Even though Red was still out of commission, his condition was now stable. The council agreed to have him moved to one of the spacious rooms adjacent to the main hall. There, he would remain in the care of the mystics for the duration of the rites, and once that was done, they would surrender him into LongHorn’s custody. LongHorn was then guaranteed an escort back to the Red Grove, should he see it fit to remove the General to his home for recuperation.

LongHorn nodded his thanks before taking his father’s seat with the other members of the council. Although he had been allowed leave to watch over Red, he’d chosen to continue attending the session in Red’s stead. Once all was in order, the King called for all the attendants to resume their seats and positions before calling upon Goto to relay the message.

⯁⯁⯁

Calf ushered Goto to the center, taking his position two steps behind him once the ram had taken his own. The separation was meant to highlight who’s turn it was on the podium, and the rest of the people in attendance took it as was intended. Every eye was focused on Goto as every pair’s owner waited impatiently for whatever his account would bring to light. They didn’t have to wait for long, as Goto got to recounting his tale immediately after honoring the King with the address that was due to him.

Although the council hadn’t prompted him for a history lesson, with himself as the subject matter, the River King’s instructions were to precede the message with an accounting of his origins, as well as how he’d found himself a messenger for the River King. His story started 2 years before his forced conscription into the Red Grove military chapter, a time when he still had a name. He’d lacked a moniker back then, going only by a name his parents had found apt in part due to the color of his fur, and also as a symbol of their wishes for their son’s life. Grey. That was the color of experiences they wished on their spawn, equal parts black and white, challenges with enough rewards at their end to make it all worth it.

He’d been travelling with his parents on a trek through Liminos. His parents had been honest satyr-folk, his father being an herbalist and his mother a needle-maiden. Travelling hadn’t been new to him, for theirs was a migrant lifestyle. His father would search for all manner of plants for his craft whilst his mother hawked her wares whenever she got the chance.

This had all changed that fateful year. They’d arrived in the red groves, making short work of their wares in the city. They had already planned their next trip, a short excursion into the darker forests of Greater Liminos. Even though the trip would be much riskier than their other endeavors, Grey knew it would pay off. His father had regaled him with tales of beastly creatures that could be found lurking in the darker forests, but this hadn’t been enough to dissuade his interests in the unknown lands. This was due to the riches his father had told him about, treasures that could only be gained by risking a journey there.

For herbalists like his father, the dense forests were like a treasure trove of invaluable flora. The plant matter would be useful in the making of poisons, as well as remedies for exotic maladies and venoms, whose prices would continue to rise the further they were sold from their source. He couldn’t wait for the day to arrive, but the trip was never to be, for a few days before their planned departure date, Red’s main platoon had returned to the city.

On normal occasions, their return would have been heralded by cheers and parties for days to come, but this time was different. They’d returned all beaten and bruised, a sight the red grove inhabitants weren’t used to. Ever cautious, his father had instructed the mother-and-son pair to stay put while he gathered intel on what might have happened, and the expected response. He’d initially left their spot in hopes of finding a last-minute use for his portions and skills before their journey, but when he’d returned, he’d sung a different tune.

According to the hushed whispers, the army suspected they had a mole in their midst, and Red had plans to ferret them out. Upon hearing this, Grey’s father had abandoned all thoughts of staying around long enough to find out how they intended to find their ferret. They’d all barely slept a wink by the break of dawn, haunted by thoughts of what might happen if they couldn’t leave. How could they?

When fear plagued the masses and restlessness boiled over, foreign elements often found themselves the vent for such unsettled energies. Even though the first time they’d set foot in the red groves was only a few days before, this wouldn’t mean much in the face of those looking for an enemy in the unknown. Logic wouldn’t be their ally either, for though it dictated a mole had to be someone who could blend in, and their ‘new’ status challenged this; the fact his parents were travelling merchants would work against them in that regard. On the contrary, their mobile nature would actually allow them to pick up a lot of information in their travels, and no one would question where they came from, or where they would go after. Without a way to defend themselves, all they could do was depart before someone caught up to them.

⯁⯁⯁

Their hurried flight had soon turned out to be the worst choice. The previous night, the disseminator of the whispered rumors had noticed a new face in their midst, immediately latching onto them as a suspect for the misfortune that had befallen them on the battlefield. He held the position of major in their company and approached the prospect of unmasking a traitor as a quick way to advance in rank. His suspicions about Grey’s father had only grown upon sensing the herbalist’s interest in their hushed conversations. Even though they’d been instructed to keep their suspicions close to heart, the major had figured he could contain the leak. He mentioned the suspicions in the newcomer’s presence in efforts of forcing a reactionary action, were the herbalist the mole. He hadn’t been disappointed.

The herbalist’s eyebrows had twitched, albeit almost imperceptibly; at the mention of a traitor, but that wouldn’t be enough to incriminate him. The herbalist had stuck around for a while after that thread of conversation, leaving at the end of another random conversation as to not appear suspicious. Once he’d exited the bounds of the company’s circle, he’d headed for a resting spot, where he’d met up with his wife and son. Probably props to substantiate his disguise, thought the major, as he observed from his position. He’d signaled three of his men to help him tail and listen in on the suspect’s communications, whilst a fourth had gone to fetch a second major to corroborate his story later.

The second major, a juvenile elephantaur, joined them shortly, albeit from 30 meters away. The first major, a regular minotaur, had cited his counterpart’s size and loudness as a detriment to approaching the suspect but in reality, this hadn’t ben the only reason. He’d also wanted to ensure the elephantaur wouldn’t be close enough to challenge his claim to the credit. The surveilling team had taken the herbalist’s decision to fly the coop as proof of his involvement in the plot against them, conveniently ignoring his reasoning behind the choice. With enough to incriminate the herbalist’s group, the watchers moved further away from their rest spot, lest they spook tomorrow’s quarry before the hunt.

⯁⯁⯁

The parent-and-child trio had been caught just before entering the darker forests, but they’d been far from almost succeeding in their attempt at running away. The capture spot had been by design, close enough to the darker forests that their destination wouldn’t be in question, but far enough as to not endanger their pursuers.

The minotaur major had expected the herbalist to make a run for it, but contrary to his expectations, he hadn’t. He’d stood between the major’s team and his family instead, making the major wonder if that family was more than just a ruse. Putting the theory to the test, he’d engaged the herbalist whilst his flanks captured the mother-and-son pair. Once they’d been subdued, the herbalist gave up resisting, and instead surrendered to the major.

They’d returned to the camp with the hogtied trio trussed up like carcasses for the spit. The major had assigned a few of his men to rile up a crowd in time for their return, and that crowd was waiting for them when they returned. They’d been serenaded by the cheers of the crowd all the way to the town square, where they placed their load for the townsfolk’s amusement.

The trio had stood up well to questioning, with the facts of their travels supporting their innocence. Even though he hated to admit it, the major had doubts on whether he’d been right to rush his judgement, especially with the debacle of a victory parade, but it was too late to back down now.

When it looked like his rushed investigation’s results would land him in trouble, the elephantaur major had backed him up, asking for an audience with one of the colonels to corroborate his story and bring this whole issue to its conclusion. He’d initially thought the other major would rat him out on the details he’d left out from the herbalist’s conversation with his family. This might be possible, in a bid to get one up over him, but to his surprise, the colonel had returned with only praise for him.

It seems the elephantaur had credited him as the brains behind all this, and whatever else he’d said, it seemed to have convinced the colonel. The colonel mentioned the inconsistencies in his theory and the facts provided by the suspect in question. He didn’t care how, but the minotaur major was expected to get a confession out of the herbalist before sunrise the next day.

As hard as this was going to be, he believed whatever means he’d be forced to use would be justified by the ends; because if he avoided such means, then the only end to be met would be his. Torturing the accused wouldn’t do, for they would be seen at their public confession and the final judgement. Given the herbalist’s docile demeanor so far, if they roughed him up, then it would be clear to all at a glance that his sudden confession had been compelled. The major had to get creative, and that he did, turning to what he knew the man valued above his own life against him. His family.

He'd removed them to a secluded area under the cover of night, gagging and securing the couple side-by-side, with their son in front of them. The major had asked, “Are you the mole?” which he’d meant as a rhetorical question, seeing as the herbalist couldn’t answer it.

He’d signaled for one of his men to bring him the ‘artifact’, which had turned out to be a horseshoe. This seemed strange, for one, none of them would require one, and second, even if one of them did, the size didn’t match anyone’s hooves.

It didn’t take long for the parent couple to realize what the major intended, and upon realization, they began bucking in their restraints. The major whispered for them to stay still and quiet, lest they startle him, and he do irreparable damage to their son’s foot. The parents watched helplessly as the major hammered their son’s hooves till each appeared uncloven around their horseshoe. As if the blunt force hadn’t been enough, the major applied hot tongs to mold each foot after the reconstruction.

When this was done, the major asked if the herbalist was ready to confess, and he nodded yes, thus ending the major’s coercion for a confession. With their restraints and gags removed, the couple ran to gather their prone son into the arms. His mother whispered comforting ministrations as she rocked him back and forth, whilst his father just stared at his broken son’s form. Though his fur and skin would remain pale for a while after the ordeal, his grey would eventually come back shades darker, and the Red Grove major and company would eventually have to contend with the monster they’d made.

Grey, The Horse-shoed.