Chapter 3: Salamandastron
It was a full month after that day in the infirmary of the North Caves that Riala resumed following Nightdeath Longclaws' trail. Sablepaw had finally deemed her fit to travel, after Riala demonstrated just how well she was healed by leaping over the healer's head and scampering up a wall. Now she started out of the Caves, carrying a satchel of food given to her by the warriors within.
"Riala!"
The squirrel paused, barely ten lengths from the caves, then turned. "What is it, Mark?"
The warrior walked up to her and handed her a parchment. "I had my trackers look for the Longclaws' trail," he told her. "They asked various goodbeasts if they'd seen the wolverine, and mapped his trail as far as Salamandastron. You'll have to find it on your own once you get to that point."
Riala looked at the parchment, a map of the area between the Caves and Salamandastron, with the Longclaws' trail shown as a dotted line. She nodded gratefully to the mouse warrior. "Thank you," the squirrel said honestly. "I really appreciate this."
Mark smiled slightly. "I understand." He gazed off into the distance, over the sea, and a shadow darkened his eyes and clouded his face. "Would you take a bit of advice from an old warrior, squirrel?"
She glanced at him in surprise. His voice had sounded as old as he'd said, as if he were positively ancient, aged beyond his years. Something had changed since the battle, and Riala had only just noticed it. Perhaps this was the first time Mark had let this… agedness show, or perhaps it was only now that she had noticed it. "Of course," she agreed.
The mouse watched her in silence for a long moment, growing older and more wearied in Riala's eyes. Weary of battle… weary of… of life? "Don't let your hatred for the wolverine consume you," he said quietly, almost whispering it. "Don't let it take over your life." He laughed suddenly, but it sounded forced. "Listen to me, sounding like a feeble pawed elderbeast. Good luck in your hunt, Riala. Just remember what I said."
Riala gazed at Mark levelly as he pulled himself together, hiding the weariness once more, but she could still see a shadow of it in his eyes now that she knew where to look. What happened to him? she thought, but nodded. "I will, and thank you again, Mark." She still didn't quite understand, but she realized it was important to him that she consent. "Farewell."
"Seasons bless," Mark returned, watching with a shadow lurking in his gaze as the warrioress headed south to Salamandastron.
Riala set a hard pace for herself, wearing off the flab gathered from a month of bedrest. She didn't follow the Longclaws' somewhat meandering trail, instead taking as straight of a path as possible. Hopefully she could catch up without too much trouble…
She traveled hard for nearly a month, going due south the entire time, getting closer and closer to Salamandastron. The squirrel avoided trouble when she could- fights would only slow her down, and she wasn't yet as fit as she could be. Her slowed reflexes would be a strong disadvantage.
It was in the Badlands, less than a day's travel from the fire mountain, that Riala was at last forced into a fight. A born woodlander, the squirrel was unused to silence. She was accustomed to hearing birds sing and leaves rustle with movement. The first sign of danger was a silent forest. When something frightens the birds to silence, it's sure to be unfriendly. That was why the squirrel was wary and cautious as her footpaws crunched in the sand of the dry desert dunes. Her pawsteps were the only sound under the morning sun, and that signified danger to the woodlander.
Her instincts turned out to be right. She heard footsteps that were not her own slapping on the dunes and shifting the sand. Riala whirled, roce out and read in her throwing paw as she searched for the other walker. Gold-brown eyes met only sand and rocks and sunlight. Slowly she turned in a complete circle, every sense she had straining to detect another creature.
The sun abruptly went behind a cloud, a shadow falling across her body- but the sky was cloudless. Riala leapt to the side, out of the sudden shade, rolling when she hit the sand and rising back to her footpaws in one smooth motion as a net fell on the spot she'd just left. She flicked her mobile golden tail free of the entangling net and threw her stick at the top of a dune. It struck the warty toad on his wedge-shaped snout and sent him tumbling backwards off of the sand dune.
The squirrel retrieved her roce quickly, tensed in a fighter's crouch, eyes darting back and forth for more opponents. She groaned inwardly as a full two score toads waddled into sight, each armed with a net and a trident. She checked her position and groaned again- like a fool, she'd put herself in the low ground, surrounded by high dunes on all sides. Maybe if she hurried, she could get to the top of a dune…
Riala bounded up the slippery side of the nearest sand dune on all fours, paws never touching the sliding ground for more than a moment. Upon reaching the peak, she parried a trident thrust from the toad standing there and sliced his net in two with her dagger. A hard downward swing with her roce cracked the ugly creature's flimsy skull and sent him tumbling.
The rest of the toads realized that they had lost the high ground, but it didn't matter to them. Forty toads against one squirrel were easy odds. The warrioress knew it as well. There was no way she could fight all of the ugly amphibians off on her own. She could try to run… but the dunes went on for miles, she was almost out of water, and she wasn't built for running on shifting sand. Besides, these toads were between here and Salamandastron.
So it came down to two choices. Fight and most likely die or be captured, or run and most likely die from dehydration and starvation. Riala shuddered inwardly at the thought. She'd take her chances with the toads.
"C'mon, ya warty cowards!" she shouted at the wary dunebeasts. "Ugly hellspawn! Bloody web-footed wart-faced whining wimps!"
The toads croaked and gurgled indignantly, then charged her in a massive attack. Riala smiled thinly, humorlessly, and let out three lengths of cord. "Come to die," she whispered, and gripped the cord tied to her roce with one firm paw. The squirrel whirled in a circle as the toads reached her, the stick flying outwards with centrifugal force, smacking soundly on the sides of amphibian skulls. "Riiilaaaaaar!" she yelled, working herself into a berserker rage- into the red-misted, unfeeling, unthinking state of bloodwrath. She came out of her spin and reversed directions, eliminating the vertigo. The toads fell back, croaking uncertainly, not wanting to be the next to fall to the whirling stick.
Riala yanked on the cord, and the stick flew towards her. She caught it and bared her teeth at the watching toads. "Any more of ye wishin' tae die?" she shouted, her usually near-imperceptible northern accent becoming much more pronounced with adrenaline.
An annoyed croak came from somewhere near the back of the toads as nobeast advanced. "Catcha bushytail, grroik!" he croaked. "Catchanow, cowardbeasts! Grroik!"
Spurred on by the words of their king, the toads advanced on the squirrel with ready tridents. She was breathing heavily from exertion and bloodwrath, but not about to give up, although they came at her from all sides. "Riiiiilaaaaaar!" she roared, and dove into the ranks, bashing with her roce-paw and slicing with her dagger paw. No time for feints and parries- all she could do was act, all she could do was attack with all the ferocious strength she possessed.
A net fell on top of her- she slashed at it with her dagger and struggled free, only to be entangled by another net. Encouraged by the faltering squirrel, the toads all tossed their nets and threw themselves on top of her to force her to stop moving. Idiots, the warrioress thought with a soundless snarl, slashing bellies and throats with her dagger. She didn't have to mobility to use her roce, but a bladed weapon was certainly of use in quarters as close as this. More toads piled on her, however, and the bodies of the dead kept her from reaching the live ones. She was being crushed under the weight; she couldn't move- couldn't breathe…
And then the toads moved off of her. She couldn't see much as her vision was obscured by blackness from the lack of air, but she drew in life-giving breaths as she was wrapped tightly in the nets. Her dagger was prized from her paw, and she was lifted by several ugly amphibians.
Captured. Blood and bones, this was annoying!
Riala's vision finally cleared in time to see the ground rushing up to meet her when the toads dropped her. Even wrapped in nets, she could still move somewhat. She ducked her shoulder and curled into a roll, using her own momentum to bring herself to her footpaws. In front of her was a massive, warty toad with a comical tin crown on his head. King Croakweb, she guessed.
Her assumption turned out to be correct. "King Croakweb is I," the toadking croaked. "Bushytail is catched. Bushytail bowking!"
The squirrel shot "King Croakweb" a withering look of utter disgust. "Kroakweb is legless tadpole," she told him, trying to guess what would be insulting to a toad. "Nono, Croakweb not slimetoad! Croakweb is flyhatchling!"
The king's eyes bulged with comical fury. "Bushytail foolbeast!" he gurgled indignantly. "Bushytail will bow! Croakweb toadking, not flybabe!" A toad behind Riala struk her in the knees and then the head with the butt of his trident, driving her to the ground in what looked like a low genuflection. Stars burst across her vision from the blow to her head, and she fought unconsciousness as Croakweb gurgle-laughed scornfully.
"See bushytail? Bushytail bow like cowardbeast!" he said. "Bushytail foolbeast, foodbeast! Now take bushytail…"
"Eulaliaaaaa!" It was a deafening shout, echoing over the dunes and sending the toads into a frenzy of fear.
"Longears!" King Croakweb croaked hoarsely. "Run now! Leave bushytail! Guard king! Help kiiiiing!" His last word faded into a panicked, drawn out scream as the press of panicked toads abandoned all thought for loyalty to their grossly fat monarch, thinking only of their own safety as they tried to escape, trampling Croakweb underfoot.
Riala curled into a ball of net and squirrel as the toads raced away in a panic. She could almost feel the bruises forming as yet another warty amphibian trod upon her in its rush to escape. The solid thwack of wood hitting skulls sounded like music to the squirrel's tufted ears, and then finally the frantic croaking receded into the distance. She uncurled with a groan and opened her eyes.
A light sand-colored hare was standing over the squirrel with a concerned expression etched on her features. On seeing Riala's eyes open, she waggled her ears in relief. "I say, wot're ya doin' on th' flippin' ground, treejumper?" she asked.
The squirrel grimaced. "What does it look like?" she groused. "Mind cutting me free?"
The hare shrugged and dipped her lance almost casually to Riala's red-brown fur. With a few seemingly careless swipes, during which the wide-eyed squirrel scarcely dared to breathe for fear of the hare misjudging the slice, she cut the nets into shreds. Riala climbed to her footpaws carefully, wincing as a few ribs complained with a wave of pain. "Thanks, I think," she said to the hare fem.
"Wot about us?" another voice protested merrily. Four sand-furred hares, each wearing tunics colored the same dusty shade as the dunes, much like the one the female hare wore, jogged easily back from where they'd been encouraging toads to run a bit faster.
Riala grinned at the one who had spoken, a large hare with one entirely black ear. "Thank you too," she told him, addressing the other three hares as well. "I'd probably be toad dinner by now if you five hadn't helped out."
The black-eared hare looked around at the bodies of dead toads that littered the dunes. "I don't know 'bout that, treejumper," he said dryly. "Y'seem t'have been doin' rather well on y'own, doncher know."
"Aye, very well," Riala agreed sarcastically. "Tangled in a net and lying on the ground before a warty toad who insists on being called king." She shrugged. "No matter. Thanks for saving me and kindly accept my gratitude. The name's Riala." She began winding the cord of her roce into a manageable coil as she spoke, untangling the occasional knot.
"Top o' th' morn' t'you, Riala," the black-eared hare greeted her. "I'm Sarrock, th' sergeant of this spiffin' Long Patrol that y'claim saved y'skin. Th' friendly gel there's Lera…"
"An' he never gets th' entire name right," the light-furred haremaid groused, "so I think I'll keep th' chap from manglin' it all over again. Th' name's Lilyrun Eulalia Racelong Archereye, or Lera, y'see. Simple, wot?"
Sarrock rolled his eyes and motioned to the previous silent hares behind him. They were tossing a lance back and forth between them at blinding speed. "Th' small chap there, that's Recar. He's th' champion runner in th' Long Patrol, though I don't bally well believe th' chap is done growin' yet!" Recar was indeed small, not long an adult, but his lean physique and the long muscles of a runner on his legs gave testament to Sarrock's description. He didn't look over as his name was mentioned, but remained intent on the whirling lance. "Th' ol' graybeard's Tion," he added with a grin. "A spiffin' warrior, but don't tell th' feeblepaws I swaid that!" Tion was graying a little around his ears and whiskers, but he was muscular and fit, his eyes hard and flat, fixed on the lance. It whizzed point first for his shoulder, and he moved in a blue, stepping aside and snatching it out of the air with one nimble paw. He turned it over and threw it back in the same smooth motion. No, Tion was definitely not feeling his years.
Riala watched, alarmed and tense as the deadly lance flew back and forth. Sarrock ignored the potential peril faced by his patrol members and continued introducing them instead. "Th' clown an' th' last bally chap of th' group has t'be Nuron, doncher know! Nobeast else left t'be him, y'see. Don't see why anybeast else would want t'be 'im, though!"
Nuron was indeed a jester. He stared at the lance with a dumbfounded expression as it flew back and forth between Tion and Recar. Abruptly Tion threw the weapon at Nuron, whose ears shot up in surprise as he fell back onto the sand. His hind legs shot up and grabbed the lance in mid-air, and he kicked out. Straight as an arrow, the weapon whistled in Recar's direction, striking him directly in the chest. The squirrel yelped in shock as the young hare fell onto his back with a whoosh of expelled air, and then rolled over onto all fours, coughing. The lance, entirely bloodless, lay on the ground beside him.
Nuron waggled his long ears at Riala with a laughing grin at her confused expression. "Cloth tip, y'see," he explained, bounding upright. "Silly Recar. Never let y'r guard down, doncher know! Tsk. Still 'aven't learned the basics, wot?"
The young hare scowled and pulled himself up, using the javelin as a staff, rubbing his ribs ruefully. "Th' ol' thing may 'ave a cloth tip, but it still leaves a bally bruise, y'know!"
"An' mayhap that bruise'll make y'pay attention next time, wot?" It was the quiet Tion that spoke this time, and then his light brown gaze flickered over to RIala. "I say, wotcha doin', treejumper?"
"Looking for my dagger," she replied, kicking a toad's carcass over to his back. The glint of the harsh southern sun on blood-wet steel caught her eye, and she bent down over the body of a toad whose webbed hand clutched the bloodied dagger. Riala pulled her blade out of its hand and pushed it into the earth to clean it.
"So y'keep y'r dagger clean an' forget about y'self, m'gel?" Lera grinned at her, gesturing with a paw at the squirrel's blood-stained tunic. Her red-brown fur and rust-gold tail had been turned almost black, and slick with the blood of toads, as well as some of the squirrel's blood. "Let's get t'the ol' fire mountain, an' y'can wash all that off. How's that sound, ol' thing?"
Riala nodded in relieved agreement. "Sounds bally good, ol' gel!"
Sarrock laughed at her attempt to speak in the hare manner. "Enough jawin' then. Let's get runnin', chaps'n'chapesses."
Riala had heard that Salamandastron was huge, but she was struck by the sheer enormity of the extinct volcano. It towered above the sea like a stalwart sentinel, never sleeping, unmovable and unconquerable. The setting sun turned its rocky face a rich gold riddled with shadows. For a long moment, the squirrel could do little but stare up at the towering mountainous fortress, craning her neck to see the top.
A calloused paw pushed her head down to a more comfortable position. "Goin' t'get y'head stuck like that, treejumper," Lera told her with a laugh. "Y'll see th' top soon enough, an' from a better spot too, wot!"
"'Allo th' bally mountain thingummy!" Nuron shouted irreverently. "Care
t'let a tired patrol inside?"
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and a huge dark form stood in the shadows
of the entryway for a brief moment. Then he stepped forward into the light, a
tall badger dressed in a heavy smith's apron stained with the black soot of the
forge fires. His eyes were the red-brown of a mustelid, and he leaned casually
on a massive hammer. "Nuron, you're as respectful as ever, I see," he said with
a rumbling bass laugh.
"Aye, y'old stripemutt," the hare returned, an irrepressible grin creasing his sandy face. "Wot's f'r dinner?"
"Th' cook hinted at th' possibility of hare-tongue stew," the lord of Salamandastron replied casually. "Sounds good t'me."
Nuron's ears stood straight up, quivering with indignation. "Bad form, ol' thing, hintin' at usin' a chap's taster f'r dinner! I wouldn't be able t'taste th' bally stew, y'know! Jolly bad form, Fire-me-sight!"
The badger chuckled, looking past Nuron to the squirrel behind him. "Ah, a guest! I hope you'll excuse my poor manners and those of th' walking stomach here. I'm Firesight, Badger Lord of Salamandastron."
"We found Riala 'ere tryin' t'knock out Croakwotsit's entire frog army with a flippin' stick an' dagger," Sarrock explained before the squirrel could return the introduction.
"An' I'm thinkin' she's wantin' a good bath afore she eats'n'chats, y'see," Lera added, grinning at Riala apologetically.
"Aye," she agreed, mock aggravation coloring her tone. "The longears promised a bath, but I didn't think they meant a dust bath!"
Firesight laughed at the exchange and shouldered his massive hammer as if it weighed nothing. "Welcome, then, to the mountain of the fire lizards. Lera'll show you to th' baths. I've got t'get back to the forge, myself. I'll see you at dinner." With a silent grace that seemed contradictory to his striped bulk, the badger melted into the caverns of Salamandastron, leaving the door cracked open for the small group.
"Y'heard th' stripedog, Lilyrun Eulalia Racelong Archereye," Recar said, not stumbling once over the convoluted excuse for a name. "Get movin', wot?"
"Move y'self, y'overgrown roadrunner," Lera shot back good-naturedly. She winked at Riala. "If yore finished with y'spiffin' dust bath, m'gel, I'll show y'where t'wash th' dust out of yore fur!"
It was nearly an hour before Riala finally decided she passed as reasonably clean. She'd not had a good bath in at least a week's time, having either been in too much of a hurry for one or not near enough water. It had taken several tubfuls of forge-heated water to eliminate the mess of blood, sand, and sweat caked on her red-brown fur in a dark crust.
She stepped out of the tub, water dripping to the stone floor and running down the almost imperceptible slope to the drain at the far end of the room. The clear liquid poured down in a waterfall as the squirrel wrung out her rust-gold tail with both scarred paws, and then shook herself like a dog might, sending droplets flying every which way. A towel hung by the door next to the short, thick, dark brown stick she called her roce and her plain but serviceable dagger. As she briskly toweled herself dry, two tunics that lay on the floor next to the doorway caught her gold-brown gaze. One was a dune-brown Salamandastron tunic., and she pulled it on before picking up her usual tattered, worn, forest-hued garb. She looked at the mottled cloth in disgust. "I'm going to have to get a new one made," Riala muttered.
A paw rapped on the bath-chamber door. "I say, ol' thing, didja drown in there?"
The squirrel recognized the voice as Lera's. "Aye, I jolly well did," she said, mimicking the hare accent. "Wot else would I be doin' in 'ere?"
"Yore accent's flippin' 'orrible," Lera informed her as Riala opened the door, coiling her roce cord over one arm. The hare immediately did a double-take, staring at the squirrel's rust-gold tail. "Golden tail?" she exclaimed.
"That is my name…" Riala said, giving Lera an odd look. By the expression on the hare's face, one would have thought she'd just spotted the gates of Dark Forest.
"No, treejumper! Yore tail! Y'didn't tell us yore name was Riala Goldentail!" Her tone was almost accusatory.
The squirrel was getting more and more confused. "Is it important?"
Lera's mouth opened wide for an outburst, then closed with a sigh. "Aye, bally
well important. Ah, well, jes' goes t'show y'can't thwart fate anymore'n y'can
stop th' seasons. Let's go t'get some tucker. How's that sound, chappess?"
"Spiffin'!" Riala said, forcing a grin and pushing aside her discomfort over Lera's odd reaction to the sight of her rust-gold tail.
The Salamandastron fare was excellent, Riala decided as she sat down beside Lera at a long table laden with food. "It looks delicious!" she exclaimed.
"It is," Lera agreed, loading her plate with fresh green salad. The squirrel followed suit, dumping shredded cheese liberally on her own. Hare and squirrel dug in simultaneously with the other hares in the mountain hall.
All sound abruptly ceased as the door in the back of the cavern creaked open. The powerfully built badger walked into the room from the forge and looked disapprovingly at the filled plates and sheepish-faced hares. "Starting without me?" he rumbled, wiping his forge-stained paws on his thick leather blacksmith's tunic.
"Well, we were hungry! M'poor tum was growlin' loud as you in bloodwrath!" Nuron called. "And y'were busy with yore fire'n'rocks!"
"Metal, longears," Firesight said calmly, walking over to the chair at the head of the long table. "Not rocks."
"An' metal is rock, s'cuse th' correction, Lord Firesight," a hare Riala hadn't yet met pointed out.
The badger glared at the grinning creature, then turned back to the rest of the Salamandastron hares. "You can all go back to eating now, not that I need to tell you," he told them, sinking down into the huge, ornately carved chair. As he reached for a platter of fresh-baked bread, his red-brown gaze fell on Riala. Shock sparked in his eyes for a brief moment, and he stood quickly, wasting no time. "Sarrock, Duneswift, Starsong! I'm holding a council of war, now! Everybeast else, begin preparations for defense against an attacking horde. You, squirrel!"
Stunned and confused by the sudden announcement of war, the red-brown squirrel could do little but stare at Firesight for several long moments before finally realizing that he was speaking to her. "Sir?" she asked uncertainly as the hall fell silent, every eye focused on the badger lord.
"If you're in any sort of a hurry, you'd better leave now," he told her, deep voice grim. "There'll be a battle soon, and I've no idea how long it'll take."
Riala gaped at the badger, astonished. "How can you know that?"
"Your tail's gold," he replied, as if that explained everything. "If you must stay, Recar'll show you what t'do. It's your choice." With that, Firesight looked out over the silent hall of hares impatiently, one massive paw tapping the dark wood of the table. "Well?" he demanded. "We've not much time until Zarok an' his horde reach th' mountain. Move!"
He turned and left the room at a trot as the hares exploded into a flurry of motion. A paw grabbed her arm on passing, and the squirrel's gaze focused on Recar's face. The young Runner tugged her arm insistently, urgently. "We've got t'take up positions in th' ol' fire mountain. D'ya know how t'shoot an arrow or sling or th' like?"
"I can use a bow well enough," she replied.
"Bally good," the hare said. "C'mon, treebusher, let's find ya a bow."
Riala grimaced, standing and stretching her cramping legs. One footpaw was numb and began to tingle with the renewed blood flow. She gazed out the narrow arrow slit at the campfires below, a hundred tiny stars embedded in the beach. "What are they waiting for?" she muttered irritably. "Why are they just sitting there?"
Tion was an old veteran at pitched battle, and understood the tactics of war far better than the squirrel, whose main experience had been as a lone fighter. He leaned against the wall next to the arrow slit, working steadily on fletching arrow shafts. "Could be several things," he replied in his quiet voice. "Might be they're tryin' t'scare us, impress us with numbers. Won't work, y'know. Small group compared t'most we've fought." He held an arrow up to the torchlight, examining his fletching job, and then tied off the string and reached for another wooden shaft and more feathers. "'Nother reason might be th' vermin're simply takin' a rest afore battle, seein' as they've been marchin' f'r so long. Likely, though, s'not th' case, doncherknow." His light brown eyes narrowed, paws stilling on the arrow as he gazed at the distant fires. "Most like, they aren't there at all. Jes' th' fires, makin' us think they're there. Seein' how t' leader, Zarok, is a fox, I'd say they're comin' up th' mountain right 'bout now."
The squirrel gaped at the calm manner in which he told her this last, unhurriedly tying off the fletching of his arrow. "Then why are we just sitting here?" she asked incredulously.
The grizzled warrior inspected his fletching critically, setting it aside before answering. "Because Firesight's planned f'r this. He's got hares hidden down there, waitin' t'scout out th' camp. Th' moment th' vermin leave, we'll know. You'll hear a loud whistle relayed from th' scouts to here."
"Huh." Riala watched the vermin camp thoughtfully, fingering the seasoned wood of her roce. "So what are we going to do? Wait?"
Tion nodded minutely, beginning work on yet another arrow. "Best advantage is t'ambush th' ambushers. They'll try t'attack uss, but we'll be waitin' with hot oil, boulders, arrows, slingstones, javelins, an' th' like. Many of 'em'll die without a single loss of one of ours. Then we attack head-on later, 'cos we've not enough food t'last out a siege. Battle'll end at sunrise, 'cept f'r cleanup work." The last sentence was added almost reluctantly, a brief sadness flickering across the veteran's scarred features, gone so quickly that Riala wondered if she'd imagined it. Then there was no time left to ponder it, for a piercing whistle split the air, assaulting her sensitive ears, and Tion set an arrow to his bow. The squirrel followed suit a moment later, not yet drawing it, gold-brown eyes probing the shadows for any sign of vermin.
The hare cursed softly, muttering something about being a fool, and
turned from Riala's view. She blinked rapidly as the torch behind her hissed
and flickered out, blanketing both warriors in darkness. Clothing rustled
softly as Tion returned to his position at the arrow slit. She realized his
reason for extinguishing the torch as her eyes gradually became accustomed to
the blackness, able to see outside more clearly than before.
Shadowed forms could be glimpsed down the rocks, creeping up the mountain like
a steadily rising flood of darkness. Riala's bow creaked as she pulled back the
arrow, taking careful aim. Tion's paw lashed out, grasping the taut bowstring,
and he shook his head. "Wait," he mouthed silently, barely visible in the dim
light of the moon. The ground rumbled beneath their footpaws as the vermin
crept ever closer, and huge boulders careened past the arrow slit in a blue or
movement. Vermin screams of panic were
cut short, yet those not fortunate enough to die still screamed…
Shouts spurred the living relentlessly onward, and finally Tion drew his bow. The arrow whistled past and down to the remaining vermin, and Riala pulled back an arrow of her own. The string hummed as an arrow flew from its grasp, whistling a death song. Not waiting to see if her aim had been true, the squirrel reached for another arrow and set it to her bow.
Time stretched on and the vermin kept coming. Riala felt the quiver for
another arrow and found it empty. She cursed under her breath. "No arrows
left!"
The hare pressed another quiver into her paw. "Y'get remark'bly focused when
y'shoot," he said. "Runner came by an' dropped more off. Didn'tcha notice?"
She shrugged, rust-gold tail twitching as she took an arrow from the proffered
quiver and loosed it into the steadily shrinking horde.
More shouts from below, sharp and commanding. The vermin stopped, turned, and began to recede like the tide pulled back by an insistent moon. Riala relaxed her bow in relief, setting down the weapon and unclasping cramped paws. She worked them open and closed, grimacing at newly formed blisters where she'd pulled the string back repeatedly. "I'm not used to using a bow so much," she said, pressing her chafed paws to the cool stone.
"Y'may need t'use it more soon," Tion said grimly, watching the vermin retreat. "Zarok's slyer'n I thought. Made fewer fires than he had soldiers. Fooled us t'thinkin' there were less of 'em than there were, y'see. We hurt 'em, but not too much… only enough t'make it so's we might win in a pitched battle. Which is goin' ter be necessary, seein' as we can't last out a siege."
Pawsteps sounded in the stone halls behind the two, and a young hare dashed up with a torch in one paw. "S'cuse me, but Lord Firesight wants everybeast in th' bally ol' mess hall, doncherknow." She nodded again, a nervous gesture that the dust-brown hare fem probably wasn't even aware of making. She hurried down the hall to the next arrow slit, and squirrel and hare turned wordlessly, starting down the winding tunnel at a quick jog.
The massive dining hall was eerily silent despite the gathering of so many hares. The air crackled with an unspoken tension, dampened somewhat by the grim solemnity in the light-brown gaze of each dun colored hare. Firesight's broad-striped face held resignation, but his light brown eyes showed fierce anticipation and the reddish glint of bloodlust.
"I'm going to challenge Zarok the Black to a duel." The badger's voice was quiet, but his bass rumble reached everybeast's ears without difficulty. "I've no illusions about vermin being honorable; I know that even if I kill the fox, his horde will still attack. But we match them in numbers, if not even outnumber them, and without their leader they'll be less cohesive a fighting force. I want the patrols to take up positions among the boulders near the mountain's base, and under the sand. Watch for treachery. Attack at the first sign of trouble. We cannot afford a siege."
A darker colored hare than most raised a hefty paw. "Wot about th' chaps an' chapesses not on patrols?"
"Their job is to lay down a heavy covering fire when the vermin attack, then stop once the enemy reaches the hidden patrols. If the patrols are taking heavy casualties, then the reserves will attack," Firesight said, his voice grim. "Do all of you know what to do?" A chorus of "ayes" was his answer, and the badger lord nodded grimly. "Right. Take up your positions quickly and quietly, as you have been trained." He turned to leave, rumbling a last command. "Dismissed!"
The pale light of the false dawn was turning the sky a dark gray when Riala returned to her post. Below the arrow slit she was stationed at, she could barely make out several hares, their dun fur almost invisible against the sand as they stole away silently from the mountain and buried themselves beneath a layer of pale earth. Nothing stirred in the vermin camp, nor from the mountain once the patrols had hidden themselves. The only sound in the still air was that of waves gently lapping the wet sand, thickening the air with the tang of salt.
The deceptive peace of the dawn was shattered with a thunderous roar that echoed across the beach, sending chills up the spine of anybeast within earshot. "EULALIAAAAAAAAAA!" The warcry of the fire mountain bellowed from a single cavernous chest was both challenge and proclamation of fierce defiance. Out of the darkness of the mountain's interior strode a powerful figure, polished armor gleaming in the first rays of the sun, eyes glinting the red of flame – the red of blood. In the silence that followed the battle cry, the shing of a greatsword leaving its sheath was chillingly audible. Firesight stood between the vermin camp and Salamandastron like a figure out of legend, undefeatable, impassable, power wrapped into each taut muscle and sinew.
"Zarok!" Hatred was packed into each thunderous syllable of the harsh name, and the badger lifted his blade as if to cleave the very skies asunder. "I am Firesight, Badger Lord of Salamandastron, friend to Starsong, the hare you so bravely killed!" Sarcasm hung heavy on those last three words, and his gauntleted fist shook with rage. "If you be not a coward, fox…" and the sword slashed down to the ground, gleaming red in the blood-touched light of the sunrise, "…then fight me! To the death, to settle this NOW!"
The echoes of the badger lord's challenge died into silence, the vermin camp remaining motionless. Then a living shadow stepped through the lines of tents into the growing light to reveal a night-black fox, flat golden eyes expressionless as his footpaws crunched on the sand.
"Zarok," Firesight said with grim satisfaction.
The fox answered not a word, gaze never wavering from the massive badger. He wore mail, fine linked chain almost as heavy as the badger's plate armor, yet the black fox moved as if it weighed nothing. He was tall for his species, almost at a height with Firesight, though with a build more wiry than thickly muscled. He held a glaive, the curved blade at the end of the long staff gleaming wickedly, and his paws gripped it with the light ease of expert use.
"You named me a coward, badger," the black fox said quietly, voice devoid of inflection. "Yet even such a vermin as I am not without honor." He smiled thinly, humorlessly. "If I die, my army will leave in peace. If you die, we will take over your mountain and execute everybeast within. Warriors make poor slaves." The humorless smile gained a wry twist. "But what will you care? You'll be dead." Flat amber eyes watched with droll amusement as Firesight's paw clenched on the hilt of his greatsword, and then the smile vanished. "If we both die… then my army will attack yours, and to the victor go the spoils. Are these acceptable terms, badger?"
Firesight nodded firmly, eyes flashing his anger. "Agreed."
Zarok bowed once over his glaive. "Then… let us fight!"
With seemingly impossible speed, the bladed staff lashed up and out at the badger's unprotected footpaws, but Firesight was not easily taken by surprise. A flick of one massive paw sent the greatsword down to block the slash, and then up again as the fox sought for Firesight's arm. The long polearm was skillfully deflected at every slash and thrust, and then it was the badger's turn to attack. His muscles bulged as he feinted and thrust, slashed and cut, seeking an opening in Zarok's defense. The greatsword lanced towards the fox's midriff, but he stepped aside and turned the blade with the pole of his glaive. Firesight attempted a thrust to his opponent's chest, but wood again met the flat of the blade. Neither could seem to touch the other as they danced death across the shifting sands.
From her vantage point within the mountain, Riala shook her head in amazement, even as she tensed with concern for the powerful badger. "I've seen bladework like this only once before," she murmured to nobeast in particular, gold-brown eyes fixed on the deadly match below.
"Aye, an' few times will y'see it again, chapess," a rough voice said from the shadows.
The squirrel jumped at the unexpected noise and whirled, dagger instantly at paw. A low chuckle met her straining ears, and a graying hare stepped out of the darkness. He had been dark brown once, if the sable interspersed with the gray was any indication, but now he was a grizzled elder who still moved with a warrior's fluid grace.
"Y'can put that up, m'gel," the hare said with a grin, nodding to her dagger. She looked at the blade curiously, unable to recall drawing it, and returned it to its sheath slowly.
"Sorry about that, Elder," Riala apologized. "I suppose its reflexes…" She turned to the arrow slit, gazing down at the battle below.
"Th' name's Loamleg, treebusher, not Elder," the hare said frostily, peering over her shoulder at the duel. "An' that is quite a battle, wot?"
"Aye," Riala agreed, watching. "But nobeast's even drawn blood yet…"
"An' evenly matched as those two are, t'will take a while. Y'see, if'n Firesight c'n break th' fox's lame s'cuse f'r a spear, he'd win. But that Zarok chap is careful t'only meet th' flat of th' blade, an' he's fast enough that Firesight can't press him hard as he needs ter. An' with 'em both armored, t'will be a time 'till it's over… unless one can get through a gap in th' mail'r plaates. 'Course, if Firesight uses his sword as a club, he c'n break some bones in th' fox, doncherknow. But th' fox is too skilled f'r that."
Riala was fascinated. She'd known much of what Loamleg had said on a subconscious level, but she'd never thought much about the strategy of dueling. She had always just fought unthinkingly, letting bloodwrath control her motions. "Then how will it end, if they're so evenly matched?"
The grizzled veteran shook his head slowly. "They'll tire an' start makin' mistakes eventually. Maybe it'll end with one blow; maybe they'll chip away at each other 'till one … loses. Hard t'tell yet, y'see." His pale brown eyes narrowed abruptly. "Aha! They're tirin' now, both of 'em. It'll be over soon…"
An angered roar split the air as Zarok's glaive drew first blood through a chink in the armor at the badger's shoulder. Only a shallow cut, it was still enough to provoke Firesight's rage. Without warning, his greatsword crashed down on the fox, who almost didn't get his glaive up in time. The huge blade glanced off of the long polearm and screeched down the finely meshed chainmail, drawing a hiss of pain from the fox. Zarok slashed inward, turning his glaive at the last minute to catch on the badger's ear and helmet, ripping off the steel head covering and flicking it to the ground. Blood trickled into Firesight's eyes, and he lashed out blindly, roaring his defiance. The fox ducked nimbly under the sweeping blade and made a single deft cut at the badger lord's throat.
Firesight's battle cry died as a throaty gurgle, and he dropped his greatsword as it became too heavy to lift. Then his red-misted eyes, already fogging in death, fixed on his lifelong enemy, and he found strength from an upwelling of hatred. Forcing a last battlecry from his ravaged throat, he stumbled inside the long polearm's reach and grasped Zarok the Black in a spine-crushing embrace of death as he screamed his final challenge to all who would hear:
"EULALIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Riala leaned against the chilled stone, stunned, gold-brown eyes wide with what she'd seen. "He's dead…"
Loamleg closed his eyes, paws curled into tight fists at his sides. "Aye…" he whispered, rough voice thick with grief and tears. "An' he knew he'd be dyin', too. 'The day a squirrel with golden tail into the mountain comes, the fox shall find the end of the badger's trail. They both shall die 'neath the rising sun.'"
The squirrel glanced sharply at him. "What's that from?"
"Th' prophecy on th' bally wall in th' chamber of th' badger lords," the hare said, gazing at the two bodies below.
"A squirrel with a golden tail…" Riala shook her head slowly as the reaction of the hares and badger to her appearance suddenly became clear. "That's me, isn't it?"
Loamleg drew in a slow breath, and his minute nod was all the answer she needed. She stared out the arrow slit blankly, feeling somehow responsible for Firesight's death. At her nearly inaudible sigh, the hare placed a reassuring paw on her shoulder. "There now, m'gel, t'wasn't y'r fault. Y'can't outsmart fate. Y'were just th' warnin'."
The sun was nearly full above the horizon, and the red of sunrise was beginning to fade to daylight blue. A warm breeze had picked up, carrying the permeating ocean scent and taste of salt to the waiting defenders. "Going to storm," Riala said quietly, not replying to the hare's words. She lowered her gaze to the vermin camp, which was finally showing signs of motion in the opening of tent flaps and the occasional wisp of campfire smoke. She strung her bow with growing ease, stretching muscles stiff from the previous night's battle. "S'pose we'd best get ready to fight…"
The ranks of vermin lined up in formation, every eye fixed on the two bodies in the sands. They stood there for several long moments, the breeze picking up to a stronger and colder wind, before a tall ferret in a captain's uniform strode out to the broken body of her leader. She kneeled beside him, examining the body silently, but looked up at the hiss of sand as a black-eared hare materialized from the earth, javelin in paw.
The ferret smiled thinly at the sight. "We've lost enough of our own t'yer hares," she said simply, before the Salamandastron sergeant could throw his weapon. "Th' fox paid us well enough, but he's dead. We'll be leavin' this place." She nodded respectfully to the bodies of the two opponents and turned to go. "They was warriors through an' through, an' we won't see their like again. We've both paid enough t'hate." With those last quiet words, the ferret turned and walked away from Salamandastron, and the vermin army followed.
Riala gaped at the sight. "These… are vermin? They don't act like the ones I've fought…"
Loamleg was just as surprise, light brown eyes wide. "I've never seen th' like! Honorable vermin… bally shocker, wot?"
The sunset's amber fires stretched across the sky, painting the fleeing gray clouds a rich gold. In the sand below, a squirrel's rust-gold tail paled in comparison with the flaming heavens, one scarred paw lifted to the sun-touched mountain behind her in a silent salute. A long moment passed with the waves lapping gently at the sandy shores of Salamandastron, and the squirrel turned south as the hares' thunderous farewell echoed in her ears, the ghost of a mighty warrior lending his roar to their warcry:
"EULALIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!"