"I don't know what the ground's like up ahead," Oliver admitted, "Do you?"
"Not a clue. I think this is the furthest away from the Abbey that anyone except Caolán's ever been."
"Your people are remarkably insular."
"It's part of the life. We're supposed to be seeking, you know, inner peace. And other bullshit."
Oliver clucked his tongue in dismay at the prospect and glanced up at the sky. "I'm not surprised you ran away, then," he shrugged, still watching the clouds thoughtfully.
"It's getting dark. Should we set up camp?" Will asked.
The ferret nodded, and scanned the area. Surrounding the road on either side were expanses of flat grass. The trees began on the far edges, but immediately in their area was only low foliage with no cover or shelter. "Hmm. Head for the trees," Oliver suggested, and Will nodded agreement. They cut across the smooth expanse and off of the road, deeper into the forest.
Will walked ahead, footsteps soft in the forest. It was comforting to the mouse that in this, at least, he was better than the ferret - Oliver was more used to cities or even small villages and Will could hear the pawsteps from quite a distance away. Eventually he came to a small clearing where two trees had fallen, perhaps knocked over by lightning or possibly just age. "Hey, Oliver!" he called, and sat down on one of the trunks to wait.
Oliver appeared at the edge of the clearing. "You called?" he asked, affecting a pretentious accent.
Will sighed, accustoming himself to his friend's eccentricities, "This looks like a good place."
The two trees had fallen against each other, providing a space beneath. The ground around the felled giants was mossy, covered in forest debris, and at the edge, near Oliver's foot, was a large gray rock, about half as tall as the hob. The road could be seen in the distance, through the trees. "Perfect," he agreed, and dropped his pack onto the ground, flopping down after it.
"Tired?"
"Gods, yes," the ferret yawned, "Bloody exhausted."
"It isn't really cold enough for a fire."
"And I don't have anything worth heating to eat," Oliver said, "I'll look for a woodpigeon tomorrow, and then we can cook some -real- food."
"Gross," Will said, making a face.
"What, you don't like woodpigeon? It's great. Especially with garlic and maybe a slice of lemon..." Oliver's stomach made a gurgling noise and the ferret glared at him. "What are you trying to do, make me hungry?"
"Certainly not. Meat? Disgusting..."
"Hmm. To each his own, I suppose," the ferret shrugged in a philosophical manner, "For me, I'd take meat over mouse food any day. Good night." He arranged himself in the crook of a tree root, closed his eyes, and was, to all appearances, fast asleep.
Will, amused by the speed at which the ferret drifted into the Land of Nod, searched around for a suitable place to settle, himself. In the end, he leaned against the tree's other side, quarterstaff propped up against the trunk, and closed his eyes - it wasn't a Redwall dormitory, but it was comfortable enough for his purposes. Shifting so that the tree didn't dig into his back, Will let himself sleep.
---
There was a soft snap in the bushes. Will opened his eyes and found that it was dark out, and the moon silvered the forest in tiny threads that showered through the upper canopies of the branches. It was possibly one o'clock, by any estimation. "Oliver," Will hissed.
"What?" Oliver whispered sleepily.
"There's someone in the bushes."
Silence.
"I'm going to go check it out."
"Don't be stupid--" the ferret began, but Will was already up and walking towards the shadows of the trees. Oliver heard a yell, a thumping noise, and curses. He shot to his feet, unsheathing his sword as he went. As he rounded the tree someone jumped at him, dull line of steel coming down towards his head, to all cursory appearances a rusted cutlass. Cursing the mouse's recklessness, Oliver reacted quickly, reflexes sharp in spite of the fact that he'd just woken up.
He skipped backward a step and avoided the first cut, bringing up his own sword in a feint to his opponent - a rat, also by the looks of it, though there wasn't time for much more than cursory examination - and threw himself into the fight with a glee that would be disconcerting to most. He had no battle cry; those were for the tosspots who liked either wasting breath or getting killed. He could hear muffled thumps and an occasional cry of pain from Will's direction.
"How're you doing, kit?" he called.
"Never - been - better," came the exasperated reply, "What d' you think, Erskine?"
Will kept his eyes on the stoat currently attempting to chop off his head. The quarterstaff was a useful weapon; every time the stoat tried to close in on the mouse, Will whirled the staff and hit him squarely on the head. The stoat was growing frustrated, and sloppier - Will could tell that the creature was not a particularly talented warrior. Caolán would have cut him to pieces.
Eventually the stoat began to gain ground, and managed to slash Will on the bicep, a shallow gash, before the mouse could move back. They traded ineffectual blows for a while, until the stoat began to grow exasperated, sloppier still. Will smiled, though he was cursing at his own carelessness.
"Fuckin' kid!" the stoat growled, kicking Will in the stomach, "Just fuckin' die already, would yer?"
"Sorry," Will apologized, as he regained breath and balance, "But I'm really too young, you know." He twisted the staff so that he held it lengthwise, the end towards the stoat's throat. As the man charged towards him Will punched forward with the staff, hitting the stoat squarely in the Adam's apple and throwing him backward onto the ground.
Will hurried forward, but the stoat wasn't doing much except clutching at his throat. Surprised and somewhat worried, Will knelt next to his former enemy, although he didn't need to, really - in the next moment the stoat spasmed and went still, his eyes staring flatly at nothing. Surprised, Will jerked backwards and fell over.
As he stood up again, embarrassed, he noticed that there were no sounds of continuing struggle. He checked his arm, which bled sluggishly and was beginning to hurt, and rolled up his shirtsleeve. He glanced over at Oliver and found that the ferret had the rat pinned against a tree, sword pressing none too gently into the creature's throat. "Uh, Oliver? I think I killed the other one by accident."
"By accident?" Oliver said, sounding amused, though his eyes were cold as he held the blade against the rat's throat. "Hmm, since we can no longer interview your friend, how about you give us some information?"
Leaning against the quarterstaff as he caught his breath, Will was able to examine the creature that Oliver had trapped. The rat was of average height, but thin, and he wore a gray lacquered chest plate. His eyes were different from any that Will had seen before, almond shaped and titled upward at a slight angle, almost completely black - the whites showed only when he rolled his eyes to the side, attempting to get a better view of what was happening. His hands were raised high over his head, and he was bleeding rather heavily from a wound in the stomach.
"I have no information." His voice was lightly accented, a lilt that was not the brogue of the North, nor the cheery singsong of the Redwallers, or the more languid tones of the Southswarders.
"Yes, you do," Oliver told him, "You will tell us who you are, why you attacked us, and where you come from."
"No."
"He's a helpful one," Will commented. His arm was starting to ache. He swiped at it ineffectually, clearing away some of the blood onto his paw.
"He will be, in a moment," Oliver agreed, and then addressed the rat directly. "My friend here is a nice guy."
The rat's eyes flickered involuntarily to the body of his compatriot, and then back to Oliver with a smirk. "Well, maybe not as nice as he -could- be," the ferret amended, "But a lot nicer than I am. I suggest you talk."
"What's the point?" the rat asked, "I'm going to die any way."
"It depends," said Oliver, "On how painless you want your last minutes to be. I have a wonderful imagination, and I love to share." He pressed the sword in deep enough to draw blood, not much, but several drops of crimson liquid beaded around the weapon's tip. The rat made a gurgling noise and attempted to shrink back against the tree.
"All right," he said wearily. "I'll... I'll talk."
"I'm glad you decided to see reason," Oliver said, "You may sit."
"Why did you attack us?" Will asked.
"We're... slavers," the rat said, his breath coming a bit shorter. Blood bubbled around his mouth as he coughed painfully. When he managed to speak again, his voice was halted, and sounded wet. There were no tears of pain in his eyes, though Will thought privately that the wound looked very painful indeed. The rat coughed again and managed to say, "We collect... workers..."
Oliver said, "Who do you serve? How many others are there?"
"I... serve... the Emperor... Long... live... the Emperor..." the rat gasped out.
"-How many others are there?-" Oliver demanded, backhanding the rat in the face.
The rat's head snapped backwards, but he smirked at Oliver, the cynical look of one who knew his fate and accepted it without a blinking eye, as the blood dripping down the corner of his mouth in a sanguine rivulet. "No... need to talk... now," he managed, and in a split second had changed from a living breathing individual to a still-warm pile of meat. The head tilted to the side and the mouth opened, slack. A small line of drool lingered on its cheek.
"Fuck it," Oliver grumbled. "I didn't think he was going to do -that-..." His voice was chagrined, as though the rat had decided to die out of spite for them.
"We should keep moving," Will said, "We don't know how many others there are or if the know we're here."
Oliver nodded. "Aye. One moment's all I need." He wiped his bloody paws on the rat's breeches, and stood up, examining them critically. There were still small spots of blood, but there was nothing to be done about that. Satisfied, he glanced at the body of the stoat, still sprawled where Will had left it. "Huh. Not bad, kit," the ferret said approvingly. He gathered up his things, wiping the sword on the dead rat as well.
Will followed after him, feeling slightly dazed now that the initial adrenaline rush had worn off. The cut on his arm began to throb in an interesting manner. The last time he'd bled heavily was when he'd fallen off the low roof outside of the kitchen, when he was seven years old.
The fact that he had killed another living creature began to sink in... You will not guilt about this, he told himself, After all, that stoat was trying to kill you. The sight of the stoat falling backwards and twitching was there every time he closed his eyes. He had broken the man's neck, apparently. He told himself that it was not his fault, but everything still seemed... wrong.
"Something wrong?" Oliver asked as they walked away from the clearing. He had regained his breath, and looked calm enough. By now the two bodies, hidden beneath the underbrush, were a good three hundred feet away.
"No..."
"Hmm. You weren't injured?"
"It's just a scratch. He hardly had a chance..." As he walked, Will pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around his arm, to staunch the bleeding for the moment. He would take a better look later, when they returned to their camp.
"Oh-ho, so that's the problem."
"What?"
"You're guilllllty! Our little warrior's guilty."
"Fine! Fine, I am guilty. Okay. I actually -have- a conscience, unlike some people here."
"Heh. You're right," Oliver said, "I am completely without conscience for it's a useless thing that hurts more than it helps."
"I wish we could all have your amoral look on life, I'm sure it would make the world a better place." The sarcasm dripped easily off of his tongue.
"Still, Will - he was going to kill you. Why should you feel guilty about getting him first?"
Will stepped carefully over a tree root. "I don't know why," he said after some thought on the matter, "It's wrong to take a life. That's what I've always been told. I can't just forget what they've been telling me all those years. What if he had a family? People who're waiting for him to come home?"
"First thing, a dirty rat like him generally wouldn't have anyone besides a whore to look forward to, and then only with money. Second thing - what the hell are they teaching you at that Abbey? Are you not supposed to defend yourself? That's completely fucked."
"They never said you weren't supposed to defend yourself... There's just supposed to be some alternate way. I don't know. I still feel guilty."
"All right, if -you- want to feel that way," Oliver said doubtfully. "Shh. I think I hear something."
There were indeed voices from the gloom, voices and noises. Will could see a bright dab of fire and shadowy shapes moving around it. Both creatures instinctively flattened themselves against the trees, out of sight. "Let's split up," Will whispered to Oliver, "I'll go around the other side, and we can see what they're doing."
"All right. Scream if you need help," Oliver said sardonically.
Will made a face as he stalked off, putting his foot down toe-first, moving quietly and deliberately. If these creatures were in any way connected with the stoat and rat he did not want them hearing a stray twig snap. That, thought Will, would be most unpleasant. He slipped underneath a low hanging branch and went closer, eyes squinting against the glare of the firelight.
"The scouts have not returned, sir," said a hare, wearing the same gray lacquered armor that the other two had possessed. He was addressing a large beast that had his back to Will. The one facing away did not look like a woodlander, judging from the general silhouette.
"They'll return," the one in charge, the sir, replied, confidently. His voice was light, high, with the same strange lilt with which the rat had spoken. "It's not like either one to fail in a mission. They were competent."
Will held his breath and skirted around the trees, to examine the other noises - the ones that sounded like whimpering or sobs, interspersed with low, intense whispers. As he moved, the creature in charge snapped at an underling, "Make them understand," he said, "That it's in their best self interest to shut up."
As the hare made his way across the campsite, Will crouched close to the ground, neatly evading notice. He could not see Oliver, who was on the opposite end, also watching carefully. "Them" turned out to be six woodlanders of varying species, all chained together with shining steel manacles. The chains were new and strong looking and devoid of rust.
Shit, Will thought, they weren't lying when they said they were slavers... He could hear his breath loud in his ears, and his heartbeat seemed to have intensified in the intermittent time. There were ten guards, all in that same odd shiny gray armor, surprisingly intricate for what seemed to common enough soldiers. There was no way they could rescue the slaves with those odds, and Oliver Erskine didn't strike him as the type to risk his own neck for others at horrible chances.
To his surprise and discomfort, Will found that he himself had little desire to rush in and attempt to rescue the slaves. With an injured arm, however slight, there was no way that he, a just-tested teenager, would be able to do anything.
He was ashamed, but that was the crux of the matter.
There was no way to save them.
"Sir, they've quieted."
"Good," the creature called sir said, turning away from the hare so that Will could see his face. An ugly face, pockmarked with scars and cuts, and a black tattoo stretching from the eye to the corner of his mouth, on the right side. It was a male weasel, large and well built. His voice, when he spoke, sounded like a little boy's. "And tomorrow, when they wake up, you will tell them what happened to the squirrel who attempted escape last night. Tell them I will take an eye."
"Yes, sir. They've been whispering about it among themselves."
"Well, then," the weasel said, smiling absently into the bushes, "This will quiet the rumors."
The squirrel? An image in his mind, of a blanket of flies and a gaping eye socket. The squirrel by the side of the road. The callousness, almost cheerfulness of the words was infuriating.
A tap on his shoulder made Will twitch and almost cry out in surprise, but instead, he turned his head very slowly to see the rather impish face of Oliver watching him, an eyebrow arched sarcastically. The ferret gestured towards the direction of their campsite, mouthing, "let's go, quietly," without a sound. Will nodded, and they slipped off into the darkness.
Ducking and weaving through the trees, the two young creatures made their way back to their campsite. It was lucky, Will thought, that there had not been a fire. That would have alerted the rat and the stoat, and then they'd have to spend time putting it out to make sure that the woods didn't burn down... Back to the camp, to pick up their possessions. When they were a safe distance away from the slaver camp, both of them ran like hell, heedless of the snapping twigs underneath their feet. The one thought in Will's mind was to get as far away from the slavers as possible.
It was difficult to run holding a quarterstaff, and he imagined that a broadsword over the shoulder wouldn't be the most comfortable situation to be in, either, but both of them managed well enough. In the distance he could hear the low burbling of running water. Will slowed down only when he began to get a stitch in his side. He began to lag behind, attempting to catch his breath. Oliver doubled back, glancing at him.
"Sorry. I forgot you were bleeding... you'll be tired now, eh?" He wasn't even breathing hard.
Will sighed. "Yes. I hear water... Want to wash off my arm..."
Oliver nodded. "That's the ticket," the ferret said cheerfully, "Don't let a bit of blood get you down."
Will rolled his eyes and ducked underneath a low hanging branch to go towards the water. It was a small stream, running over smooth-toned gray rocks and little twigs that had fallen into it. Sitting down at the bank, Will untied the handkerchief from his arm, and examined the wound more carefully. It had ripped his shirt; that would need to be sewn. The handkerchief itself was bloody and disgusting.
He twisted his arm around so that he could see the damage. It was a very shallow cut, as the cloth had taken a bit of the impact, and he'd moved back in time. It had stopped bleeding, but dried blood caked his fur and it had a general look of grossness. Will was pleased to find that he wasn't squeamish when it came to his own injuries.
Unsure of what to do, he dipped his paw into the water, and patted it lightly on the wound. Ouch. It stung, but he continued, attempting to clean off the dried blood without reopening the faint scab that had formed. No luck there, either - it began oozing again. Stupid, he thought, that was really stupid. You had to go and get your arm cut, didn't you? No, it'd be too much to ask to actually get through this uninjured.
Will wished he'd paid more attention when Brother Peter when the healer had given his lectures on basic medical aid. They'd seemed very boring at the time, but now, when he could have used the knowledge, all of it scattered from his brain. Well, there was nothing else to do now except go back and go to sleep. It wasn't bleeding heavily. He'd be all right until they could find more cloth to use as a bandage. He picked up his things and went in search of Oliver.
He approached the left side of their newest temporary camp. He could see the profile of the ferret's head; Oliver was sitting on the ground and staring at nothing. Will crept up and tapped him on the shoulder. To his surprise, the ferret whirled around and attempted to kick Will's legs out from under him. Will jumped over the extended leg as it swept out in attack.
"Oh, sorry," Oliver said contritely, "...I didn't know it was you."
"You know," Will grumbled, "If you keep attacking me every time I startle you, I'm going to have to do something drastic."
"Sorry," Oliver said, sounding as though he meant it, "I suppose it's part of the insanity."
"...Right."
"More important business," Oliver said, settling down again, "Who were those creatures and what did they want?"
"Obviously," Will said with bitter sharpness, "They wanted slaves."
"Yes, but why here?"
"I don't know. It's probably a coincidence... I hope they don't harm any of the Abbeybeasts..."
"Them? They're safe in their walls."
"It was close, though."
"Yes. Good thing we got away," Oliver mused.
Will sighed. "I've killed a man and left six to certain death in the space of a day. I feel wonderful."
"Don't start that guilt trip again," Oliver said, "Or I'm going to hit you."
Will rolled his eyes expressively, and shrugged. "Sure," he started to say, but it was cut off with a wide yawn. He was just beginning to realize how utterly exhausted he was.
"You'll feel better after you get some sleep."
"Yes, I suppose so... Good night, or good morning, whichever it is now."
"'Night, kit."
Although Will drifted off almost immediately, Oliver, lying on the ground with his head resting on the pack, did not close his eyes for the rest of the night.
"Not a clue. I think this is the furthest away from the Abbey that anyone except Caolán's ever been."
"Your people are remarkably insular."
"It's part of the life. We're supposed to be seeking, you know, inner peace. And other bullshit."
Oliver clucked his tongue in dismay at the prospect and glanced up at the sky. "I'm not surprised you ran away, then," he shrugged, still watching the clouds thoughtfully.
"It's getting dark. Should we set up camp?" Will asked.
The ferret nodded, and scanned the area. Surrounding the road on either side were expanses of flat grass. The trees began on the far edges, but immediately in their area was only low foliage with no cover or shelter. "Hmm. Head for the trees," Oliver suggested, and Will nodded agreement. They cut across the smooth expanse and off of the road, deeper into the forest.
Will walked ahead, footsteps soft in the forest. It was comforting to the mouse that in this, at least, he was better than the ferret - Oliver was more used to cities or even small villages and Will could hear the pawsteps from quite a distance away. Eventually he came to a small clearing where two trees had fallen, perhaps knocked over by lightning or possibly just age. "Hey, Oliver!" he called, and sat down on one of the trunks to wait.
Oliver appeared at the edge of the clearing. "You called?" he asked, affecting a pretentious accent.
Will sighed, accustoming himself to his friend's eccentricities, "This looks like a good place."
The two trees had fallen against each other, providing a space beneath. The ground around the felled giants was mossy, covered in forest debris, and at the edge, near Oliver's foot, was a large gray rock, about half as tall as the hob. The road could be seen in the distance, through the trees. "Perfect," he agreed, and dropped his pack onto the ground, flopping down after it.
"Tired?"
"Gods, yes," the ferret yawned, "Bloody exhausted."
"It isn't really cold enough for a fire."
"And I don't have anything worth heating to eat," Oliver said, "I'll look for a woodpigeon tomorrow, and then we can cook some -real- food."
"Gross," Will said, making a face.
"What, you don't like woodpigeon? It's great. Especially with garlic and maybe a slice of lemon..." Oliver's stomach made a gurgling noise and the ferret glared at him. "What are you trying to do, make me hungry?"
"Certainly not. Meat? Disgusting..."
"Hmm. To each his own, I suppose," the ferret shrugged in a philosophical manner, "For me, I'd take meat over mouse food any day. Good night." He arranged himself in the crook of a tree root, closed his eyes, and was, to all appearances, fast asleep.
Will, amused by the speed at which the ferret drifted into the Land of Nod, searched around for a suitable place to settle, himself. In the end, he leaned against the tree's other side, quarterstaff propped up against the trunk, and closed his eyes - it wasn't a Redwall dormitory, but it was comfortable enough for his purposes. Shifting so that the tree didn't dig into his back, Will let himself sleep.
---
There was a soft snap in the bushes. Will opened his eyes and found that it was dark out, and the moon silvered the forest in tiny threads that showered through the upper canopies of the branches. It was possibly one o'clock, by any estimation. "Oliver," Will hissed.
"What?" Oliver whispered sleepily.
"There's someone in the bushes."
Silence.
"I'm going to go check it out."
"Don't be stupid--" the ferret began, but Will was already up and walking towards the shadows of the trees. Oliver heard a yell, a thumping noise, and curses. He shot to his feet, unsheathing his sword as he went. As he rounded the tree someone jumped at him, dull line of steel coming down towards his head, to all cursory appearances a rusted cutlass. Cursing the mouse's recklessness, Oliver reacted quickly, reflexes sharp in spite of the fact that he'd just woken up.
He skipped backward a step and avoided the first cut, bringing up his own sword in a feint to his opponent - a rat, also by the looks of it, though there wasn't time for much more than cursory examination - and threw himself into the fight with a glee that would be disconcerting to most. He had no battle cry; those were for the tosspots who liked either wasting breath or getting killed. He could hear muffled thumps and an occasional cry of pain from Will's direction.
"How're you doing, kit?" he called.
"Never - been - better," came the exasperated reply, "What d' you think, Erskine?"
Will kept his eyes on the stoat currently attempting to chop off his head. The quarterstaff was a useful weapon; every time the stoat tried to close in on the mouse, Will whirled the staff and hit him squarely on the head. The stoat was growing frustrated, and sloppier - Will could tell that the creature was not a particularly talented warrior. Caolán would have cut him to pieces.
Eventually the stoat began to gain ground, and managed to slash Will on the bicep, a shallow gash, before the mouse could move back. They traded ineffectual blows for a while, until the stoat began to grow exasperated, sloppier still. Will smiled, though he was cursing at his own carelessness.
"Fuckin' kid!" the stoat growled, kicking Will in the stomach, "Just fuckin' die already, would yer?"
"Sorry," Will apologized, as he regained breath and balance, "But I'm really too young, you know." He twisted the staff so that he held it lengthwise, the end towards the stoat's throat. As the man charged towards him Will punched forward with the staff, hitting the stoat squarely in the Adam's apple and throwing him backward onto the ground.
Will hurried forward, but the stoat wasn't doing much except clutching at his throat. Surprised and somewhat worried, Will knelt next to his former enemy, although he didn't need to, really - in the next moment the stoat spasmed and went still, his eyes staring flatly at nothing. Surprised, Will jerked backwards and fell over.
As he stood up again, embarrassed, he noticed that there were no sounds of continuing struggle. He checked his arm, which bled sluggishly and was beginning to hurt, and rolled up his shirtsleeve. He glanced over at Oliver and found that the ferret had the rat pinned against a tree, sword pressing none too gently into the creature's throat. "Uh, Oliver? I think I killed the other one by accident."
"By accident?" Oliver said, sounding amused, though his eyes were cold as he held the blade against the rat's throat. "Hmm, since we can no longer interview your friend, how about you give us some information?"
Leaning against the quarterstaff as he caught his breath, Will was able to examine the creature that Oliver had trapped. The rat was of average height, but thin, and he wore a gray lacquered chest plate. His eyes were different from any that Will had seen before, almond shaped and titled upward at a slight angle, almost completely black - the whites showed only when he rolled his eyes to the side, attempting to get a better view of what was happening. His hands were raised high over his head, and he was bleeding rather heavily from a wound in the stomach.
"I have no information." His voice was lightly accented, a lilt that was not the brogue of the North, nor the cheery singsong of the Redwallers, or the more languid tones of the Southswarders.
"Yes, you do," Oliver told him, "You will tell us who you are, why you attacked us, and where you come from."
"No."
"He's a helpful one," Will commented. His arm was starting to ache. He swiped at it ineffectually, clearing away some of the blood onto his paw.
"He will be, in a moment," Oliver agreed, and then addressed the rat directly. "My friend here is a nice guy."
The rat's eyes flickered involuntarily to the body of his compatriot, and then back to Oliver with a smirk. "Well, maybe not as nice as he -could- be," the ferret amended, "But a lot nicer than I am. I suggest you talk."
"What's the point?" the rat asked, "I'm going to die any way."
"It depends," said Oliver, "On how painless you want your last minutes to be. I have a wonderful imagination, and I love to share." He pressed the sword in deep enough to draw blood, not much, but several drops of crimson liquid beaded around the weapon's tip. The rat made a gurgling noise and attempted to shrink back against the tree.
"All right," he said wearily. "I'll... I'll talk."
"I'm glad you decided to see reason," Oliver said, "You may sit."
"Why did you attack us?" Will asked.
"We're... slavers," the rat said, his breath coming a bit shorter. Blood bubbled around his mouth as he coughed painfully. When he managed to speak again, his voice was halted, and sounded wet. There were no tears of pain in his eyes, though Will thought privately that the wound looked very painful indeed. The rat coughed again and managed to say, "We collect... workers..."
Oliver said, "Who do you serve? How many others are there?"
"I... serve... the Emperor... Long... live... the Emperor..." the rat gasped out.
"-How many others are there?-" Oliver demanded, backhanding the rat in the face.
The rat's head snapped backwards, but he smirked at Oliver, the cynical look of one who knew his fate and accepted it without a blinking eye, as the blood dripping down the corner of his mouth in a sanguine rivulet. "No... need to talk... now," he managed, and in a split second had changed from a living breathing individual to a still-warm pile of meat. The head tilted to the side and the mouth opened, slack. A small line of drool lingered on its cheek.
"Fuck it," Oliver grumbled. "I didn't think he was going to do -that-..." His voice was chagrined, as though the rat had decided to die out of spite for them.
"We should keep moving," Will said, "We don't know how many others there are or if the know we're here."
Oliver nodded. "Aye. One moment's all I need." He wiped his bloody paws on the rat's breeches, and stood up, examining them critically. There were still small spots of blood, but there was nothing to be done about that. Satisfied, he glanced at the body of the stoat, still sprawled where Will had left it. "Huh. Not bad, kit," the ferret said approvingly. He gathered up his things, wiping the sword on the dead rat as well.
Will followed after him, feeling slightly dazed now that the initial adrenaline rush had worn off. The cut on his arm began to throb in an interesting manner. The last time he'd bled heavily was when he'd fallen off the low roof outside of the kitchen, when he was seven years old.
The fact that he had killed another living creature began to sink in... You will not guilt about this, he told himself, After all, that stoat was trying to kill you. The sight of the stoat falling backwards and twitching was there every time he closed his eyes. He had broken the man's neck, apparently. He told himself that it was not his fault, but everything still seemed... wrong.
"Something wrong?" Oliver asked as they walked away from the clearing. He had regained his breath, and looked calm enough. By now the two bodies, hidden beneath the underbrush, were a good three hundred feet away.
"No..."
"Hmm. You weren't injured?"
"It's just a scratch. He hardly had a chance..." As he walked, Will pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it around his arm, to staunch the bleeding for the moment. He would take a better look later, when they returned to their camp.
"Oh-ho, so that's the problem."
"What?"
"You're guilllllty! Our little warrior's guilty."
"Fine! Fine, I am guilty. Okay. I actually -have- a conscience, unlike some people here."
"Heh. You're right," Oliver said, "I am completely without conscience for it's a useless thing that hurts more than it helps."
"I wish we could all have your amoral look on life, I'm sure it would make the world a better place." The sarcasm dripped easily off of his tongue.
"Still, Will - he was going to kill you. Why should you feel guilty about getting him first?"
Will stepped carefully over a tree root. "I don't know why," he said after some thought on the matter, "It's wrong to take a life. That's what I've always been told. I can't just forget what they've been telling me all those years. What if he had a family? People who're waiting for him to come home?"
"First thing, a dirty rat like him generally wouldn't have anyone besides a whore to look forward to, and then only with money. Second thing - what the hell are they teaching you at that Abbey? Are you not supposed to defend yourself? That's completely fucked."
"They never said you weren't supposed to defend yourself... There's just supposed to be some alternate way. I don't know. I still feel guilty."
"All right, if -you- want to feel that way," Oliver said doubtfully. "Shh. I think I hear something."
There were indeed voices from the gloom, voices and noises. Will could see a bright dab of fire and shadowy shapes moving around it. Both creatures instinctively flattened themselves against the trees, out of sight. "Let's split up," Will whispered to Oliver, "I'll go around the other side, and we can see what they're doing."
"All right. Scream if you need help," Oliver said sardonically.
Will made a face as he stalked off, putting his foot down toe-first, moving quietly and deliberately. If these creatures were in any way connected with the stoat and rat he did not want them hearing a stray twig snap. That, thought Will, would be most unpleasant. He slipped underneath a low hanging branch and went closer, eyes squinting against the glare of the firelight.
"The scouts have not returned, sir," said a hare, wearing the same gray lacquered armor that the other two had possessed. He was addressing a large beast that had his back to Will. The one facing away did not look like a woodlander, judging from the general silhouette.
"They'll return," the one in charge, the sir, replied, confidently. His voice was light, high, with the same strange lilt with which the rat had spoken. "It's not like either one to fail in a mission. They were competent."
Will held his breath and skirted around the trees, to examine the other noises - the ones that sounded like whimpering or sobs, interspersed with low, intense whispers. As he moved, the creature in charge snapped at an underling, "Make them understand," he said, "That it's in their best self interest to shut up."
As the hare made his way across the campsite, Will crouched close to the ground, neatly evading notice. He could not see Oliver, who was on the opposite end, also watching carefully. "Them" turned out to be six woodlanders of varying species, all chained together with shining steel manacles. The chains were new and strong looking and devoid of rust.
Shit, Will thought, they weren't lying when they said they were slavers... He could hear his breath loud in his ears, and his heartbeat seemed to have intensified in the intermittent time. There were ten guards, all in that same odd shiny gray armor, surprisingly intricate for what seemed to common enough soldiers. There was no way they could rescue the slaves with those odds, and Oliver Erskine didn't strike him as the type to risk his own neck for others at horrible chances.
To his surprise and discomfort, Will found that he himself had little desire to rush in and attempt to rescue the slaves. With an injured arm, however slight, there was no way that he, a just-tested teenager, would be able to do anything.
He was ashamed, but that was the crux of the matter.
There was no way to save them.
"Sir, they've quieted."
"Good," the creature called sir said, turning away from the hare so that Will could see his face. An ugly face, pockmarked with scars and cuts, and a black tattoo stretching from the eye to the corner of his mouth, on the right side. It was a male weasel, large and well built. His voice, when he spoke, sounded like a little boy's. "And tomorrow, when they wake up, you will tell them what happened to the squirrel who attempted escape last night. Tell them I will take an eye."
"Yes, sir. They've been whispering about it among themselves."
"Well, then," the weasel said, smiling absently into the bushes, "This will quiet the rumors."
The squirrel? An image in his mind, of a blanket of flies and a gaping eye socket. The squirrel by the side of the road. The callousness, almost cheerfulness of the words was infuriating.
A tap on his shoulder made Will twitch and almost cry out in surprise, but instead, he turned his head very slowly to see the rather impish face of Oliver watching him, an eyebrow arched sarcastically. The ferret gestured towards the direction of their campsite, mouthing, "let's go, quietly," without a sound. Will nodded, and they slipped off into the darkness.
Ducking and weaving through the trees, the two young creatures made their way back to their campsite. It was lucky, Will thought, that there had not been a fire. That would have alerted the rat and the stoat, and then they'd have to spend time putting it out to make sure that the woods didn't burn down... Back to the camp, to pick up their possessions. When they were a safe distance away from the slaver camp, both of them ran like hell, heedless of the snapping twigs underneath their feet. The one thought in Will's mind was to get as far away from the slavers as possible.
It was difficult to run holding a quarterstaff, and he imagined that a broadsword over the shoulder wouldn't be the most comfortable situation to be in, either, but both of them managed well enough. In the distance he could hear the low burbling of running water. Will slowed down only when he began to get a stitch in his side. He began to lag behind, attempting to catch his breath. Oliver doubled back, glancing at him.
"Sorry. I forgot you were bleeding... you'll be tired now, eh?" He wasn't even breathing hard.
Will sighed. "Yes. I hear water... Want to wash off my arm..."
Oliver nodded. "That's the ticket," the ferret said cheerfully, "Don't let a bit of blood get you down."
Will rolled his eyes and ducked underneath a low hanging branch to go towards the water. It was a small stream, running over smooth-toned gray rocks and little twigs that had fallen into it. Sitting down at the bank, Will untied the handkerchief from his arm, and examined the wound more carefully. It had ripped his shirt; that would need to be sewn. The handkerchief itself was bloody and disgusting.
He twisted his arm around so that he could see the damage. It was a very shallow cut, as the cloth had taken a bit of the impact, and he'd moved back in time. It had stopped bleeding, but dried blood caked his fur and it had a general look of grossness. Will was pleased to find that he wasn't squeamish when it came to his own injuries.
Unsure of what to do, he dipped his paw into the water, and patted it lightly on the wound. Ouch. It stung, but he continued, attempting to clean off the dried blood without reopening the faint scab that had formed. No luck there, either - it began oozing again. Stupid, he thought, that was really stupid. You had to go and get your arm cut, didn't you? No, it'd be too much to ask to actually get through this uninjured.
Will wished he'd paid more attention when Brother Peter when the healer had given his lectures on basic medical aid. They'd seemed very boring at the time, but now, when he could have used the knowledge, all of it scattered from his brain. Well, there was nothing else to do now except go back and go to sleep. It wasn't bleeding heavily. He'd be all right until they could find more cloth to use as a bandage. He picked up his things and went in search of Oliver.
He approached the left side of their newest temporary camp. He could see the profile of the ferret's head; Oliver was sitting on the ground and staring at nothing. Will crept up and tapped him on the shoulder. To his surprise, the ferret whirled around and attempted to kick Will's legs out from under him. Will jumped over the extended leg as it swept out in attack.
"Oh, sorry," Oliver said contritely, "...I didn't know it was you."
"You know," Will grumbled, "If you keep attacking me every time I startle you, I'm going to have to do something drastic."
"Sorry," Oliver said, sounding as though he meant it, "I suppose it's part of the insanity."
"...Right."
"More important business," Oliver said, settling down again, "Who were those creatures and what did they want?"
"Obviously," Will said with bitter sharpness, "They wanted slaves."
"Yes, but why here?"
"I don't know. It's probably a coincidence... I hope they don't harm any of the Abbeybeasts..."
"Them? They're safe in their walls."
"It was close, though."
"Yes. Good thing we got away," Oliver mused.
Will sighed. "I've killed a man and left six to certain death in the space of a day. I feel wonderful."
"Don't start that guilt trip again," Oliver said, "Or I'm going to hit you."
Will rolled his eyes expressively, and shrugged. "Sure," he started to say, but it was cut off with a wide yawn. He was just beginning to realize how utterly exhausted he was.
"You'll feel better after you get some sleep."
"Yes, I suppose so... Good night, or good morning, whichever it is now."
"'Night, kit."
Although Will drifted off almost immediately, Oliver, lying on the ground with his head resting on the pack, did not close his eyes for the rest of the night.