Chapter 172: Lord Hound

Chapter 172: Lord Hound

The Courier raced through the parlors and passages of the estate, pushing his hound for speed. The brave dog had already run for half a day, carrying his foot tall rider and his messenger’s pouch. Now, aided by an illusion of a tasty rabbit, he sped through the ancient palace.

Coming upon a banquet with noble lords and ladies seated and slurping upon a tasty tureen of turtle soup he spurred his hound and they leaped upon the table, dashing by the amused fae nobles until only a few feet from the Summer Lord at the end of the long table. The hound stopped on a dime, and stole a pheasant from the table since the rabbit was gone. The pixie Courier dismounted in a forward leap and full tumble, sticking the landing and avoiding a mishap with a butter dish. The Summer Lord raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Harken, Lord, for I have a tale.

Of offers made, and deals of trade,

To mortal realms across the veil.

A village strange, with tasty brews,

They wish to talk, and you to walk,

I hurried here to spread the news.

There was mild applause. This was better entertainment than what the group of bards had provided all night. The Summer Lord took a ring from his finger and gave it to the Courier who placed it upon his own arm. "While bad news should never be punished, good news can be rewarded. My guests, please be merry and carry on with the feast. I appoint this valiant hound as my proxy, heed his wishes as you would my own."

Alwyn quickly scanned down through the long list of quests. 'A boar of good breeding to produce litters of no less than 17 pigs for 7 years'. Time consuming. He would have to cast the Blessing of Fecundity every time the damned pigs got horny. He'd leave that to someone who enjoyed watching such things. 'An opponent for a game of chess each day for seven years.' Some mortal was lonely. There were fae who would fight for such a quest. It was a popular game. He scrolled through hundreds of such quests until he got near the end where Fae Blessings were given to villages of peasants.

"Zounds! All of this for one village?! How did this come about? Did you have time for research?" Alwyn's eyes were wide as he looked down at TwitterBerry.

"Nope. I just got on my hound and rode him hard. But I heard some talk about the place as I was waiting for the list to be posted. Old DingleBerry was drinking hard again and I brought him a bottle to keep him drinking. He may be old and stinky, but Privy Warden to the High King is a respected job, and he hears a lot. He boasted that the High King might visit this collection of hovels on his next tour of the mortal realms.

"He said that Oberon became intrigued about the place when a bard sang of it. Most of the song was the usual shit they make up: Lonely women of surpassing beauty, Evil Butchers stealing souls with enchanted bacon, Shepherds whose flocks become monsters to eat the world...you've heard a lot of it before."

"But one thing the bard also said: The woman that rules the village is a lost daughter of the Fae, and has five daughters she has never seen. Sound familiar?"

Alwyn spoke in a whisper. "The strange robin that told the tale and then dived into Queen Cethlenn's mouth, nearly choking her to death. That one?"

TwitterBerry nodded. "Yep. The Lonely Barmaid. All of those quests are linked to her. Not my place to ever tell you what to do. But if I was a minor lord of the Fae and wanted to gain the court's attention, then taking a walk over to a strange little village might be worth the time. Gold to be made as well. Not many people are trading in the mortal realms, and I hear things are heating up down there.

Alwyn smiled. "I won't thank you for the advice you never give. My decision is made on my own, and with a clear mind." He put his initials next to each favor to be granted and felt the power leave him, and his realm. It was a substantial undertaking, but you couldn't win if you didn't throw the dice.

Rolling the scroll back up, he placed it into his desk, and quickly wrote out a letter claiming the quests. A formality, but a necessary one. The palace scribes loved to have all important agreements in their files. He handed it to TwitterBerry. "Deliver to the court, but not until tomorrow. You need some rest, and it seems Lord Hound is popular."

TwitterBerry agreed. "Sounds good to me. How about we open another couple of bottles then, and have the kitchen send in that stag they had on the spit? Rides like that make me hungry as a wolf."