Tales of the Many-Tailed - 2 - Holding out for a hero (Patreon)

A firm soprano voice cut through the crowd's hum. “You got us all killed, and the angel told me no one on your world can send us home, which you knew. So even if we win, we get nothing from this war of yours.”

The arrivals who surrounded Edith murmured in surprise.

“We will richly reward you and ensure you want for nothing. Failing to summon heroes would have doomed our countries. Please let us show you the map room so you can understand our plight,” the man said, his oily words scratching at Edith’s ears.

“We’re not all heroes.” The same woman spat fiercely. 

Damn it, don’t give away information. They might decide the non-heroes are unwelcome. Give me an opening; I want out of here.

“But surely you have classes,” the man persisted. “All those summoned possess them. That is something our citizens don’t always gain, and the common people stand as much chance as wheat before the demons’ blades.”

“How do you plan to repay our families? You took me from my wife and son. What about their grief, you fucker?” a man’s voice boomed. “Not to mention they could lose our home.”

“The angel gave me the grand wizard class. Forget these whingers. This is a dream come true for me,” a male tenor called out.

The armoured fellow whose shadow she hid in inhaled angrily. “Shut it. This isn’t a LARP; people die in war. They’ve pulled us into their mess to fight or die with them. He hasn’t even offered a name, mate.”

“Excuse me, the size of your gathering simply took me by surprise. I am Earl Duncan Baneridge. We did indeed snatch you from your homes. And I can see how it seems we expect you to, as you put it, fight or die with us. I grieve for your families, but there are millions of lives at stake. I can only apologise now, but we will see you richly rewarded. Let’s get you settled into quarters so you can rest, and then we’ll brief you.”

Damn it, I can’t see enough, but I don’t want to expose myself.

“Tell us why we should hear you out,” ordered a scaled figure Edith could just make out in the arriving crowd.

“Don’t be that way. They need help.” A young, girlish voice called.

Different voices rose among the arrivals, overlapping.

A man’s voice drowned her out. “What does this deal pay?”

“We’re already dead to our families and friends, so I’ll listen,” a different fellow called.

”I only got a type of ranger, but I’ll help.” A bass voice rumbled.

“Holding a grudge will just doom innocents. Demons need to be opposed,” a cold female tenor called. “Our Lord and Saviour would want us to help the innocents here as well.”

Great, excited gamer types and religious nut jobs; at least they have some mix of pragmatic types. Hope you all have fun.

“Please let us take you somewhere to rest and eat, and you can make choices for your future,” Duncan said. “We will happily answer all your questions.”

“What I want to know is why you summon people?” the scaled figure yelled over the other questions.

“We will happily answer all your questions,” Duncan repeated. “Though past heroes have always found the summoning left lingering tiredness, so I plead with you to take a brief rest first.”

“Answer my question or show me how I can leave,” the scaled figure snapped. “You ruined everything I was building. I did my time in the army, so why should I fight for you?”

“He’s not the only one who’s done his time. There are a lot of you here. What were you planning to pull against a single arrival?” Steel slithered as a sword slid a handbreadth from its sheath.

He is right. You don’t summon someone stronger than you without a leash.

“Please,” Duncan called, his voice lifting in pitch. “Among the peaceful races, those with combat classes are rare, and many lack the ability to grow into the top ranks, unlike summoned people. The spell summons heroes, not the mercenary types that would leave innocents to die.”

We all died because their gods missed their target on the first try, so they killed a crowd. Pity, someone already leaked that detail.

"High-ranking individuals overcome the numerical advantage?” the first soprano voice asked.

“A single S-rank hero could easily overcome ten thousand B-ranked demons,” Duncan replied. “I don’t know what it’s like in your world, but here an army of that size could kill millions within weeks if they make it into the hearts of the allied lands unopposed.”

Yeah, no government would trust a stranger as its wildcard in a war without a way to bring them to heel. What were they planning that they didn’t immediately pull since they summoned a crowd with weapons?

The soft groan of heavy metal hinges announced doors swinging open, and the clatter of booted feet drowned his last words. Cries of concern and protests rose from those beyond the circle.

“The princess needs a healer; the rest of your questions can wait,” a rough voice snapped from near the door. “Earl Baneridge, the king will see you now! He requires you to explain to him why the summoning went ahead early.”

“It—”

The rough voice drowned him out. “Enough. Explain it to His Majesty, not me. Those nobles illegally assembled here will provide their names for the record; if you try to slip away, I will find out. Guards clear a path for the guests so they can depart to take fresh air in the courtyard.”

“Who might you be?” the soprano-voiced woman from earlier asked. “And what do you mean by early?”

“General Frostpass, military advisor to the King. The oracle said the summoning shouldn’t happen for another month, so those of you who aren't the hero have Earl Baneridge to thank for being here. If you’d be so kind, follow the guards. They’ll escort you to breakfast; people will join you there to answer your questions. His Majesty will be along as soon as he finishes chastising those who ruined your lives.”

With a shuffling of feet, some arrivals shifted position, and soon an exodus drained the packed group. Two lines of guards in red tabards bearing the crest of a black two-headed griffon and riveted chain armour pressed back silk-clad people on either side. Those looked primarily to a trio of races: humans, elves, and dwarves; a small subset of the race list the cupid had displayed. As far as Edith could see, none of them had a single grey hair.

When her steed reached the edge of the decorative circle, they headed for a pair of gleaming, large dark-wood doors. Beyond them, three brownish stone corridors met at a junction. Each arching corridor was four metres wide and lit by short steel rods topped with a blue crystal that jutted from the walls at regular intervals.

A guard with a crossed-sword emblem on his tabard collar waved the arrivals along the left corridor. The tramping of their feet sounded in her mind like lambs in a shearing shed, and her stomach twisted. The doors echoed the gates of stations and shearers’ sheds alike. Poems and sonatas rumbled in her thoughts. Some pretty, some strained, but all held a lamb’s dire fate.

As the shadow of her ride overlapped a hallway guard's, Edith slipped across. With a sharp flinch, the desire had her nestled in a new spot, and the shift smashed exhaustion across her mind, threatening to pull her under. Not knowing what would happen in her shadowy state, she chanted Keats in her mind. The words of his- when I have fears that I may cease to be- she hoped would be menacingly suitable to hold her awake.

Distracted, her fellow arrivals moved past, and Edith absorbed only scant details. A wide-eyed, lost expression was most common, though a few looked eager. A passing tortoiseshell cat meowed at a rabbit beast-kin among them and trotted up to rub against her robe-covered legs. An excited greeting and a stoop to gather it up left the woman empty-handed when the cat teased her, then fled.

After the arrivals disappeared from view, the guards marched out the nobles they had held inside. At their head, four guards escorted one vermillion-clad man, his lean face beaded with sweat; the two trailing him kept their hands on their hilts.

The trudging footsteps faded away, and the door to the chamber shut with an echoing boom. The guards flanking the door didn’t move.

Did I jump shadows too early? Should I have waited until I got outside?

The silence settled like a funeral shroud until inaudible mutters started from the other guard; only his discontent was clear.

What’s got his tail in a twist?

“It’s not a watchman’s place to comment on what we see, Kevin.” The guard whose shadow she’d occupied growled.

Kevin’s eyes snapped up to meet his colleague’s gaze. “But those—”

“I don’t want to hear any holy talk from your lips.”

“What would a chaos drinker like you know about holy, Mitchel?” Kevin’s attention turned back towards the left corridor. “Abide not those born with any sign of beasts. Did you see that dragon-kin freak that walked by, or that rabbit girl? The princess summoned those things!”

“You forgot the rant about righteous fire purifying all. Just shut it. A hero’s pyre has redeemed many,” Mitchel replied.

“With so many summoned, the clergy should hold some last rites before any battle. I tell you they’re not to be trusted.”

The doors swung open, and an armoured, grey-haired man stepped out with a silk bundle; a hooked scar curving his upper lip didn’t distract her from it. The visible sections of cloth carried hundreds of tiny runes that matched the style of those anchored at the junction of Edith’s tails.

He glanced between the guards. “You’re no longer required. Return to your barracks and mind your tongues. The king, not the churches, will determine what happens.”

I don’t want to get stuck in their barracks. Getting found by the wrong person would see me dead.

The guards slapped an open palm to the centre of their chests and strode away down the centre course. When they turned right, a spiral staircase sat five metres ahead, and the light rod behind them stretched the guard’s shadow. A dark hiding spot in the stairs' curve beckoned. The moment his shadow touched the darkness, she tried to hop between them. Success brought a gut-punch of fresh fatigue that fought the fear shivering along her spine.

With each pounding beat of her heart, a wavering rune increasingly obscured her surroundings. Exhaustion sank its claws in until her mind swam with a fever’s slipperiness. As shadows thickened around her, Edith swam toward the hollow space under the stone treads.

At the first urge to emerge, a shove thrust her from within the darkness deep beneath the stairs. Spilling onto solid, dusty stone, the mix of earlier scents rushed back to her nose, bringing new ones. Each was a sharp, recognisable fingerprint rubbing against her mind. Along with people came musky feline scents and the sharp odour of rat fur among the dust balls under the stairs; recognisable even though she was inexperienced with her new nose.

With a dark curtain draping her sight, Edith curled into a tight ball and tucked all her tails under her chin. As she tried desperately to shrink her profile from the guard’s sight, the shapeshift rune rumbled in her mind. Before she knew it, electricity crackled along her spine, leaving a slight hollow under Edith’s heart as she shrank to the size of a fox kit.

Could I become a cat instead and sneak through the halls? Or at least so I can nap safely. I’m so punch-drunk. A small Kitsune is just a bigger target; I need to be something else.

Inspiration came from the wandering tortoiseshell from earlier, and Edith tried to push herself into the image. The same lightning blazed, but this time the surge was stronger, and ground across her spine as it warped nine tails into one. The dull hollow in her chest became a twisting knife. Even as the effect cut off, darkness crashed across her mind.

Sometime later, a swaying roused her.

With a confused blink, Edith opened her eyes. Sunlight streamed through some windows behind her, and sharp teeth gripped the back of her kitten-sized neck. The corridor wall before her face flowed past in a smooth glide. She managed a slight twist to the right and left to assess her situation. A tortoiseshell cat had her by the scruff of her neck and carried her errant prize with a scent of sharp determination. They passed guards and mingling finery-clad nobles.

A mama cat adopted a stray? How far has she already carried me?

“Be patient, little old kit. You need to learn what the royals have. I’ll deliver you to someone key; be patient and subtle.” A soft, feminine yip sounded in her ears, mingling with the mama cat’s purring. Suddenly, among the cat’s scent, a brush of lightning tickled Edith’s nose.

Do you hear my thoughts? I have so many questions.

“We speak through a courtesan rune. I can smell that you only carry our species’ basic runes. Gain a class for your body and tails, then I’ll allow you to seek me twice more.”

What do you think they have?

“I know what they have, but it’s for you to learn and find a way to it. Fail this test, and you’ll not be worth my time.”

I’ve had no guidance from anyone. Won’t you give me even a clue?

“Then four clues to be the death or change for you. She’s nearly of age to gain a class. Stick close to her. Be subtle and patient until it is time for action. Only Kitsune can find another unless we’re obvious.”

Who is nearly of age?

A giggling yip brushing her mind was her only reply.

Just then, the familiar scents of her fellow arrivals tickled Edith’s nose as the not-cat hopped onto the first tread of a marble staircase. An unhurried climb brought her to a balcony overlooking a grassed courtyard. The noonday sun set shadows between canopies and the few trees.

The general spoke about breakfast earlier, so did I lose an entire morning?

Through the gaps in the railing, she saw a crowd mingling around tables laden with roast suckling pigs, baked vegetables, sweet treats, and silver goblets. An armoured figure and scaled dragon-kin were immediately recognisable, and Edith’s sharp ears picked up familiar voices, putting faces to those who had protested and also readily agreed to help. Not even a whisper matched the first speaker's firm soprano.

Edith’s stomach grumbled, and an attempt at protest only generated a pitiful meow.

“Amber. What litter did you steal that kitten from?” The frilly edge of an embroidered blue gown blocked Edith’s view, and a cheerful, girlish voice rang out. “Release your prize, Amber, and I’ll give you a sweetmeat.”

A chirp at the back of her kidnapper's throat preceded Edith being dumped, but the girl scooped her up before she bounced.

“If you persist in speaking to animals, you might end up with a mere support class, Your Highness.” A female guard at the girl’s side cautioned as Edith tried to wiggle from the girl’s grasping hands.

Hoisted higher in a blur of decorated marble, fine silks, and fair skin, Edith found herself face to face with a coiffed young blond with green eyes who seemed a giant next to her diminutive form.

Another gurgle from Edith’s stomach drew a peal of laughter from the girl. “Amber must have brought her to be fed. Fetch a bowl of goat's milk until we find this kitten’s mother.”

Cradling Edith on her back, the princess dug into a pouch at her waist and tossed Amber the promised treat. With the sweetmeat in her mouth, Amber ran off.

Nimble fingers rubbed Edith’s ears, surprising her; the unexpected pleasure made her purr. Blushing beneath her fur, Edith tried frantically to stop her, but her attempted nips didn’t even break the skin, and the princess giggled.

“You’re such a sweetie.” The princess lifted Edith and touched their noses together.

I have to stay close to you.

As the princess touched noses with Edith again, a translucent snowy rune crossed her vision, and this time Edith caught its shape: Fox’s Kiss. In its wake, lightning coiled along her spine again, but this time it rose past her ears to the tip of her nose.

The princess blinked and smiled.

“Things haven’t been the same without Shadow sneaking into my room. I think I’ll keep her. Someone organise a box and basket for my bedroom.” The princess nestled Edith back in the crook of her arm. “We’ll keep you nice and warm.”

A brunette woman in a dark cotton dress and a white apron appeared at her shoulder. “Where shall I put the milk, Your Highness?”

“My rooms. I believe I’ll retire now. If you could begin dinner preparations.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“The rose gown and a suitable tiara.”

The woman reached for Edith, and the princess waggled a finger. “I’ve got her.”

“She’s dusty and might have fleas.”

“Nothing has bitten me. Please go ahead; make sure someone arranges some food and a box. I’ll make my excuses to my family.”

“As you wish, Princess Grace.”

Grace made her way through the crowd, accompanied by a male guard rather than the woman who’d spoken earlier. She stopped to exchange courtesies with a series of increasingly older blond women and men. Eventually, she focused on a grey-haired man wearing a circlet, a purple tabard with a gold two-headed griffon, and a long blade at his left hip. Six guards flanked him, and only one person entered their circle.

A brunette man in fine grey-and-green silks, with two wands secured to his belt, was about to step forward when Grace approached. He smiled, bowed elaborately, and waved her ahead.

The king nodded to him. “We will speak later, Earl Silverglade. However, know that you will receive Earl Baneridge’s eastern mine holdings; we will need production maintained.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll meet with Duke Ravencroft at once.” With that, Earl Silverglade stepped back two paces, bowed again, and turned away.

The king’s attention was already on his daughter, his grey gaze scanning her face. “I assume you’re retiring.”

“Yes, Father. I just came to excuse myself.”

“Then we will both leave,” the king said. “Come with me.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Have your maid take that kitten.”

“She’s gone on an errand, Father. Might I bring little Shadow with me?”

“Very well, but pick a different name,” the king said. “Your mother still misses the old fellow.”

“My apologies, Father,” Grace replied softly. “That was thoughtless of me. Perhaps Goldie for her ear tufts?”

Edith wiggled and shifted until she sat on Grace’s forearm, while the princess laughed and kept the limb across her body. “What are you doing, kitty? Are you excited to get a name?”

“Animals don’t enjoy having their stomachs exposed,” Grace’s accompanying guard said. “It's a vulnerable posture and one they use when begging for mercy or with those they trust.”

“Thank you, Arnold. Return to Grace’s rooms,” the king said. “We’ve matters to discuss. My guards will ensure her safety.”

“Their focus should always be your safety, Your Majesty,” Arnold replied.

“Steven, guard my daughter until you return her to Arnold’s care.”

“As you command.” A guard to the king’s right said, and the circle shifted.

Arnold, who had stayed by Grace’s side throughout the party, slapped an open palm to the centre of his chest. Dropping the salute, he took two crisp steps back, then shifted his gaze from the king and turned away.

“To the throne room.” His Majesty motioned to Grace, and she stepped to his left. As he walked forward, a wave swept through the talking nobles; they turned to face him and cleared his path to the exit on the courtyard’s far side. Most of Edith’s fellow arrivals followed their lead, but some kept talking among themselves, or eating, including the dragon-kin and Edith’s initial armoured ride.

The guards led them through bright, windowed corridors of gleaming marble, with tapestries spread out between doors showing various noble heraldry and hunting scenes. As they went deeper into the building, the windows vanished, and crystals in overhead chandeliers lit the corridors from both directions, leaving barely a shadow in sight.

Their trip led them into a corridor with solid grey granite walls, ending at a set of polished golden oak doors that stood six metres tall.

Flanking guards pushed them open as soon as the king’s group came into view.

Beyond lay an expansive hallway with a high, vaulted ceiling; along the first two-thirds, lower-ceilinged areas with seating lined each side. The polished stone floor along the hall's centre bore a churning-wave pattern that led to a runic circle just before the dais's lowest steps. The froth of the waves broke around the circle and the dais where two thrones sat.

The group marched down the length of the grand hall and, stepping around a false wall behind the thrones, entered a narrow corridor. Both sides held a mosaic depicting a repeating royal parade. The same fellow led the group each time through a unique landscape, holding an orb of light aloft.

“I would talk with my daughter in private. Secure the ends; ensure no one enters. All of you.”

Three guards stepped back out the door they had just entered, while another three, including Steven, strode ahead and out the door at the other end. He waited until the doors closed, then touched a ring on his left hand and set it aglow.

“You are to show no one, nor indicate or hint to anyone what I’m about to show you. Is that clear?”

“Of course, I swear I will share it with no one. What is this about, Father?”

“Given that there are inexperienced class holders among us, I’d like you to join their training and observe them. To facilitate that, you’ll need a class.”

Grace frowned and motioned back towards the hall. “Then why aren’t I before the throne, swearing to you and the gods of light?”

“There is a way that gives stronger results. It is for direct royals alone, clear? No mention of what you see to anyone.”

“Yes, Father.”

The king guided her down the corridor and traced a pattern across the right mosaic, his fingertips pressing harder on the orbs the crowned man held aloft.

With only the faintest click, the floor behind them swung down, and the long corridor became a gentle slope. At its base stood a solid door bearing symbols that blended Old Norse Runes and Katakana. Though Edith could pick out words here and there, her limited grasp of the Japanese script didn't let her determine their full meaning.

“The magic ensures anyone without direct royal blood opening this door will perish.”

Grace started. “Who put them in place?”

“King Edward the First; his works have stood the test of time. Put your palm on the centre of the door.”

Without hesitation, Grace stepped forward and placed her palm on a double pentagram; the door swung silently toward them.

He just tested her paternity.

The king pulled the door open further, revealing a small, square chamber with another rune-covered door on the opposite side. On the left wall sat a bench, with a covered basin in a niche behind it. A long stone chest sat at the base of the right wall. The king stepped forward, took the stone lid from the basin, and set it on the bench.

“Put your amulet and rings in the basin. You can’t take anything enchanted beyond here.”

“What would happen?” Grace asked.

“Magic behaves like lightning and strikes the tallest metal object on its way to the ground, even ignoring trees.” As he spoke, the king divested himself of items, shedding three rings, an amulet, his tabard, armour, and sword, and placing them in the chest. “

Once Grace followed his instructions, the king recapped the basin, then unsealed the second door in the same way.

As they entered the next chamber, the king plucked Edith from the princess’s embrace. Crystals around the room lit with a foxfire glow, illuminating an irregular gem-studded rock resting in a granite cradle. Each gemstone held a soft white light at its core. Above the rock, a circle matching the pattern before the throne gleamed on the ceiling.

“You might never enter here again. However, if it comes to pass that you need to bring a child in here and the crystals don’t light, someone uninvited has violated the wards.”

“I’ll remember, Father.”

“Put your hand on a gem to receive a class.”

This is what Amber meant. Now how the heck do I get back in? Can I bypass opening a door?

“But the gods give classes,” Grace protested.

“The gods of light gave our ancestors this relic. Now follow my instructions,” the king ordered.

The princess stiffened, then curtsied smoothly. Approaching the rock, she stood on tiptoe to touch a gem at the centre of its nearest face.

From her position in the king’s arms, Edith clearly saw the princess’s delicate hand make contact. All the uncut gems embedded in the rock pulsed with light, and then briefly dimmed.

“What did the voice say?” the king asked, as Edith staggered back a step.

“Exalted cavalry,”

There is nothing exalted about a cavalry charge met by prepared polearms.

“It seems you enjoyed your riding lessons and time in the stable too much. Very well, the class will see to your growth,” the king said. “It’s time to put your pretty things aside. You’ll start more complex weapon drills in the morning.”

“Physical class runes amplify hard-won skills,” the princess murmured.

Really? What are the limits on that?

“You listen when it suits you. I had hoped it would bestow something better suited to ranged combat, but needs must. You’ve heard others speak of their vision dreams; follow the same pattern.”

Oh, so some nobles slipped free of being indebted for being provided a class.

“Should I announce it in a few days?”

“Tomorrow morning is fine. I’ll have a tutor wake you before breakfast with the first runes you should master. After breakfast, you’ll join the first classes and start your duty.”

“I don’t understand what this is about, Father. What did you mean by observe the heroes?”

“While the instructors drill them, I need you to keep your eyes and ears open and monitor everything they say and do. Try to get them to let their guard down.”

Yeah, too many loudmouths in the group have you on guard. Idiots. They run their mouths when they know neither the politics nor who cares whether they live or die.

“I’m to spy? I thought the heroes were our most trusted allies against the demonic hordes?”

“These are not all heroes,” the king said, turning cold. “We will tell the people that the gods granted us many heroes, but most are merely bystanders in the wrong place, caught up in the summoning. Indeed, some have already indicated their dissatisfaction with the situation, to the point of being ready for violence.”

“But we have a hero at least?” Grace breathed, her eyes widening.

“One plus individuals who seem interested in aiding us. Yet even the hero isn’t happy that nearly fifty people died with her, though she says she understands our desperation. Keep in mind that anything they say or do could be part of a plot against us. Learn their manner of speaking and behaving as if they were any foreign envoy and watch for things that don’t fit.”

“Yes, Father,” Grace’s shoulders barely slumped. With a firm nod, the king handed Edith back to her. Rather than let Grace hold her, Edith hopped onto her shoulder and marked her cheek.

“Your whiskers tickle, Goldie,” Grace protested.

“I know you like your fiancée, but we will discreetly dissolve your engagement. The kingdom will need you to marry one of the summoned when you are of age. Though the choice will be yours this time, I’d prefer you not select a frontline warrior. Someone out of the immediate fray is more likely to survive the coming war.”

Will she be in that fray? Or will he hold her back to guard her husband?

“Yes, Father. Do you think they’ll view that as properly binding? They come from a different culture,” Grace said.

“The gods will, and the histories you’ll now get to study show that their bindings hold even a summoned.” The king bent and brushed Grace’s face. “I can’t believe you’re nearly fourteen. How the years have flown.”

“Only to you, Father. To me, they sometimes seem to crawl.”

“That’s the pleasure and curse of youth.”

Ushering her from the chamber, the king resealed the inner room.

He carried me inside, so I should be right to return, but how do I get back in? I’m not risking opening the door.

From her perch on Grace’s shoulder, Edith eyed the door. As they redressed, she fastened on the darkness in the clearance at its base.

In silence, the king sealed the outer room. Before they ascended the ramp, he touched the same ring on his left hand that had been aglow earlier, restoring its shine. When they reached the flat section at the top, he pressed against the chest of a mosaic horse in the upper corridor. A deep click tugged at Edith’s hearing, speaking of the pressure the push had required.

“Now there is one more thing.” The king lifted Edith and set her on the floor, then cupped Grace’s face, his expression softening as his gaze gleamed. “Your sister is dying. The healers and priests agree that the strain of the summoning cracked her life vessel. Her heart is failing, and she has perhaps days.”

“Oh, Lynne,” Grace cried.

She loves her sister.

He held Grace close as she burst into tears. Though Lynne had caused Edith’s death and that of the others, Edith pressed against Grace’s leg, trying to add some small comfort to the grieving teenager.