Captain Purrnella Slyclaw isn't dead. After serving the Horde for twenty years and seeing countless bodies, you don't know what dead is? According to that vixen's prophecy, the wildcat could avoid death because of the fear of another beast, so what killed her? You feared her more than the penalty for disloyalty, that's what killed the wildcat. Her life was supposed to end because of a plaything lost long ago and that dagger wasn't a child's toy, so how could it kill her? The witch knew our futures. If you believe that, then Captain Purrnella Slyclaw isn't dead.
And so the endless debate within her mind continued without resolution. All Wobbles knew was that she followed a group of insurgents towards the sanctuary of some forest located a distance to the northeast. Her feet shifted without any conscious thought from her like leaves before a high wind, moving wherever the rebels directed her. She tried reconciling the discrepancy between the words of a renowned fortune teller from long ago and her observations just hours old.
Some rebel placed their paw on her shoulder and for the moment, the inner voices fell silent. Her mind returned to the present. She stared at the otter jogging beside her. The otter paced her while the spear she carried bobbed with her every step. Wobbles almost laughed at such a young creature's expression of deep concern.
"Those of us that have seen more years have a tendency of letting our mind wander. I'm worried we might be running into a slaughter and not to a sanctuary."
"If you know something, speak to our Commander." The otter used her spear like a pointer designating the grey squirrel leading them, the one she named Angry Squirrel. "He risked everything for your freedom; I'm sure he'll heed your counsel."
Wobbles took the otter at her word. In a short moment, she found herself at the forefront, running alongside the male. She thought she remembered their first meeting, but that happened while she slipped into and out of a lucid state. It brought back unpleasant memories of her questioning when she returned to camp.
She gave the male a hard look. His fur could use some trimming, but other than a lack of proper grooming, he impressed her. The male demonstrated his endurance as he led their group at a good pace without showing any signs of exhaustion. His deep brown eyes held a fire she had seldom seen in anyone off the battlefield. Such a powerful specimen of her species made Wobbles wish she were half her age.
"Commander, our forces have studied your tactics and have prepared a trap. While you attacked us, another unit was cutting off your retreat. Right now they move between you and whatever forest sanctuary you believe lies to the east."
Chitter's eyes displayed a cavalier attitude to her warning. Even his words dismissed her worries as trivial.
"Wobbles, I commend your loyalty to your former masters, but it's misplaced. Like it or not, my indiscretion back at the caravan made you an enemy of the army you served."
This got Wobbles quite angry and she lashed out verbally. Her tone no longer held any deference to this rebel leader. He might be a great fighter when engaging in his usual hit and run tactics, but he hadn't adapted to the new Horde strategy. Angry Squirrel still operated under the delusion that everything ended when he withdrew, that his enemy considered convoys too valuable to leave unprotected. Now she wanted nothing more than to beat some military sense into this fellow before he killed everyone, including her.
"Don't you get it? We carried no supplies; it was a ruse. Those carts were portable fortresses and we wanted you to attack us. Those horns tells everyone you took the bait. If you continue east, soldiers will block your left flank. Another force is even now spreading out on the right side. When we reach that forest you call home, they will have us surrounded. Your only chance of survival is to go north. Try and outdistance them."
The male squirrel's expression changed. His ears perked up as he heard the Horde's trumpets blowing to his rear. Then came a new note a distance off to his right. Giving a short spurt, he caught up to the two voles acting as guides. At the next fork in the gully, the raiders turned northward.
For several moments, the collection of raiders and former slaves moved through the vale until their guides led them up a short hill. Once everyone reached the summit, they came to a rest. Canteens were distributed as weary runners sprawled across the grass. Scouts searched for the Horde force they knew trailed them.
Wobbles saw a marvelous sight. It stretched to the very horizon, a rolling green sea of grass that swayed with the gentle wind. For an instant, Wobbles forgot about the dangers surrounding them. Her mind wandered to the clouds floating across the late afternoon sky as she envisioned different things suggested by their various shapes.
Without realizing it, Wobbles drifted off to sleep until she felt a paw giving her a hard shake. Her eyes popped open as she gazed into the face standing above her. Avbron offered her his uninjured paw, assisting her to her feet. A sharp whistle to the fore and the group continued its march.
Perhaps an hour passed before their group topped another in a series of short ridges. A cry went out from the scouts and in an instant, the warriors charged to the fore. Just over the ridge came the sound of clanging metal and several screams. Wobbles heard a trumpet cut off in mid-note. Then came an even heavier silence.
Beyond the ridge, she identified a Horde squad sprawled in the now bloody depression. Based on what Wobbles saw, the five weasels and fox officer must have been taking a rest when the scouts blundered into them. Surprise worked for the rebels this time as the insurgents overwhelmed the soldiers. The Horde succumbed to the raider's superior numbers, but their victory came at the loss of the two scouts.
Nobody spoke as food, water and weapons were stripped from the dead, both friend and foe. Angry Squirrel offered a weapon to Avbron, but he moved on when the weasel showed his disabled paw.
The sound of several distant trumpets sounded. For a moment, raider and slave alike stood in place. Avbron listened to a series of different notes resonating across the region and his ears swiveled as they tried catching every nuance of the blaring trumpets. Each trumpet played a different series of notes.
"The officers are taking roll call," said Avbron. "Since each squad is assigned a different cord, their commander can determine which unit doesn't reply. Once they confirm which squad sounded their horn, they can determine our approximate location. The next time you hear those trumpets, it will be to announce which unit failed to reply. Every soldier will converge on that unit's assigned position."
A heavy silence kept everyone alert as they waited. Avbron shifted his new backpack as another series of notes sounded. Other horns repeated the signal along a wide range behind them. When they stopped, Angry Squirrel looked at the weasel.
"That does it. They know which unit sounded the distress call. I give them another hour, maybe two, before they converge on this spot. They lost our trail once; this time they will employ trackers. Once they find our trail, it becomes a race."
Wobbles nodded, confirming Avbron's commentary. Angry Squirrel knew the truth; she could see it in his eyes. Even after the long rest, most of the rebels and liberated slaves following him were spent and pushing themselves beyond their personal limits. He glanced at the setting summer sun. Holding his arm up, he waited until everyone drew closer.
"Drop all your gear. Carry nothing more than whatever weapon you have. If you have an extra, even if it's just a knife, offer it to one of our freed slaves."
One rebel otter, who looked as if he could run no further, wheezed. "So what's the plan, Commander? How do we outrun these Horde demons?"
"To the north, perhaps another hour's run is a wide stream where I hoped we could lose our scent. Now I intend making a run into the setting sun. Put as much distance between us as possible and lose them in the night. If you prefer the stream, I'll not stop you."
Most of the otters and a third of the slaves jogged towards the water. No words of recrimination passed; those remaining wished everyone a safe journey. Angry Squirrel pointed into the setting sun. Within the space of a few moments, the group heading north disappeared from sight as the remaining raiders and slaves moved westward.
She concentrated on doing no more than placing one paw before the other. Avbron looked over at her and tried reassuring her that things would work out just fine with nothing more than his smile. Too bad his lolling tongue belied his abortive attempt at a positive sentiment. Wobbles worried about their speed as the pack moved at the pace of their slowest member, yet nobody thought of deserting a comrade.
Wobbles shaded her eyes with an outstretched paw, they had another half hour of running before the region turned too dark for the trackers. She considered their options based on what she knew of Horde tactics. Angry Squirrel could pick off each squad during the night by hitting whatever unit held the nearest torch. He could slip out of the closing trap, or double back and lose them in the darkness. Any of these plans held an excellent chance of success once the sun went down.
Such optimistic thoughts came to an abrupt end with the sound of several blaring trumpets. Wobbles located some fifty Horde warriors no more than another fifteen minute run behind them. In front, another dozen charged towards them. Those soldiers would reach them in less than five minutes.
Though that made this battle one between two numerically equal forces, Wobbles knew numbers didn't matter. In a quick raid, skill often failed, but in a sustained combat situation, she knew the better trained fighter prevailed. She saw how Angry Squirrel handled his weapon against an experienced warrior and knew this would be a short and bloody fight ending in defeat.
Angry Squirrel came to a sudden standstill. They had run the good race and it ended in the Horde's favor. He withdrew his sword and flexed his grip. His eyes did not have a defeated look, but one intending on selling his life at the highest possible price. One by one, each raider arranged themselves behind their leader. Even those slaves holding weapons joined the line as they watched the now visible Horde force move ever closer.
That first squad of Horde soldiers should have been overwhelmed by the insurgents, but a dozen trained soldiers proved more than a match. The two sides converged and the battle was joined. A Horde stoat circled behind Angry Squirrel and Avbron darted forward. His uninjured paw locked onto the wrist of the soldier as he bared his teeth. Both continued their struggle until the Horde soldier pinned the weasel's arms to the ground. Wobbles reached the fighting pair and stopped the soldier's killing blow when she brained the stoat from behind with a rock.
A moment of peace came to the field as survivors scurried for the discarded weapons of the fallen. In this first skirmish the rebels were victorious, but it came at too heavy a cost. The remaining Horde force had numerical superiority, yet they had gained a healthy respect for their enemy. No longer did they charge forward as if they thought the battle would proffer an easy victory. Now the officers bellowed out orders and the Horde marshaled their forces and made a methodical approach.
None thought of asking quarters or retreating. The eyes of every rebel and freed slave blazed with determination as they awaited the final confrontation. A few chanted prayers to the Eternals for everlasting happiness in the next life. Some muttered insults about their opponents as they psyched themselves into a killing frenzy. The rest remained stoic as they each targeted the advancing soldier they would send to DarkForest.
Everything changed. From a gully running along the Horde's right flank, a large contingent of creatures darted forward led by a tall badger. When his force crashed into the soldiers, his broadsword cleaved a wide swath in the enemy's ranks. The tide of battle had turned. Angry Squirrel's voice carried to all.
"Don't just stand there, those Horde soldiers will regroup if given a chance. We have to strike now while we have the advantage." He pointed his sword at the crumbling Horde front as he sprinted forward. "Attack! Attack!"
Trumpets blared as the Horde units scrambled to disengage. Once the Horde retreated, the rebels and their rescuers stood down. Many survivors displayed wide grins while the rest dropped to the ground, too weary for any reaction.
A series of familiar faces emerged from the rescuing force. Friends called out to those that had raced towards the stream. In their desperate attempt to flee from the Horde, these raiders found allies. Thanks to this second insurgent unit, the battle was won.
Emotionally and physically drained, Wobbles almost collapsed onto the ground but was saved from that indignity when Avbron helped her down. His expression said it all, he too could not believe their good fortune. A ferret with a white-painted face passed nearby.
"Talk about good fortune." Avbron reached out and snagged the belt of the ferret, holding him in place. "Tell me friend, who saved our furry butts? What warrior badger kept us out of the spirit world of DarkForest?"
"The badger is named Bruno. Until last month, he fought the Horde along the northern border, but patrols forced him further south to escape their sweeps. When we informed him Chitter was facing our common enemy and trying to protect a contingent of freed slaves, Bruno diverted course and here we are."
Whatever exhaustion Wobbles felt disappeared. Her lunge at the ferret caught the fellow off balance and the two fell to the ground with her kneeling over him. She held him by the lapels of his vest and pulled him so close to her face their whiskers brushed. Wobbles demanded he repeat their Commander's name, which he did.
No, it's not possible. There couldn't be two creatures, both of them squirrels, with that same name. Wobbles locked her eyes on the beast she had called Angry Squirrel and now knew as Chitter. She struggled without success to recall the face of a toddler of four years that she hid in a high tree some twenty years back.
Avbron's voice called to her, she heard the sound, but not the words. The universe consisted of just two things, her and the male squirrel. The intrusive sound held no meaning to her; it was a distraction.
She moved without realizing it. Wobbles took one step towards the male squirrel who didn't react to her approach. Another step followed and her pace quickened. The male squirrel's outline blurred as tears threatened to blind her. Angry Squirrel turned.
He never had a chance. Chitter. She slammed into the male squirrel with far more power than Wobbles thought she had left, yet he just staggered backwards a step. Chitter. Her arms entwined about his massive chest. Chitter. She buried her muzzle into his fur. Chitter. She drank in his musky male odor, a scent that intoxicated her.
Wobbles's whole body shook as she laughed and cried. She spoke aloud the name of a child she lost so long ago. Rebels and former slaves watched as the two squirrels seemed to merge into one. Wobbles didn't care what others thought. She kept repeating his name as if she never wanted to utter anything else ever again.