Capture

The Grand Mercantile Republic of the
Foxes is ruled by the Doge, who is elected with the assent of
thirty-three Senators, one from each of the former independent Fox
Republics, who in turn, are elected by the Populace of the Republic,
with the exception of territories lost to foreign occupiers, in which
case the Senator will remain in office until death and the position
will pass to his next of kin until said territory is regained.

In cases of political turmoil,
however, the Doge can begin the process for voting on a Dictator, who
rules with absolute power for as long as they deem needed or until
they pass away.

There are several rules governing this
process, most rooted in logic, others in rational traditions, while
others are based in the culture, quirks, and even vanities of the
Foxes:

The first rule, above all else: the
Doge starts the process of appointing a Dictator, but the Senate must
choose and vote on a candidate.

The
chill night air swept over the endless plains of the Carpathian Basin
and I could not help but shiver, despite my being swathed entirely in
a thickly padded gambeson and trousers to match. I watched the
horizon, at the flickering campfires that barely revealed the
silhouettes of tents, soldiers on patrol, and the occasional horse. A
large banner fluttered against the night sky, but I could not even
attempt to tell whose it was.

“You're
certain?" I whispered to the brown-furred fox laying on the dirt
next to me. I passed him the round spyglass.

“My
scouts are the best," Vito said, scratching the tip of his nose
before putting the glass to his eye, “you know this. Otherwise you
wouldn't be this far into wolf territory."

“Rightful
fox territory," I corrected him.

“Not
according to the Treaty of 3134."

“We're
here to rewrite that Treaty."

My
horse snorted and began to rise, I planted a paw on the back of his
neck and shushed, petting and coaxing him back to the ground.

I
sniffed at the air, breathing in a range of scents. The heavy scent
of horse dung being the most prominent, and then came the variety of
smells from my soldiers, mostly of anticipation. But off in the
distance came burnt charcoal, windswept grass, and cooked meat with
paprika. It had been a long time since the wolves occupied the Basin
and my family had to flee, but I remembered our human slaves often
cooked meals like that. We had to leave them behind in the flight and
we just couldn't afford a cook, let alone one that cooked food like
that, after we we ended up in Vulpezia. My dear sister, Sophia tried
to replicate the foods from our childhood, but she was far too young
at the time to remember.

I
sighed wistfully. Even now, nostalgia was a powerful emotion. Were
the wolves not at war with us, I would have loved to see how much
they'd sell their cook for. But we were at war and my orders were
to get Carpathia back at all cost. My own ambitions extended further
than that, but I had the Doge's commands and I would follow. If it
were up to me, I'd have foxes marching in the streets of Lupercal
in two years.

And
I would kiss that old bastard Romulus on the lips for making this
possible. He may have won in the short-term, but his step-son, Aokus,
was about to lose everything. Humans were running wild in the Alphate
now thanks to Romulus, Canis turn his blood to stone; and their
central command was crumbling.

But
it was not up to me and I would have to settle for liberating my
childhood home. Perhaps when that was done, the Senate would give the
orders to continue. Perhaps they'd realize that the Doge was a good
ruler in peacetime, not in war, and perhaps they'd remove that
prissy fool Beaumont as Marshal and elect someone more worthy for the
honor.

Or
perhaps for a greater position than Marshal and even the Doge...

“Lieutenant,
return to your soldiers on the southern position. Mount your horses
and wait for my command."

“Yes,
General Marco."

I
grabbed Vito by his padded shoulder and stopped him from leaving. I
continued, “Promise the lads a share of the ransom for whoever
brings me the Kutlar."

“Yes
General."

“Not
too big of a share! It's a royal ransom, even a small fraction
would be a fortune for them."

“Aye,
General."

Vito
tried to lift himself up, but I stopped him once again.

“One
last thing," I whispered, putting my muzzle close to his long ear,
“if you see a human cook, capture him and bring him to me."

“Sir?"

“The
humans here cook food fit for a kit of Canis. It would do wonders for
morale," I said, releasing my grip. “No unnecessary risks
though."

Vito
nodded and silently slipped away into the dark, tail trailing behind
until the white tip of it vanished as well.

I
trusted Vito. He was a tough fox from a poor family in the Alpini
mountains and he quickly became a master at warfare in the mountains
and the forests when I was on my first campaign there against the
bandits hiding in the long-abandoned steel cities that the humans
once occupied in the Bavarian Wastes. We were not in his favored
terrain, but as soon as the raid was done, we'd escape back into
the forest and the wolves would dare not follow. Their cavalry and
heavy infantry were no match for our skirmishers and they knew this.
They would try and force us into a decisive battle, but only fools
like Beaumont sought a battle like that. I valued my soldier's
lives and they knew it. A campaign of harassment and raids wasn't
clean or noble, but it would give us enough valuables and captives to
send back to Vulpezia and bolster the morale of the common folk and
the Senate, and eventually the wolves would have to withdraw. Even
that filthy pirate we called Admiral Philippe, knew this and harassed
the wolf-controlled Dalmatian coast rather than engage in a suicidal
grand battle.

South
of the camp, a long torch dotted the horizon. It was time.

Hopping
into the saddle, my horse rose with a grunt. Unsheathing my saber, I
pointed to the camp, “Charge!"

The
ground rumbled with the pounding of hoof-beats and a horn blared out.
Vito received the signal and I soon saw one hundred torches alight
along his and they began to dart towards the camp.

“Yah!"
I screamed, kicking my horse into a gallop behind the rest of my
soldiers, whose torches were now burning bright.

This
was life. The smell of horse sweat, the wind crashing against my fur,
and the anticipation of blood. Soon, the result of all my planning
would come to fruition and the wolves would be left licking their
wounds.

They
were mounting their horses when we reached the perimeter of the camp.
Their commander was not paying attention and although wolves were
fierce and organized when their chain of command was functional, if
one link broke, they were like lost kits; easy prey. They didn't
have any idea of how to deal with a sudden raid and would soon be
humiliated.

Our
blades clashed against the first group, cutting down either the
wolven riders, many of whom didn't have their armor fully donned,
or their horses, sending the rider crashing to the ground with their
steed.

We
threw our torches onto their tents, setting them ablaze in a glorious
inferno. By now, the whole camp was scattering about in chaos. This
was where you had to be careful. Even a terrified wolf was capable of
picking up a spear and figuring out what any fox knew when invaded by
riders. Those were the ones you had to give a wide berth. Raids were
not a matter of killing everyone you saw, it was far better to steal
an extra morsel of meat than to slay another soldier. Hunger would
led to their death or desertion in the long game and that was the
game I was playing.

We
emerged into the center of the camp and I ordered the lads to go wild
for a minute and then we were to retreat. They scattered, charging
off in all directions with their horses, setting tents ablaze and
snatching up sacks of goods.

A
horse screamed to my right and I prepared my sword, stopping myself
only when I saw brown Vito atop his equally brown stallion.

“General,"
Vito reported, putting his paw to his heart, “I'm afraid I
haven't found the human. I fear you will lay alone tonight."

“Vito,
you bastard!" I laughed. “It's for the food!"

“Ah,
then perhaps I might lay with him, General?"

“Feel
free, just don't interfere with his cooking!" I ordered. Raising
my muzzle, I sniffed at the air, taking in the scent of burning
canvas and grain. Opening my eyes, I turned back to Vito. “How
about the royal?"

Vito
narrowed his yellow eyes, peering past me, “I think they might
know."

I
glanced back and caught our cue to leave. Five wolves in heavy,
splint armor atop barded horses, their swords were drawn and they
were charging towards us. Imperial bodyguards, no doubt.

“Let's
go! Retreat!" I ordered and the blare of the horn followed. I
slapped the reins and bade my horse to gallop, following Vito's
lead. Arrows began to plunk into the ground without any care as to
who they actually hit. Still, it would not matter if they hit a wolf
or two, so long as one landed in my horse's flank. That would be
enough for them to put me down for good and a fox tail would be
flying on the pole beneath their banner come the morning.

“Yah!
Yah! Yah!"

My
horse nearly stumbled over a shattered crate, but quickly righted
itself and continued the retreat. I peered back, catching little in
my gaze but the blazing campsite. The arrows had halted and they
would soon fall back to tend to their site. Slyly grinning, I
regrouped with my soldiers and headed for the woods.

“General!
We have a problem!"

Vito
was at my side, holding onto the reins of his galloping horse with
all his might. His ears were flattened and his teeth were bared in
distress.

“What?
Speak!" I growled.

“They're
chasing us."

I
didn't have time to look back and confirm, but I trusted Vito, even
if it was an unbelievably idiotic tactic. I pressed onward, only
slowing when we had little choice, being surrounded by trees that any
fox with half a brain, or a horse with half a brain for that matter,
would realize that galloping through would result in someone getting
injured from a low branch. I reared my horse to a halt next to Vito,
whose tongue was drooping out as he panted. Sure enough, off in the
distance were torches bouncing towards us, some one hundred or so.

“They're
not supposed to do that," I said.

“They
are, General," Vito said between panting gasps.

“They
are," I repeated, still in disbelief.

“You
see, General? I told you this would happen eventually."

“You
did," I said with a sigh. “Good thing I listened to you. READY!"

The
branches above us rustled, followed by the stretching of sinew as our
light crossbowfoxes readied their bows. These skirmishers were picked
and trained by Vito personally in case of a zealous pursuit against
us and they had not tasted much blood on this campaign. It was time
to see what they could do.

The
beat of hooves grew closer and closer, until the ground started
rumbling under the weight of their heavy cavalry. Our horsefoxes had
already dismounted and were planting stakes into the ground and
bracing their pikes for impact; I joined them, it was only fair I
stand by my foxes when we're caught in a corner.

“Fire!"

Bowstrings
sang as bolts flew. Horses screamed and armored bodies fell to the
ground. They were completely unprepared. I expected at least the
bodyguards to realize that they were running into a trap. Their
loyalty to their commander was impressive, if foolish. A fox with any
self-respect would have never done this for such an unworthy general.

A
few wolves made it past the salvo, but they were lightly armored
cavalry and our pikes pierced their chests. Our pike wall only broke
when a newly riderless horse charged through us, heedless of the
danger, and trampled a few of my soldiers.

But
finally, they seemed to understand that we had the upper hand. With
the elite bodyguards having rushed to their doom, the light cavalry
was in retreat and their infantry was leaving before they even had a
chance to engage with us. As regimental as wolves were, they were
fully capable of acting like a cowardly fox when pressed hard enough.

There
was one who was having a bit of trouble retreating though. A
silhouette of a horse kicked angrily and screamed. The rider seemed
to be struggling to stay in the saddle, let alone trying to calm his
horse.

The
rest of the soldiers were now safely distant, so I bade my horse to
trot. Vito quickly followed suit.

“General,
it's dangerous."

A
lantern was tied to the saddlebags of the horse, providing a little
bit of light, enough to show that the horse was dressed in a rich
caparison that bore the heraldry of the Kutlar dynasty atop red and
white horizontal stripes. Sitting atop the angry, white horse was a
young, gray wolf wearing a ridiculous, ceremonial, gilded mail. His
jeweled scabbard was empty and his hands were pre-occupied with
holding onto the reins and the saddle.

“Help!"
he cried out in Wolven, looking at me with his amber-gold eyes in
panic.

Lowering
my voice, I talked to the horse, trying to calm it down.

“General,
do not approach it. It's not used to foxes!"

I
waved back at Vito in dismissal.

“Easy,
easy there..." I whispered, padding closer.

The
horse snorted and kicked one last time, causing me to freeze. But
then it planted both its hooves on the ground. It was still agitated,
but we were getting somewhere.

“I'm
going to come closer," I purred, taking a step closer. The horse
flinched a little when I put my hand on its nose, but seemed to calm
down after it took a sniff. I ran my hand across the side of his
face, letting him know it was okay.

Finally,
it seemed to let its guard down and relax. The fire was far behind us
and the weapons were silent, so he began to calm down.

I
reached up and gently took the reins from the wolf who did not resist
in the slightest until I started guiding the horse towards the woods.

“Hey!
Where-"

I
peered up at him. His fangs were bared but his ears were forward. He
looked ridiculous, like a pup trying to be threatening. He was an
adult by age, but not in composure.

“You're
now a beloved guest of General Marco of the Foxen Republic," I
said, flashing him a toothy grin, “as far as you're concerned,
I'm your Alpha and you will obey me."

“Oh..."

That
was all he said as I took control of his horse with him still atop
it. Riding a horse tended to give someone a sense of nobility, that
they were above those who walked on their own two feet. Even the
fennec tribals of Africa, small though they were, were fierce-looking
on their steeds. But this wolf, letting a fox guide his war-horse
while he sat atop it, looked like a pup on his training pony. It
harkened back to the days before the Kutlars took power in the
Alphate, when foxes, not wolves, controlled who became Alpha.

Things
were so much simpler back then.

It
wasn't long before we were greeted by the smell of burnt wood and
charred meat. The simple palisade of the camp soon emerged from the
hills, invisible were it not for the torches lining the entrance. I
was greeted with cheers and salutes from the reserve forces. My
prisoner was likewise greeted with laughter, insults, and lewd
comments, which were lost on the wolf who, not knowing a single word
of Foxen, smiled awkwardly and waved as I led his horse through the
camp.

“Kutlar,
what's your name?

“I-I'm
not a Kutlar!"

Sighing,
I rubbed at my forehead, “Pup, you're riding a horse with Kutlar
heraldry. I don't tolerate liars in my army, but since that was
such a terrible lie and you've clearly had a rough day, I won't
have you flogged until your pelt falls off. Now give me your name."

“B-but
I'm not! Sort of..."

“What
do you mean?"

He
shifted in his saddle, paw nearly slipping out of the stirrup and he
would have likely tumbled head-first onto the ground, had I not
grabbed him by the side and helped him back into his seat. I wanted
to keep my prize intact.

“Thank
you, Alpha..." he trailed off on the last word, peering off to the
side as if he was ashamed about what he just called me. Voice
lowered, he finally spilled the truth. “My name is Galip and I'm
from the Pesht-Kutlars. We're a cadet branch of the dynasty and
we're not in the line of succession."

My
heart sank for a moment. I knew it was too good to be true, a direct
relative of the Alpha patrolling the outer rim of the Alphate,
waiting to be snatched up. My ears perked up when I looked over the
first part of his family name. Pesht was the Wolven name for Pest,
the largest city in the region and the key to controlling the Danube.
I knew that the governor of the city was a former commoner that was
given the position by Romulus, Canis poison his blood; but surely
this prisoner had family who had some sway in the city.

“Succession?"
I laughed, reaching up and patting the wolf on the back. “Oh, you
poor, simple wolf. Your dynasty was founded by people breaking the
laws of succession and forcing themselves into the throne. Why, do
you know how much power you hold here in Carpathia? There's enough
ranch-land to feed all the wolves in Lupercal indefinitely!"

“B-but
we only control a small estate outside the city. My father advises
the governor, but..."

“Well,
I'm sure he'll pay a fine ransom for his son," I handed the
reins off to a soldier and grabbed Galips paw, helping him off the
horse. He landed with a shake and barely noticed my soliders began to
strip his scabbard and mail from him, revealing a red linen shirt and
brown trousers. With an evil grin, the kind only a fox could make, I
continued, “and if not, the slave merchants will pay the ransom
instead."

“No!"
he exclaimed and tried to lunge forward, but was stopped by my
guards, who grabbed him by the arms. He fell to his knees in the dirt
as they began to bind his wrists behind his back. He looked up at me,
golden eyes pleading for mercy.

It
was an idle threat. I didn't intend to sell him off, despite the
fact that a royal wolf would fetch a fine price in the Leopard
Shahdom or among the Lion Chieftains; I wanted him for the same
reason they did: as a show of dominance over the Alphate. Not just to
give a cowardly wolf commander pause, but to let my soldiers know
that foxes can and will control even the most powerful of wolves.
Personally, I couldn't wait to hear the first wild rumors of what I
was doing to my prisoner and why I wouldn't give him up.

But
he needed to believe it. He needed to fear what I could do to him. He
was a simple pup, but it was likely he knew something of value and if
he did, I wanted to know.

Snarling,
I grabbed him by the chin of his muzzle. His ears flattened and his
eyes shut in an instant, flinching away from me.

“Look
at me."

The
tips of his fangs appeared from behind his jowls. I stopped him from
thinking any further.

“LOOK
AT ME!"

Pointing
his muzzle at me and holding it in place, I waited. His fangs
retracted and his eyelids slowly quivered open. His golden eyes were
now staring at mine, pupils wide and round with fear.

“I
am your Alpha and I will do whatever I please with you, do you
understand!?"

Galip
whimpered pathetically, but said nothing.

“Do
you understand!?"

Galip's
fur was bristled and he was shaking like a leaf. His inner weakness
was coming into conflict with his noble pride. It was one thing
having a fox take control of his horse, but the thought of a dirty
vulpine having full control over whether he would be a noble or slave
was eating him up on the inside.

He
didn't deserve this. He was just some dumb pup born to a noble
family and given unreasonable levels of command. He reminded me of
Marshal Beaumont, except with far less self-confidence. It made Galip
more bearable individually, but made him even worse of a leader.

Still,
he would not respond to my order. He looked and reeked of fear, but I
needed to hear the words.

Sighing,
I pointed at one of the soldiers behind him, “Take him to the hole.
Give him a gulp of water and no food."

The
soldier, a black-furred fox in chain-mail, grabbed the wolf from
behind the wrists and bade him to move, which Galip did in utmost
silence. It wasn't long before they were both gone.

I
returned to my tent, leaving Vito in charge of the camp. Putting my
sword on the rack and taking off my plate and gambeson, I curled up
in my sleeping bag and drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow, I'd meet
with Salvia, then I'd know what to do with my prisoner.