11. Stormclouds are gathering.

The unhealthy mix of barely hidden fear and even more barely hidden curiosity, exhibited by Tiani towards him began getting on Terys' nerves well before the day was over. The otter warrior pretended to miss her ill-hidden glances at the dinner table, but when the weasel girl began to peek at him from around the corner, while he was sitting outside, finally checking and sharpening his numerous weapons, his not very long patience finally ran out.

"Listen, young miss, if you want something from me, just come out and ask!" Terys' words, when he sharply and suddenly turned his head to face Tiani, sounded slightly harsher than was intended. He hated when beasts eyed him like her – with fright and curiosity, like he was some incredible freak of nature. Now, however, the otter regretted his words as soon, as she stumbled towards him, barely managing to control her fear. Terys wanted to hit himself in the head – if woodlanders sometimes were scared of him, then what could think a young weasel, who likely had heard only terrible rumors and scary tales of his deeds?..

The warrior sighed and put down the javelin, which he was inspecting:

"There is no need to be afraid. Whatever you might heard, I am not a murderer and not an enemy of all weasels everywhere. So, you have nothing to fear from me. Unless you are easily bored by long speeches, of course."

Tiani couldn't help but snicker.

"I also thought, that you already had an ample opportunity to examine me from ears to tailtip. If you accidentally missed something, I can add, that I am eighty-six seasons old, and, discounting my thirty or so scars, I am a perfectly normal male otter. I am not ten pawlengths tall, my fur is not made from iron, I cannot breath fire, and I don't like when beasts look at me like I can."

The weasel girl lowered her eyes as her nose and ears turned red from embarrassment. And Terys again felt the desire to hit himself. Scaring the understandably curious young beast senseless, then venting his irritation upon her… what he was thinking today? The otter wanted to apologize, but then his eyes picked something moving among the trees.

"Hide in the house!" sharply hissed the warrior, though his face still remained calm. "Quickly! Somebeast's coming!"

Terys' words hit Tiani like a whiplash – and like a whiplash they forced her to move quickly. In an instant she was gone. Terys didn't bother to follow her or even to rise. He already recognized new guests, and they weren't worth that much effort.

When Irta and two her companions – burly hedgehogs both – reached Illana's house, the scarred warrior just began honing the blade of his saber on the whetstone, trying to remove the small notch left by the tip of Delgor's broadsword. When the trio approached, he paused and raised his eyes, as if just noticing their presence. Just before Irta tried to say something, Terys spoke:

"You are in time. I was just about to begin thinking, when my payment will be brought"

"Payment?" the surprised hogwife stopped.

"Yes, payment. Reward. Fee. Are you forgot about out agreement? And that I need to eat something too?" Terys moved the whetstone along the edge and sharp sickening sound punctuated his words. Both of male hedgehogs inadverently stepped back and even Irta flinched. Terys frowned in turn – and the frown was particularly sour, because pain from the forceful move pierced his recently wounded paw.

"Erhm… I remember, of course. We will bring your food, as we promised, as soon…"

"Good. Then what are you waiting for?" cut her short Terys. "And don't forget to add some for Illana – she fed me since the battle, after all."

He looked down at the saber, and moved whetstone again, this time more cautiously, hoping this will be a sufficiently clear hint that the conversation is over. But Irta wasn't a beast to push around easily.

"Erhm… Actually, I came here, because of vermin in this house."

"I assure you, that there is no vermin in this house, unless my senses, memory and mind fail me" answered the otter coldly. "You should know already, that I, Terys from Redwall, shall not abide the presence of a vermin."

The warrior didn't need his nose and ears to tell, that Irta is frightened, but the hogwife still persisted:

"But Twirgle wouldn't lie to me. And werent't that beast, who ran inside when we appeared, a weasel, for the sake of the Dark Forest?"

Terys cursed in his thoughts. Damn Twirgle. He should have known better than to wag his tongue. But outwardly the otter remained calm. And very, very cold. He rose to his footpaws, slowly and threateningly, like a massive wave rising to fall upon an unlucky ship.

"Maybe you prefer to discern vermin by their hide. I, however, prefer to judge beasts by their deeds. And, to be honest, who you are to question my judgement?"

Irta seemed to swallow her tongue and her companions backed away noticeably. Finally, the hogwife managed to speak:

"I beg your pardon… But we…"

"No "buts". No one in this house is a threat to you or your village, of this I swear. Anything beyond that is none of your concern, so stop poking your snout in the affairs of others."

This time, even the hogwife herself stepped back, as if slammed by Terys' words.

"Is this a threat?" her voice was almost histerical.

"No. This is a recommendation."

Irta looked at the otter. At his weapons, carefully arrayed on the large piece of cloth. Again at the otter. And then she curled her fists, turned and left, trying to keep whatever remained of her dignity. Two other hedgehogs hurried behind, obviously glad to leave. Terys' eyes followed them, until all three disappeared in the forest.

"That was great!" Tiani, who obviously heard the entire conversation, jumped out of the door. "Crawled away like whipped rats! Serves 'em right!"

"No. There was nothing great," this time Terys took a deep breath before answering, to avoid sounding vitriolic. "I overdid it. Now Irta will never forget her humiliation. And probably will blame you and Illana for it, because you, much unlike me, are not above her reach."

Illana, who was eavesdropping together with Tiani and now stood on the doorstep, just nodded sadly. The young weasel stepped aside, turning her head from one woodlander to another, and her shoulders drooped in shame just as her triumphant grin disappeared.

"Oh. I'm so sorry!"

"You did nothing to apologize for, again much unlike me," Terys sighed. "It seems, that now I have yet another reason to stay here for a time. Just what I need…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, somewhere far to the north…

Fine rain was drizzling over the coast from the very morning and strong icy wind blew from the ocean. Beasts who dared to walk outside without warm clothes during such weather surely risked to catch cold. But for the small group of mice, running along the seashore, this was the least of worries. Those of them who had heavy cloaks discarded them long ago, alongside with everything else that could slow them down even a bit – except for their cubs and their crude weapons. About twoscore in number, males, females and dibbuns together, they all looked equally battered, exhausted and remaining on their footpaws mostly through sheer force of will. Only one large male mouse still seemed energetic.

"Move, move! We're almost there!" with the heavy cudgel he pointed forward, to the massive cliffs, looming over grass, sand and water like a stern of huge black ship hauled from the water. For a moment he stopped and looked back with obvious unease, then resumed running.

They were already at the cliff foot, heading for the small and steep path up, when one of mousemaids tripped and fell. The large mouse immediately was there, helping her back on her footpaws.

"Please, just a little more!"

The mousemaid nodded and staggered forward, saving breath for now and words of gratitude for later. And then slowly fell on her back. A black-feathered arrow protruded up from her shoulder. The male mouse just stared at her in disbelief and shock for a second or two – before a hefty rock thrown from above hit his head. Then screams began. They ended quickly – hapless mice were in the open with nowhere to hide, no armor or shields to protect them and no strength to run away from stones raining from above and ruthless arrows from all sides. Only when the only remaining sound was the crying of a cub, pinned to the ground by his dead mother, attackers closed in. Half-dozen beasts jogged down the steep path in the cliffs, as confidently as if they were moving on a paved road, another six came from sand dunes below. Weasels and stoats they were – lean, wiry, scarred beasts, almost all in faded grey cloaks to match their mottled grey-brown fur. Only one beast stood out in his long black cloak with cowl and silver clasp. Now the cowl was pulled back revealing the graying face of elderly weasel – lacking noticeable scars and still attractive, even despite the perpetual scowl of contempt. Though mustelid's age was obvious, he moved swiftly and gracefully and his regal posture marked him as a leader much more clearly than his garment.

As the weasel surveyed the scene of carnage, walking among the corpses and inhaling nauseatingly sweet scent of blood, a mirthless smirk crawled onto his lips.

"Flawlessly done."

"T'was easy, after you figured out where they'll run, Chief!" grin of a nearby-standing stoat was half-triumphant, half-servile.

"I know," with these words, the black-cloaked beast suddenly snatched a spear from stoat's paws and with one powerful trust pierced the crying cub at his footpaws straight through the corpse of its mother.

"Check the bodies, finish off those who still breathe! Build a signal fire on the clifftop. And roast me something to eat as well."

Before the last word was spoken, weasels and stoats already scurried to do as he said. Soon a thin column of smoke rose over the cliffs. The vermin prepared a pile of dry wood in advance, and hid it from the rain in a small cave, as ordered their leader – now rainwater-soaked beasts appreciated his foresight greatly, huddling around the burning logs. The graying weasel, however, seemed to ignore bad weather, despite his age – he took no effort to move closer to the fire, or to seek shelter from the wind, either impervious to cold or resolute to show no weakness. His eyes were closed, as if he was lost in thought – or, maybe, considered his surroundings unworthy of attention. However, they shot open as soon, as the weasel heard shout of the young sinewy stoat, standing on lookout:

"I see him! The crow is here!"

"Stop yelling, Hashvan," the elderly beast said that almost idly, but the stoat instantly fell silent, frozen by fear. "And bring my haversack."

While he was saying this, the crow that was noticed by the lookout already glided close. Flaps of its wings were heavy and tired – flying in the rain and severe wind obviously wasn't easy for the large grey-black bird. It even missed the clifftop on the first try – the free space was small and bird obviously didn't want to fly straight into the fire or to hit one of the vermin. The black-cloaked weasel watched its efforts patiently, and wasted no time for greetings when the crow finally landed:

"What news this time, Dustwing?"

The crow panted for a few moments, before finally recovering his breath and croaking:

"Uglyface found nothing. Fish-eyes and snake-tongue said that everything goes well."

"I thought so," the elderly weasel folded his paws on his chest. "I have two more tasks for you. First, you'll return to Raulak. Tell him following, word for word…"

The mustelid made a short pause, before speaking again, clearly and harshly:

"I'm certain that the wretched whelp will run south, to leave the Northlands. I change my orders: you do not need to haul him back alive. Just bring me his dagger and his hide as proofs of your success. Upturn every stone and skin every creature from here to Mossflower, if need be, but kill him. If he will have company, kill everybeast around as well."

When he finished, Dustwing bobbed his head and looked aside, as if something distracted him. As usual, bird's "face" reflected no discernible emotions. The weasel simply waited: crow's thoughts often seemed slow – despite his excellent memory.

"I'll carry your words to uglyface," finally nodded Dustwing.

"Very well. After catching up with Raulak, you will fly to our many-named friend with this," the mustelid pulled the small wooden tube out of the bag brought by Hashvan the stoat.

"We will bind in to your paw with a rope, just in case. Don't open it – and don't lose it, or our deal will be broken."

"Is it so… precious?" wondered aloud the crow.

"In a sense," and the aged weasel smirked again. "For you, it is just useless powder. But for me, it is the chain and collar to leash the God of War!"

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