Vengeance Quest

Chapter 8: Dark Deeds

They trained until the squirrelmaid could barely hold the practice sword, and then they trained some more. Malaya proved a quick learner, uncomplaining and diligent through the ensuing days of constant activity. Riala received no mission assignments save patrols, so she was able to devote her time to teaching Malaya swordplay, archery, and woodlore. The poor youngling fell into bed each night half dead from exhaustion but there was a benefit to the hard work: there were no more nightmares.

Onestrype hung stubbornly to life. He remained in a perpetual slumber, soup poured down his throat to keep him from starvation. It became a constant question among the concerned Wanderers: "Any news of Onestrype?"

Perhaps that was why Riala pushed Malaya so hard, why she wrapped herself up in the role of trainer, avoiding Redwall at all costs, only checking in at Wanderer headquarters when she had to. The physical rigmarole kept her mind off of wounded Wanderers and broken friendships and wolverines.

Then the relative quiet ended with a single patrol.

"Wake up, sleepyhead!"

Riala's voice was deliberately, obnoxiously cheerful, one footpaw prodding Malaya to reluctant consciousness. The squirrelmaid groaned, pulled the blankets over her head only to have them yanked off.

"Patrol time, youngling. Up!"

Malaya groaned again and slumped back to a sitting position. "Yer a torturer, Ri."

"Torturer? Me?" Riala was all offended innocence. "I let you sleep late, slugabed. It's already dawn."

The squirrelmaid favored Riala with a grumpy glare. "Yer ridiculous when ya try t'be innocent."

"Sorry." Riala's tone was anything but apologetic. "Come, get ready and let's go."

Still grumbling, Malaya struggled into a tunic, buckled on her rapier, and slung her bow and quiver across her back. "Where're we goin'?"

"Usual patrol route," Riala said, climbing out of the drey to the outer limbs of the widespread oak. Malaya caught up with a burst of speed, gradually waking to her normal energetic self.

"What 'bout breakfast?"

"What about it?"

The squirrelmaid blinked. "Ain't we gonna have it?"

"I already did. You slept in." Riala grinned at the string of protests that met that announcement. "You know some woodlore. Shouldn't be too hard to find your own."

That drew a second protest and a groan. "Another test?" Riala didn't answer, leaving Malaya with no option but to sigh and start looking for food among the late spring boughs.

The morning wore to noon with nothing out of the ordinary. The two squirrels dropped by a few small woodland dwellings, asked if everything was normal, nothing unusual or potentially dangerous.

"Oh, no, everything is perfectly fine," the father of a rabbit family said, dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief.

"Yes dear, but do remember that stoat creature," his wife reminded him.

Riala's ears pricked with interest. "A stoat?"

"Oh yes, nasty creatures, those. A female, I believe, but 'tis hard to tell with i vermin /i , you know. T'was a bit that way." He pointed down an overgrown path.

"Was she alone?" Riala asked, gaze intent. "Armed? Anything unusual beyond that she was a stoat?"

The rabbit's long ears flicked back as he thought on it. "Hm… had a sword like your young friend there, she did." He nodded to Malaya's rapier. "Alone, yes, I believe so. And, ah… hm… yes, odd clothing too. Very dark."

"Can you describe it?"

"Yes, of course." He sniffed, dabbed at his nose once more. "Rather dirty thing, t'was probably black once. The oddest part was the design on the front, some sort of whitish symbol. It appeared to be claws, though they were rather long… Oh dear, is something the matter?"

He stared in concern at Riala's suddenly wide eyes, clenched paws, and laid-back ears. "Longclaws…"

Malaya, silent till now, jerked at the name, mouth agape. The rabbit was oblivious. "Yes, that is what I said—long claws. Wait—where are you—"

"Thank you you were very helpful farewell!" Malaya gasped out as Riala raced up a nearby tree without a word. The youngling charged up after the older squirrel, leaving the two rabbits blinking in confusion.

"Rude," the mother rabbit said.

"Quite," the father agreed. "The silly beasts didn't even stay for tea."

"Riala, wait up!"

The older squirrel slowed in her breakneck dash through the treetops, glaring at Malaya impatiently. "Keep it down," she growled.

Malaya didn't even flinch. "Yer gonna do somethin' crazy, aintcha?"

"I'm going to get some answers." Riala turned and took off again. Malaya followed with an exasperated sigh.

"What are ya gonna do t'do that, huh?" she asked.

Riala's face went cold and still and dark. "I'll know when I find this stoat."

A shiver rippled through the squirrelmaid's thin frame. "Ri, promise me ya won't do anything crazy. Like… killin' 'er afore ya know if she's good're bad."

Silence, winter frigid. "I can't promise anything."

A crackle in the brush below cut off any further argument. Riala stopped, stared intently at the ground, gold-brown gaze seeking the sound's source. A light pawstep and a stoat stepped into view. She wore a black tunic over ginger fur, both stained brown with travel dust. A finely crafted rapier hung at her side and she moved with the fluid ease of a lifelong bladebeast, but exhaustion showed in hunched shoulders and drooping ears.

"Malaya."

Riala's voice was barely audible even as close as she was to the squirrelmaid. Malaya leaned in even nearer, nightoak eyes questioning and concerned.

"Leave. Go back to the drey."

"I wanna help—"

"I have to do this alone."

The squirrel's steel gaze and cold tone brooked no room for argument. Malaya sighed, nodded reluctant assent. "Be careful…" And she disappeared among the leaves.

Riala waited, working her roce free of her belt, seemingly relaxed now that it was time to act. Emotion vanished, leaving only a chill sense of purpose to govern motion. The stoat moved a little closer, every muscle tense, perhaps feeling Riala's sharp gaze on her. Closer still, and Riala dropped from the tree like a hawk diving for prey, roce swinging down for the stoat's head.

Some sixth sense or perhaps the rustle of foliage as Riala brushed by it alerted the stoat. She fell before the squirrel could touch her, rolled to the side as the stick smashed into her shoulder, came up with rapier gleaming in her other paw. Riala didn't waste time cursing the miss, let out a length of cord instead, whirling her roce until it whistled in the breezy spring air.

The stoat crouched, rapier held in an expert paw, one arm hanging limp at her side. "I don't mean any—"

Riala wasn't interested in conversation. She let the stick fly, watched the force of it wrap the cord around the stoat's legs and then she yanked the stoat's footpaws out from under her, all in the blink of a gold-brown eye. The stoat hissed in pain as she fell on her injured shoulder, hacked at the taut cord with her rapier but Riala was on her, dagger flashing in the greengold forest light. The blade bit into the stoat's sword paw, forcing her to drop the blade and then one scarred red-brown paw pressed down on the stoat's white throat.

"Now…" The squirrel's eyes glinted cold vicious red, teeth baring in a feral grin. "Let's get some answers, aye?"

"What… do you mean?"

"You're one of Longclaws' horde," Riala said with a growling edge to her words.

The stoat flinched. "I… was…"

A sneer slashed its way across the squirrel's scarred face and her paw pressed a little harder on the stoat's throat. "Don't try lying to save your mangy hide, scum! Where's the Longclaws' horde?"

"I… don't know…" she gasped past the pain and the crushing paw.

Riala's dagger paw jerked up, light glinted on steel and the stoat's ear lay on the ground. Shock stilled pain for one moment then faltered, elicting a scream cut off sharply by a paw's renewed pressure. The squirrel held her paw on the stoat's throat for a few seconds longer, a silent warning, then let off the pressure. She waited for the stoat to regain her breath in sobbing gasps.

"I warned ye not tae lie, stoat," she hissed. "Where is the wolverine?"

"Southlands… when I left—last season. I swear… I don't know!" Panic crept into the stoat's voice and the fear in her wild gaze could not be feigned.

Riala nodded slightly. "Where were they headed?"

"Some castle… otters and squirrels… Southblade, something… like that."

"How many in the horde?"

The stoat shrugged weakly, bit her lip hard as her injured shoulder shifted. "Not… too many. Five score… maybe."

"Captains?"

"Five…"

She was fading, pain dragging her to unconsciousness. Riala kicked the stoat's side, kicked again when she didn't respond. The stoat hissed out a tortured breath, teeth gritted. "…awake…"

"Good. I need names. Abilities."

The stoat inhaled shakily. "Veneno. Fox. Poisoner. Uses it on everything. Scythe in battle. Thinks he's… death." Even through her pain the disgust showed clear in narrowed eyes.

"The others?"

"Astarte Darkmoon." Something akin to hatred twisted the name into filth. "Stoat… She uses… saber and dagger. Power-hungry."

She paused to grab a firmer grip on consciousness, drew in another deep breath. "Deathcry… ferret archer… sadist. Stormsong… weasel… bard… healer… scout leader."

The stoat fell silent, eyelids drooping, ragged breath rattling deeper. Riala cuffed her to consciousness again. "You said five captains, stoat. I count four. Who's the fifth?"

"Can't…" It was as whimper, a whisper, pain and fear and a hopeless defiance all in the one word.

The dagger dropped point-first into the stoat's uninjured shoulder. Her scream was choked off by an iron paw about her muzzle, the dagger yanked out. "I… can't…" she sobbed, voice barely audible. "…promised…"

"Since when do vermin keep oaths?" Riala snarled. "What's going to happen if you tell? If this captain threatened torture or death, it's no worse than what I can do to you. Tell me, scum!"

Tears beaded at the corners of squeezed-shut eyes. "…no…"

Riala's face grew northland cold, devoid of emotion. She let the dagger drop again, into the leg this time. Another scream, again cut short, and again the stoat refused to speak. The second ear fell to the ground. A finger followed, then another…

"…no more…"

Riala stopped at the gasping sob, waited for her answer. "You'll tell me?"

Pain, more than just physical, contorted the ravaged face. "…yes…" Self-loathing coated the reluctant agreement and the one unharmed paw curled into a fist. "…Kiern… stoat… blade… Longclaws' guard… favored captain… elite…"

She was fading once more, eyes glazing over, teeth bared against pain and death. Riala touched the dagger to the stoat's throat, ready to release her from the agony, but a whisper of sound from the bloodstained mouth gave her pause.

"Kiern… I'm so… sorry…"

A sighing breath rattling past a blood-choked throat, and then silence. Riala looked at the stoat's corpse coldly, took her dagger from the unmarred throat, plunged it into loam to clean it.

"Hellsteeth…"

A stunned shocked whisper whipped the squirrel's head around to see Shadow de Vulpes, one paw on a tree trunk as if for support, emerald gaze wide and staring.

Riala's eyes went colder still, hardening against the loathing she knew the fox would feel for her. "Did Malaya send you?" she asked, quiet and chill.

The blank stare shifted with difficulty to the squirrel, remained there for an eternal silent moment. "You did…this?"

"Aye." Simple, unflinching.

A shiver rippled across the fox's lean form, revulsion evident in the tension of every muscle. "You know this means you're no longer a Wanderer."

"I know." Regret flickered, cracking through the ice, then froze to stillness. "I'm leaving Mossflower tonight. Resuming my hunt for the wolverine Nightdeath."

Shadow nodded, turned back to the mutilated corpse, swallowed hard. "Better burn this before Malaya comes…"

"Aye." Riala bent to gather wood for a pyre. After one long moment, Shadow leaned down to help.

It was dusk by the time the body burned to ash. Shadow had long since departed, likely to report to Brook. Riala remained, standing vigil over the pyre, feeling some sort of obligation to the hordebeast she'd killed. Strange, that. She was one of the Longclaws's… no reason I should do this… but she couldn't forget the stoat's final words, the sadness in her voice. "Kiern… I'm so… sorry…"

…Strange.

Riala kicked dirt over the ashes and brushed leaves and twigs over the dirt until it was impossible to tell a fire had ever been there. She picked up the stoat's rapier, tested the balance, nodded in satisfaction. A good weapon; she'd drop it off in the Wanderers' armory when she gave Brook her resignation.

She touched the wooden insignia at her throat, unclipped it reluctantly. I'm going to miss this. Mossflower. Redwall. Her drey. The woodlanders. The Wanderers.

She shook her head, a sudden anger flaring within. No time for sentiment, Riala! No room for sentiment. You can never come back, not now. Get over it—you have a wolverine to hunt.

The squirrel climbed to the forest canopy, slowly heading for Wanderers' headquarters. It didn't take long to reach the widespread oak, and Riala dropped into the disguised treehouse without a moment's hesitation.

Brook was waiting inside.

The squirrel nodded slowly at the sight of the gimlet gaze and the expressionless face, resigned to the inevitable. She knows.

"Report." The mouse's voice cracked like a whip, sharp and demanding.

Another slight nod. So this is how it is to be… "I found a stoat in the livery of the wolverine Nightdeath Longclaws while on patrol," she said, keeping her voice even and neutral. "I sent the squirrelmaid Malaya away from the scene, then engaged the stoat in combat through ambush. I disarmed her and interrogated her through use of force. After yielding what information I needed about the wolverine's whereabouts and horde, the stoat died from amassed injured. The vixen Shadow de Vulpes came upon me then and aided in the disposal of the body."

"I see." Brook's words were calm and flat, but her eyes were winter cold. "You attacked an unknown outsider without investigating purpose, gaining permission, or announcing your presence. You tortured the stoat to death. You burned the body."

Riala didn't flinch. "Aye, I did." She set her rank insignia on the desk, wood clicking on wood. "I told you I'd leave the Wanderers when I found news of the Longclaws' whereabouts. I have, so I'm resigning."

The quiet calm of her voice sparked fury in the Wanderers' leader. Brook stood, paws slamming down hard on the oaken table. "Hellsgates, Riala, you tortured somebeast to death! Don't you feel anything?"

"…No."

"You…" The mouse glared, one paw clenching and unclenching convulsively. "What manner of beast are you?"

Riala gazed down at the latticed floor, the patterns drawing her eyes along one gray strand in a network of browns, transfixed. "I'm not sure I know…"

Brook hissed out a curse. "Are you a vermin that you don't even care what you do to get what you want?"

"No!" That provoked a response at last, anger and denial and even a touch, oddly enough, of fear. Riala met Brook's gaze for the first time since she'd entered the room. "I don't enslave. I don't kill younglings. I don't interfere in duels or have half a score archers kill my enemy if he begins to get the better of me!"

"No, you don't do that." Brook's voice was all ice now, former fire turned to winter hail. "You only attack creatures unawares. You only torture them to death. You only kill without thought for if your victim might not be evil."

The squirrel turned away, fighting for calm. "You stop to see things from an enemy's view, you can't kill him. You hesitate, you die. I can't think of what vermin feel. I can't afford to."

"At least you could have honor!"

"Honor!" Her calm shattered irretrievably, each shard drawing fury to the surface. She whirled, ears pinned back, paws clenched into tight fists. "Honor is a weakness when fighting against the honorless! It's useless. Deadly. It killed my father, and I'm not making the same mistake!"

Disgust filled the mouse's dark eyes. "Then you're no better than the vermin you hate."

Riala's paw clenched tight on the hilt of her dagger, eyes narrowing to furious slits. Brook waited, silent, seemingly calm but with every muscle tensed for action, and her sword close at paw. A long moment passed, tension stretching into eternity, and then the squirrel forced her paw to let go of the weapon. She turned to go, paused a step from the exit. Words spun in her mind—apologies, thank yous, retorts, farewells. Yet she clamped her mouth on speech, settling for silence, and stepped from the Wanderers headquarters into the embrace of night.

Riala paused on the south path, gazing over her shoulder at the nightshadowed forest and the sunrise red form of Redwall behind her. What am I waiting for? The thought was a whisper in her mind as she stared at the abbey, at Mossflower, fixing it in her memory. I can't go back. Didn't say goodbye to Malaya but that might be for the best; she probably thinks I'm no better than a wolverine too. Bitterness shadowed the scarred face, yet she could not turn away. Nothing left to do here; Malaya will take care of the drey, I don't need anything from it. I'm finally doing what I wanted to do, continuing my vengeance quest. I should be glad.

…then why was she still standing as somebeast adder-tranced? Why did she feel like she was leaving a lifelong home?

Kaylen… I'm sorry. Thank you for saving me.

Onestrype… get well. Awake. Fight again.

Even Shadow… thank you for teaching me. And understanding.

Malaya…

Riala closed her eyes as pain ate at her heart. It was best to leave this way. Goodbyes were too hard, and they didn't accomplish much anyway. This was best. Truly best…

…stay free. I'll miss you…

Riala drew in a deep breath and turned away at last. One scarred footpaw moved forward, then the other… step by step she forced herself down the path, to the south, to the Longclaws, until a shout stopped her in her tracks.

"Ri!" Gold-brown eyes widened, shock freezing every limb to motionlessness. "Rialaaaaa! Wait!" "…Malaya?" Riala turned to see the squirrelmaid racing her way, fumbling with an armload of baggage. Malaya stopped just in front of her friend, buckled on her rapier, slung bow and quiver and a bulging haversack over her shoulder. She grinned up at the older squirrel. "Thought ya was leavin' without me, huh?"

"I…" Riala stared, mouth open like a gasping fish. "You can't come!" she protested at last.

"Why not?"

The squirrel's jaw clenched and she averted her gaze. "You don't want to come with me."

Malaya's head tilted questioningly. "Yes I do…"

"No, you don't." Riala spat the words out, voice growing chill. "I tortured that stoat. To death."

"…oh." A long silence from the squirrelmaid. Riala studied a blade of grass on the road as if it were the most fascinating object in existence, forcing herself not to look at Malaya. Finally, in a quiet voice, "…I'm coming with you anyway."

A curse ripped from the squirrel's throat. She whirled on the youngling, voice rising to a shout. "Maybe you didn't hear me, Malaya. I tortured somebeast to death! For information only!"

"I heard ya." Malaya met Riala's glare without flinching. "An' I think it's wrong. But I understand. If ya hadn't killed th' slavers, I woulda done th' same t'them. But if I had th' same chance now…" She shook her head. "I'd kill 'em quick so's they couldn't enslave others, but it wouldn't be f'r revenge. 'Cos I don't hate 'em anymore, yannow? I've let go. You haven't yet, that's all. So ya do things outta hate that ya wouldn't otherwise. But I think ya know it's wrong."

Riala looked away, unable to meet that calm, earnest gaze. She'd been expecting revulsion, loathing, anger, even hate… anything but understanding. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"So I c'n come?"

"No." The squirrel's eyes grew hard, fixed Malaya with a silent command to obey. "It's too dangerous. You might be killed or captured."

The squirrelmaid chuckled. "So might you."

"That's different."

"Nope!" Malaya grinned. "Not different at all. Asides, ya can't stop me. Ya can't order me t'stay 'cos yer no Wanderer anymore. Ya can't force me t'stay 'cos I'll follow even if ya knock me out're tie me up, an' it'll be safer f'r me if I'm not travelin' alone, right?"

Riala's resolve held up barely a moment under the youngling's good logic and stubbornness. She sighed, glare softening into an almost-smile. "Very well, Aya. I suppose I ought to welcome company…"

"Good!" Malaya skipped ahead a few paces, tailbrush waving high in the air. "Let's go huntin'!"