to say," Trevor said as he took the awl. "I'm not used to my writing being quite this permanent," he admitted. "Where I came from we had ways to quickly write something out and test how we liked it, then erase and start over if we didn't like what we saw or how it appeared or if it didn't communicate exactly what we wanted."

He bounced the awl in his hand as he walked, pacing once more. "How many villages are in the area? On the peninsula, I mean."

Timber Hauler stood and scratched at the back of his head. "At least two ticks."

That made Trevor stop, and turn, "Seriously? That's rather surprising. Knights back in my world usually only had six at the most, and that was rare." He considered, and then adjusted his expectations. Then again, if Sir Javeth's claims about being able to lead a force that large against him was any indication, and he was drafting from his villages, that made sense. You could really only take so many people out of a village before it became almost useless to produce food. And with the lack of trade and communication between villages and all commerce flowing through Javeth, that made a bit of sense.

"Going to need to make a press," he said. "No way I can see putting that many planks out for every village."

Timber Hauler was the first one, but every single villager cocked their head to the side. All of them., almost in sync, same angle, same expression, same 'huh?' equivalent whine from each of them.

Trevor laughed. He couldn't help it.

"Trevor," River Blossom started, a wary tone in her voice. "Why would a wine press make planks?"

It wasn't surprising that they didn't understand, but it also wasn't as funny of a connection as some others might think. The first printing press was essentially a modified wine press. "I will explain later," he said, and then he kept pacing. "The question that we need to focus on is what we are going to say to the other villages."

He looked up at the crowd. "We just went over a few things about what we don't have, and that's fine. Pretend that suddenly a potter shows up and says that they don't want to be Sir Javeth's vassal any more. Do we accept them into the community?" He raised a hand, "And before you all say that it's my decision, I know that. But I am..." he was about to say 'flying blind', but realized that even if those words existed, it wouldn't be a good idiom. "...unaware of the implications."

This time, the elder who spoke up was Elder Net Thrower. "We need to be very cautious. If you accept people into the village, you accept the responsibility for their defense. And the more that join, the more strain will be put on our resources. We have food. We even have excess food now that we are not sending our quota to Javeth. We could support several more families now, but that is all. And there is no real way for us to get more farmland without clear-cutting the forest. We need that for timber for building and firewood and to feed and house the game that we hunt."

This made Trevor nod in understanding. "I think that is wise. I have seen the effects of people removing large areas of trees. It was devastating, in ways beyond even what you mentioned. What I think that we can do is improve what the farms produce. I'll have to talk with the farmers about what that would require, but I am certain that I could make the farms produce more food. I won't say how much more, but I have every confidence that I can deliver on that promise."

Elder Net Thrower leaned on his cane as he continued, "We would, of course, welcome that bounty. But even ignoring the question of food, it would be a provocation. Say that we accepted your imaginary potter. That would mean that Rust Shores would no longer be able to provide their own pottery. Which would mean they would need to request it from Sir Javeth. That, alone, would likely not make such a large impact on his resources. But add in other craftsmen?" He shook his head. "We would be inviting him to attack. And as our dear Three Feather noted, we simply do not have enough fighters to stand against him. Even if we raised a wall."

Trevor shook his head at that. "A wall would be a poor choice. Anything that we raised would not stand up against any kind of siege weapons."

"Why not?"

That made Trevor pause. "Because the siege weapons would knock over timber construction, and we don't have a mason." he said, and now it was his turn to cock his head in confusion. "It's why you build walls out of stone. To stand up too rrrgrgrrrggg." His eyes widened. They didn't know about catapults. He held his hand up, indicating he needed silence. "rrrgrgrrrggg. RRrrrgrgg. Gggrrrgrrrrrrr." They truly had no concept of a large weapon that threw large objects. Not even a ballista, which was essentially an upsized crossbow. "Why don't you have those?" He tried a few more. No crossbow. No trebuchet. A siege tower was known. Battering rams were known. "Why... why don't you know these? They were commonplace in my world."

Someone asked, "Why does it matter?"

He looked up at them, and realized that they were now further convinced that he was mad. "Because how you conduct war is different than how I know to conduct war." He thought more about it, and then wondered if he had an answer. No iron. The Greeks hadn't had any kind of a siege weapon. The ones they did have were stolen from the Assyrians. Walls truly had been practically the only defense needed, and it was, if they were good walls, the ultimate in stopping attackers. As long as you had enough food and water stored inside, you could simply outlast someone. Bronze was simply too soft to deal with the stresses of throwing anything heavy enough to batter down walls.

Which meant that no one had thought of how to build a trebuchet yet.

He started laughing. "We might not be in such horrible shape." He started to bounce the awl in his hand. This returning to the idea that he had to question all of his fundamentals made him think of something else. "What did the village have to send Sir Javeth? Soldiers, and food, right?" They nodded. "Was it all of your excess, or was it a certain amount?"

Timber Hauler spoke up, "It was a certain amount of dried meat, and a certain amount of our crops. If we had a good year, it was customary to send a bit more, but not everything that we didn't need. And soldiers, of course."

"And nothing else? No leather goods or bows or prepared timber?"

"No, My Lord."

Trevor smiled. "I think that I have a plan."

He outlined it. He would write to the Baron, and to Sir Javeth, declaring that Distal Bend would not send soldiers or food. However, to compensate for the loss of income, the Chosen of Distal Bend would teach the surrounding villages how to improve their farms, and the increased quotas on the other towns would make up the difference. He would pledge to not take any emigrants from other villages, even if they showed up. He would send written notices to the sheriffs of all of the villages in Sir Javeth's territory, and any that Baron Teers wished him to.

What he would not tell the Baron or Sir Javeth was that he would teach the other villages how to improve their own specialty crafts, and they would start taking a bit of those items in payment for the knowledge. The prosperity of the whole peninsula would increase, and it would give them more time to prepare for an attack. And by that time, the good will that Distal Bend had built up would mean that any army that Sir Javeth sent would be far less willing to fight in the first place.

When he finished outlining the plan, he could see that many people had misgivings, but the elders thought it was reasonable, or at least would give them the breathing space they needed to make adequate preparations.

The one person who was smiling that made Trevor concerned was Furrow Plower. He didn't know why, but something about the young farmhand was making him nervous. And it was all the more reason to produce a written message.

Once he asked if anyone else had any questions, and they didn't, he dismissed everyone to their homes, except for Timber Hauler. River Blossom stayed behind as well, but he couldn't really tell her to go and do anything; the rain had well and truly started to pour and Timber Hauler's house was still full of children and she wasn't trying to rub against him or anything.

Timber Hauler said, "Furrow Plower, pack for the ride. You'll need to set out in the morning. And make certain that you pack the flag of Shan."

The surly wolf shook Timber Hauler's hand free and practically snarled, "I know how to perform my role," before he walked out into the rain.

River Blossom visibly relaxed as she saw him leave.

Timber Hauler watched the departing messenger, and then said, "You are wise to not trust him."

River Blossom nodded quickly.

"He was chasing her all last year and she rejected him," Timber Hauler explained. "I don't doubt that he would have lied about your message intentionally, just to get rid of you so that he could have her."

River Blossom nodded again.

Trevor sighed, and hung his head. "And he's the only one who can ride, isn't he."

Timber Hauler nodded. "He was the only soldier we went who wasn't an archer, and he went into the cavalry. Three Feather brought back two slaves. He brought back three, mostly so that his personal workload could be offloaded onto them."

Trevor growled at that. Then he took a deep breath and said, "In that case, go bring as many planks as you can, River Blossom. I think that I'm going to be up all night writing. Timber Hauler, would you do me the kindness of preparing them?"

Three Feather; Distal Bend, Village Square

Three Feather had stood her watch as the Chosen required, and she even decided that she should extend the watch to the next day, just to be sure that the Knight wouldn't slip back into town after no one was watching. She had told her companions to rotate out, get a few hours of sleep and then return. She stayed the whole night. When the last set showed up, River Stone told her to go and get dry and warm.

At first, Three Feather had refused, but relented when River Stone pretended to take the refusal at face value, then quickly snatched Three Feather's bow out of her hands. "You're tired. You're wet. You're no good to anyone out here. Go home. I told Awl and Rack to prepare a bath for you."

Three Feather growled, and shoved the bag of dry bowstrings into River Stone's hand, then went home with as much grace as she could muster. When she got home, Awl and Rack were in the open workspace at the front of the building, having cleared the area, and started a fire to warm water in the copper tub. This was one of the great secrets of the town, and every time she saw it, she felt a grin spread across her face. The tun that they had used to soak the hides had broken one of the legs off after years of use. She had asked Timber Hauler to requisition a new one, and he had. Before the new one arrived, though, Rack had repaired it to the point that it was perfectly functional.

But what to do with a brand new copper soaking tun that wasn't needed any more? Awl and Rack had both worked together to fashion it into a bathing tub with seats. Now it sat with a fire going under one corner, and the water was steaming.

She dropped her clothing off by the entrance to her shop, then quickly washed her lower legs with the basin of water left by the door. She walked over a small path of fabric, dripping and naked.

The pair had looked up when she came in, hearing the change in pitch as the door to the torrent opened and then shut.

"Naughty slaves," she play-growled, and both of their tails wagged.

They knew this game. "Mistress, we did as we were commanded," Awl 'whined'.

She grabbed him by his scruff and pulled him close, a move which many a harsh owner would use to punish. She was far gentler, and she pulled him in to give his throat a lick, rather than a bite. "You," she said as she grabbed his backside, "took orders from someone who wasn't me."

Rack slipped in behind her, hands moving from her hips up to her breasts. "We did what we thought would please you, Mistress," he whispered, even as he squeezed her chest.

She huffed a laugh, reaching a hand back to play with his ears. "And that's the only reason that I don't have the two of you up against the wall. Now be silent and get me something to drink."

Rack gave her ear the tiniest of nips, just barely the touch of teeth. Absolutely forbidden for a slave. By legal rights, she could kill him. She never would. "By my Mistress' command," he whispered, and pulled away to go retrieve a pitcher of beer.

She laughed softly, and then reached out to swat him on his butt. "Impudent slave."

Awl helped her into the water, and then after she sat down, he knelt by the side of the basin while she put her foot up, and he reached out to start rubbing it.

The town knew about her tub. No one said anything to any visitors, or to the Knight about it, because she would occasionally lend it's use out to others. Several times, she'd even had others offer her favors to be sure they could have use of not only it, but her slaves as well. What the town did not know about was that Awl was practically a mage when it came to foot rubs.

The pair had been taken in one of the rare battles that happened within the Wolf Kingdom. One duke had challenged another's right to territory after a river had shifted its course, and Three Feather had been in that campaign. Her group had been scouts, and gotten lost during the night. When she'd found the enemy camp, the battle had already been won on the field and the advancing cavalry was prepared to slaughter everyone in the camp. Three Feather had found these two and quickly marked them with her urine, then declared them as her slaves and thus immune from any further repercussions. The fact that Sir Javeth had been slashing through the tents and was denied further destruction by one of his own subjects had galled him.

The two had come along, willingly, accepting their fate. Awl had been a leatherworker himself, one of the armorers for the enemy camp. Rack had been simply a messenger. She had treated them well, and no one liked the nobility, which meant that they were improving their situation. Young enough that neither had families of their own, and knowing that the law required the nobility to compensate the families of anyone who did not return from battle, it had been the best that they could hope for.

Awl had taken to working the shop along with her, showing her many new techniques, while she showed him hers. Rack had turned into an errand boy, and a caretaker of the children. Three Feather had several, and everyone knew that as her own husband was reaching the age of Elder, the fact that she had birthed one pup each of the last two years, one or the other of her slaves was the sire.

But freedom followed if either parent was free, not only if both were. And her pups were as loved as any could be. She loved her slaves. Law be damned, Shan was master of both, and understood that there had to be exceptions for every rule. And as far as she was concerned, her Awl and her Rack were those exceptions. She practically fell off of the bench as he started to work her feet with his thumbs.

"You were standing too long, Mistress," he chided.

She snorted a laugh. "I wanted to be sure that I was going to be the last person who would ever see Sir Javeth on this land alive."

Rack came back into the room with his kilt off, and the pitcher and cup for beer. He knelt by her other hand and poured a small amount into the cup. This was an oft rehearsed act for the three of them. Too much beer would spill into the water and that meant that it would have to be drained. He offered it to her free hand, and she took a long pull from it, then handed it back. "I don't doubt that if anyone does see him again in Distal Bend, that it will be your arrow that takes him from it," Rack soothed, and she smiled.

"Have you been licking a beehive, slave? I can't think of any other way you got that much honey on your tongue."

Rack licked his lips at her. "I could find something else to lick, Mistress."

She laughed, and reached out to stroke his ears. "I just may let you," she said. "But only after Awl has finished." She closed her eyes and laid her head back onto the edge of the tub. She had no idea how they'd managed to do it, but they'd placed the seat just right so that she could rest her head there, tilted just the right angle to take strain off of her neck.

Awl spoke up in his quiet voice, "I took the liberty of preparing straps for the Chosen's sandals, Mistress. I also laid out our softest hide for him to be measured on."

Rack poured her another beer.

She took the drink before she let out an 'mmh' of acknowledgment. "Good. River Blossom will pin my hide to the wall if we don't get him something for his feet tomorrow or the next day."

Awl kept his attentions to her feet focused, and let the silence take hold for several moments. He felt her tug at his hands, and released her foot and smoothly moved to the other side of the tub. Repeating the process while Rack moved as well, keeping the area free for him to work, and for the beer to not get sloshed in. Awl rarely spoke unless he needed to say something, and it was almost always simply relaying information. "Mistress," he started, and then faltered.

She couldn't reach his ears to pet him, which was the only bad thing about his foot rubs. "Yes?"

He was silent for several moments, long enough that she pulled her foot from him and sat forward. If he was this nervous, then it had to be important. She reached her hand out and stroked his head, working his ears with her rough fingers. "You may speak," she urged.

"Mistress, I am frightened."

That wasn't totally shocking. Her two slaves were as different as could be in temperment, even looks. Awl was as black as the night, and she had heard someone once joke that the only way you could tell that he was in a dark room was that it was quieter with him in it. Rack was so shockingly white that the joke about him was that no one would dare let him out during a blizzard, or they would lose him in the avalanche that he would inevitably cause. Awl had always been the quiet, timid, diligent, cautious one. He worried about everything.

"Tell me," she said, drawing him forward, and then into the tub with her. She set his head on her breasts, petting him while he embraced her, and actually started to cry. She looked over at Rack, who shook his head; he didn't know what the problem was.

She held her sweet, loving Awl as he choked out several sobs, shushing him and rocking him slowly until he regained his composure.

"I am frightened of our new Champion, Mistress," he finally was able to get out.

She stiffened slightly. "Why, little one? He is intimidating, and large, but he has made every effort to be as kind to us as possible."

Awl took another deep breath, and then looked up at her. "Elder Net Thrower said that the Chosen told Timber Hauler that owning slaves was wrong. And Elder Reed Weaver said that she heard him tell River Blossom that anyone who owns slaves is evil. He's going to make you free us. He's going to make you free us and then you have to send us away."

Three Feather had expected this conversation to go differently. And as always with Awl, it spun her in directions every time that he spoke. Not because he was wrong, frequently he was right. But because he saw things differently than other people. It genuinely pained her heart that he would be legally forbidden from becoming an Elder.

She felt him as he dissolved into sobs once more, and kept caressing and soothing him with her hands and her tongue on his cheeks and forehead. "No," she promised. "No, he will not do that. I will not let him. You are mine. Nothing breaks that. Not even the word of a Chosen from the gods." She tugged his head to look up at her, brushing her thumb across his lips. "You have my word, on the names of the gods, on the lives of my children, I will not let him take you from me. Either of you."

She let out a surprised 'oof' as Awl buried his nose into her neck, whining and licking at her throat and neck. Three Feather sighed as he let out all of his fear into her ears and neck, petting him along his shoulders the whole time.

Rack made a diplomatic huff, and then added, "I admit that I was concerned about it, but it was more a concern what your reaction would be, rather than forcing us out." He gave an apologetic smile. "The word is that he hasn't touched River Blossom since he marked her."

She nodded as best she could, arching her throat up so that her sweet Awl could remain where he wanted, while she looked at her other slave. "I'm certain of very little past the morning," she admitted. "But I am certain that I will not let him break my family apart." She drew Rack in, and kissed his forehead, then sighed. The water was helping to warm her. And it was soaking the tension out of her muscles. Now if only it would soak the tension out of her soul.

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This story is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any characters, living, dead or imaginary is purely a coincidence. All characters are a product of the author's imagination and copyright to them, unless noted guest appearances of other copyrighted characters are listed in this notice. Comments may be left (and are encouraged!) on the author's FurAffinity or SoFurry page. If you liked this story, and wish to support the author, please visit their Patreon.

This story is a work of fiction. Any immoral acts included in this story are a fantasy and should not be taken as encouragement to perform or endorsement of these acts by the author. Specifically, because apparently it needs to be said; anything other than expressed consent for any sexual encounter by a legal unimpaired sentient adult is wrong, immoral, and evil. Unwilling subjugation of sentients who have committed no crime is wrong, immoral, and evil.