Vengeance Quest
Chapter 10: BattleNight turned to day returned to night, moonless and clear. The stars peered down at the only flame in the warm night, the fire lit tent in the Nighthunt encampment.
The captains of the horde gathered within, informal and seemingly relaxed as they waited their chief's arrival. Astarte lounged across the floor mat, watching the others with hooded eyes, all sultry invitation. The black dogfox Veneno stood cloaked in shadow, whetstone rasping across his keen scytheblade again and again, honing it to a deadly edge. Deathcry hunched apart from the others, suspicion lurking in the red-tinged gaze as she chewed absently on a thin bone. Stormsong spared them all barely a glance before returning to his lute, adjusting a string here and there.
Kiern remained standing, situated near the entrance, motionless and immaculate. I hate these councils, he thought, observing wary calculation in every eye, sensing the tension like bared steel waiting for blood. None trusting anybeast else, all seeking their own advancement.
Disgusting.
"So… Kiern." Astarte's smooth voice caressed the name between the repetitive rasping of Veneno's whetstone. "Any idea why th' Longclaws called this little circus?"
The stoat glanced to Stormsong. "I am not at liberty to tell you; the chief will explain all when he arrives. I can tell you that it has to do with a scout's discovery."
"Really…" Astarte turned her attention to the cloud-gray weasel, who shot an irritated look at Kiern.
"I can tell thee nothing," the healer-bard said, strumming a gentle chord on the lute. He tilted his head, ears sifting the sounds, and tightened a gleaming string. "Surely thou hath the patience to wait for the chief's arrival. It cannot be long."
The Nightfangs' captain rose to her footpaws in a single fluid motion and sidled over to Stormsong. "Come, come, captain… it's really not fair that you an' Kiern know but th' rest of us don't. You can tell me, can't you?" Her paw brushed moth-soft across the weasel's shoulders and Stormsong stiffened beneath the touch, every muscle tensing. "Remove thy paw, Darkmoon," and his usually soft voice was as taut as his lithe form.
She blinked, hesitated. "Is… something wrong, bard?"
"Remove. Thy. Paw. I hath no interest in thine kind. Thou be repulsive, flaunting thyself to any an' all."
A dark anger flashed in the stoat fem's eyes and she pulled away, turned from liquid and languorous to sharp fury in an instant. "You captains're all alike, aren't you? You an' Kiern. Too good fer pleasure, so proud of yer abstinence, so disdainful of somebeast who uses what she has t'get what she wants." She glared at both stoat and weasel, dark eyes bright with indignation, slender paws curled into fists, and then the anger seemed to drain away to leave her with only fragility and a still-alluring dejection. She turned the force of that wounded helplessness on the assassin-captain Veneno, slinking up to him and laying a ginger-red paw on his black fur. "D'you hate me too, Captain Veneno?" she asked, somehow managing to mix a purr with a pout.
The fox blinked, eerie amber gaze flicking from Astarte to Stormsong to Kiern and back again. "I… nay," he said at last, a slow smile touching his dark face. "Death hates nobeast."
A low laugh, throaty and rich. "Then maybe you'll show me what Death can do, after this meeting?"
Kiern's lip curled in disgust and he turned away, wishing the Longclaws would
hurry. I will not be able to take more of this without slicing out that
whore's tongue…
"Will ye jussst shut yer flamin' jawsss, Darkmoon?"
Astarte smirked, leaning against Veneno and glancing at the blood-red ferret in the shadows from the corner of her eye. "Why, Deathcry, what's the matter?"
The ferret pulled the bone out of her mouth and pointed it at the stoat fem. "Ye be disgussstin'. There be other waysss tae gain th' power ye love ssso much."
"Really." Astarte's gase sharpened, gained a vicious light. "Yer one t'talk, aren't you? Only reason yer a captain now's because ol' Chalgore liked yer…skills…"
Deathcry snarled and bit hard into the bone. It splintered into two jagged halves that she held up, death dancing in her eyes, fangs bared in a feral parody of a smile. "Thisss be what'sss left o' dear Chalgore," she hissed. "He ssscreamed right tae th' moment he died—an' it took an age fer th' ssscum tae die. That be hisss reward for making me sssubcaptain!"
"I see." A smirk touched Astarte's face. "Yer a spider then. Have th' male before you devour him…"
The ferret moved with lightning speed, both sharp ends of bone pressed at Astarte's pale throat like twin fangs. "Ye call me a ssspider, whore? E'er felt a spider'sss bite?"
"Enough."
Deathcry locked glares with Astarte a moment longer before breaking away and biting down on a piece of bone once more. She didn't look up as Nightdeath followed his chill voice into the tent, ebon stare touching every captain within.
"Astarte. Play your games outside the tent, on your own time," the wolverine said, frigid as the northland snow.
Rebellion flickered, a slight twisting of the mouth, then vanished and Astarte stepped away from the silent Veneno, returned to the other end of the tent. "Yes sir."
The Longclaws waited as his captains turned their full attention on him, then nodded slightly. "One of Stormsong's scouts has reported a small armed group of woodlanders half a day's march to the south, directly in our path," he began in his typical blunt manner. "We could go around them but some of the horde are getting restless, and so a fight would likely improve morale. Captain Darkmoon, your command is the most impatient for battle, correct?"
"Yes sir. They edge towards rebellion if they go too long without a battle."
"The Nightfangs will be the first into battle, then." The wolverine's dark gaze flicked to Deathcry. "What of the Nightarms?"
She shrugged. "They be missssile beasssts. Lessss warhungry than many. Ussse usss if needed but it isss not neccessssary for morale."
A nod, and his attention turned to Veneno. "Your assassins?"
"Aye. The Nightblood are hungry for the killing, and I am starved for death." The fox ran his tongue along the sharpened scytheblade, grinned in malicious anticipation. "As is my blade..."
Kiern's nose wrinkled in mild disgust but he wiped the look clean in an instant, returned to impassivity as Nightdeath turned the topic to the tactics in the upcoming skirmish. All five captains leaned in, turned serious and thoughtful in the flurry of discussion and orders and strategy as the night wore on to dawn.
"'Round 'bout sunset, Ashwood."
The graying squirrel squinted into the glare of the day's last light, then turned his attention to the burly salt-pepper hedgehog standing nearby. "Set up camp now or try for the plains?"
His companion hmphed at the thought. "Safer te make camp. We don't be the only creatures in these parts. Scouts reported seein' some vermin."
"I suppose." The squirrel shrugged and shouldered his longbow. "Well, I'd best tell the others we're stopping here…"
By the time the gray of dusk had given way to a cloud-strewn night, a full twoscore of bedrolls were laid out by merrily blazing campfires, and the first few sentries stood about the camp of woodlanders with a sleepy sort of vigilance.
None of the sentries managed to sight the inky forms within the almost-black of treeshadow. And amidst the rustle of the autumn breeze through dying lives, nobeast noticed a puff of air from the forest's edge.
"Ow!"
The mousemaid Springfern clamped a paw to her neck, wincing as she let out the involuntary yelp. A passing hare sentry paused at the sound, long ears tilting her way. "Somethin' the mattah, Fern-me-spring?"
Springfern's paw remained pressed tight to the side of her neck. "Nay, jus' a beesting, I…" Abruptly she stiffened and, with excruciating slowness, toppled to the ground.
"I say!" the hare exclaimed, bounding to her side with two long strides. "That doesn't look quite like a bally sting, m'gel!" He crouched by the fallen mouse, paw moving hers aside until he could see the brown feather protruding from Fernspring's fur, and his eyes widened. "That's…urk!"
The hare arched backwards as a dagger thudded into his back, and then black-clad figures swarmed past him into the sleeping camp with all the noise of an owl on the hunt.
Muddclaw was bored.
He crept up behind yet another half-awake sentry and ended the stupid squirrel's shift with a single knife thrust, then eyed the other shadowy figures on the outskirts of the camp with a sullen air. It was no fun sneaking around killing the unwary. Maybe it was for assassins like the Nightblood but he wore the red gloves of the Nightfangs. He wanted battle!
A notion tickled the fringes of his mind and he paused, nibbling on the bloodstained tip of his longknife. If somebeast screamed in pain because a hordebeast didn't manage to kill on the first strike... that would probably wake up the camp, wouldn't it?
Muddclaw grinned and slunk his way to the next unsuspecting sentry. Oh, fun indeed. He hated hedgehogs.
An agonized cry split the forest air as Muddclaw's knife hit home, but the hedgehog sentry was no amateur at battle... He whirled with speed unexpected for such a large and wounded creature, and the surprised Muddclaw never had time to dodge the axe that split his skull in two.
Ashwood leapt out of his bedroll at the scream, impatiently kicked away entangling cloth, and strung his longbow as he peered into the darkness. The squirrel's sharp gaze picked out still, shadowed forms lying where sentries once stood, and his nose twitched at the scent of blood.
"We're under attack!"
A familiar voice bellowed the cry from Ashwood's shoulder, startlement whirling the squirrel about and into a fighting crouch before he could process the sight before him. It was the hedgehog, blood dripping from his axe, eyes alight with battlerage, tunic stained dark red.
"What--where--" The graying squirrel's sleepfogged mind tried to process all the sights and scents and sounds, sluggish from the abrupt awakening.
The hedgehog spun Ashwood around to face a scowling, black-garbed rat charging from the edge of the camp. "That's what! Get 'im, treejumper!"
Instinct sent the squirrel's paw to his quiver without a moment of hesitation. Slide an arrow free, send it to the bowstring, draw and release. A thud, a scream, and the rat spun to the ground. A cold, still calm settled over the archer as he sought out attacker after attacker, shut out all but his target and the line of sight down each straight arrowshaft. Death's feathered heralds hissed through the midnight air from steady paws, and vermin began to fall.
"Heh…looks like we've been found out," Astarte said with a throaty chuckle, fondling the saber at her side. She glanced sidelong at the shadowy form of Veneno. "Ready for some fun, Death?"
The flat amber eyes flicked her way, then took in the sight of yelling woodlanders rallying to the defense. Fangs gleamed in a feral grin, chill as hellgates. "Aye…let us send these foolbeast to my kingdom." A laugh, empty and eerie amidst screams and warcries, and Veneno leapt into the midst of the woodlanders, scythe glittering in the light of the impassive moon, dark hood shading his face like the very spectre of death.
Astarte laughed then, too, saber sliding free of its sheath with the slithering scrape of Dark Forest's call. "This fox might be mad," she murmured to her bloodthirsty blade, "but he still speaks my tongue…"
"Niiiiightfaaaaangs!" she yelled, and twoscore gleaming pairs of eyes turned her way. "Attaaaaaaack!"
The answering roar from the camp's surroundings thundered dark across the clear sky, a vermin storm in the autumn night.
Kiern watched the battle from the cover of night-draped trees, black cloak wrapped close about his lithe form, hood lifted to shade his face. Near-invisible at his side was an ink-dark figure, imposingly tall next to the lighter built stoat.
"The battle goes well, captain."
The Nightclaws captain glanced over to the wolverine, then to the chaos of the erupting battle. "More of a massacre, chief. They are no match for the Nightblood and the Nightfangs."
A chuckle from the Longclaws. "Aye… that is true enough." His cloak rustled with the shifting of his powerful frame, and he pulled his hood back to reveal a mirthless smile, fangs gleaming pale in the night. "Go tell Darkmoon and Veneno to take a few woodlanders alive. Preferably fighters, if it is possible…and younglings as well."
Kiern's gaze sharpened, narrowed, probed Nightdeath's impassive face for a long moment. "May I ask why, sir?" he asked at last, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
A grin. "Oh no, it is not for slavery… merely the usual. Recruition."
"Oh yes…" A slow nod, but the stoat's eyes still held a troubled shadow. "Very well." He turned back to the battle, drew his saber, and crept down to the woodlander camp like a wildcat on the prowl.
It wasn't difficult to find the captain of the Nightblood. All Kiern had to do was follow the crazed, empty laughter that rasped above the clash of blades and screams of the dying. The stoat wove in and out of the individual skirmishes, stepping lightly over groaning wounded, dark gaze seeking the bloodied gleam of a scythe and the flash of amber in midnight fur.
Laughter echoed in his ear and he whirled, focused on the eerie spectre that was the fox. "Veneno!"
Though Kiern shouted the name above the din of battle, the assassin didn't seem to hear. Kiern grimaced and made his way to the insane fox, stepped inside the reach of the whirling scythe, blocked the haft with a gloved paw.
"Veneno!" he shouted, in the captain's face this time, and a hint of sanity returned to the flat amber gaze.
"What do you want?" Veneno snapped, jerking his scythe free.
Kiern's ears flattened momentarily against his head but he forced them to relax. "Orders from the Longclaws. Capture some fighters alive. And some younglings."
A snarl from the black fox. "Death is not…"
Irritation crackled within, fueled by the stoat's innate distaste for the insane captain. "Does Death command the Longclaws now?"
Veneno scowled, forced an angry salute, and turned back to the battle. "Tell the chief I'll do as he commands," the fox said, face twisting as he spat the words.
"See that you do."
Kiern stalked away, every muscle taut with vexation. Dealing with Veneno always tried his temper and his patience, but Astarte Darkmoon was worse…and now he had to give her the Longclaws' orders.
"The two captains I detest the most…" A snarl slashed across his face. "Playing the chief's messenger. Hellsteeth!"
Astarte took a bit longer to search out. Ducking arrows and fending off the rare unoccupied woodlander, Kiern picked his way through the camp-turned-battlefield, emotion closed off along with adrenaline to leave him dispassionate and detached. He rarely gave in to the chaotic tension of war, and now was no exception.
A rather young fox stood in an empty swath of bloodshed, gazing around with glazed brown eyes and dazed expression. A sword drooped to touch the earth from his paw, half-forgotten. Kiern nodded, slight and understanding, and paused next to the tod.
"New recruit?" he asked, voice quiet compared to the din of the surrounding massacre.
A nod from the fox, shaky and numb. "I…never fought, 'till now. Not in battle…not like…" A shudder coursed through the wiry frame and the tod leaned heavy on his sword as his legs threatened to give way.
Kiern followed the young soldier's gaze to the mutilated corpse of an older weasel, next to the equally bloodied body of a hedgehog with an axe in one paw. "I see…" He shook his head once, a bitter smile twisting across his face, and clapped the fox firmly on the shoulder. "It gets easier… you'll become used to it in time."
Another shudder. "…should I…? Get used to killing?"
The stoat let his paw drop from the young Nightfang's shoulder, drew in on himself in silence for a long moment. "If you think you shouldn't, then ask the Longclaws to let you leave." A vermin horde is no place for weakness...
A deep breath, cleansing his mind of doubts, and he scanned the camp for a glimpse of Astarte. "Do you know where your captain is?"
The tod nodded slightly. "Aye. Over that way, with Subcaptain Patcheye." He pointed between two trees with a red-gloved paw. "Last I saw, anyway…"
"Thank you."A nod, a sketchy salute, returned belatedly by the fox, and Kiern headed off to find the Nightfangs captain.
"Just kill it already." A bored voice from the shadows, and Kiern paused between the twin pines that the Nightfangs soldier had pointed out. Dark eyes scanned the clearing, settled on a gray weasel leaning against the side of a half-burned cottage.
A whimper squeezed into the night air past a fear-strangled throat, and Kiern stepped to the side for a better view. Astarte stood over a young mouse, sword tickling its throat. Not a length away, an older mouse stood trimbling, fright-wide gaze fixed to the dibbun.
"But Patcheye..." A chuckle, dark and deadly, from Astarte. "That wouldn't be nearly so fun, now would it?" The saber twitched, slicing a strip of fur from the mouselet's shoulder, wrenching forth a scream.
Kiern growled low in his throat, forced back the anger and disgust, took a step forward. "Leave it alone, Darkmoon," he said, voice chill as the fangs of winter.
She looked up, arched a brow at the sight of the Nightclaws captain. "What, now ya defend woodlanders, Kiern?" A laughing smirk. "I thought better of you than that."
His jaw clenched. The stoat fem could get under his skin like none other. "Chief's orders. You're to take as many younglings and soldiers alive as possible."
"And do what we want with the rest...?"
A grimace, quickly masked with impassivity. "I suppose."
Patcheye laughed, low and sinister, and stepped over to the mousemaid. "Well then, that be good tae hear..."
Kiern couldn't hold back a snarl then, fangs baring as the one-eyed weasel cast a smirk his way. The stoat fought his rebellious face into control with difficulty as he turned away. "You have your orders. I suggest you deliver them to your soldiers before they kill too many woodlanders. The Longclaws will be none too pleased if that happens."
He could feel Astarte and Patcheye's glares boring holes in his back but he walked away without turning. Behind him, Astarte snapped an order to her subcaptain, and Kiern smiled thinly as he strode back to the Longclaws, messenger duty complete.
The battle ended quickly after that, and Nightdeath Longclaws prowled out of the shadows as dawn blushed pale across the horizon. Hordebeasts stiffened to attention as the wolverine passed by, then relaxed slightly once he was gone. Kiern followed close behind, gaze sharp for danger, a dark red shadow at his chief's shoulder.
A flash of ginger fur caught the stoat's eye and he motioned to Skyfire, sharp and commanding. She turned at the movement, hurried to the Longclaws' other shoulder, joined Kiern in guarding their chief as he made his way to a gray squirrel bound tight between two red-gloved Nightfangs.
"Is this their leader?" Nightdeath asked after a long moment.
Astarte stepped out from behind the squirrel and saluted briefly. "Aye, sir. Near as we can tell, anyhow."
The wolverine gave Astarte a cursory nod and let his gaze travel over the squirrel. Gray fur had been turned black-red with blood, and the woodlander's chest hstill heaved with exertion, but he stood tall between the two soldiers and his gaze was steady and defiant.
"What are you called, brushtail?"
The squirrel glared at the Longclaws, jaw muscles twitching as he remained silent. One of the soldiers that held him prisoner, a hulking red fox, slapped the squirrel hard across his face after seconds ticked by in silence.
"Th' chief axed you a question, scumtail. Ya'd best answer, or ya ain't goin' ter like whatcha gonna get," he said, a sneer worming its way across his face.
"Enough. I need this one healthy." Nightdeath motioned to Deathcry, who grinned from her hunched position in the treeshadows, and she strode away with eager purpose. The Longclaws turned back to the squirrel, a mirthless smile hovering about his dark face. "How high a cost are you willing to pay for honor, woodlander?"
The squirrel stiffened at the quiet question, eyes narrowing sharply. "What do you mean?"
"What do I mean?" Nightdeath turned the question over on his tongue, twisted it with amusement, edged it with midnight humor. "You are likely willing to give your own life for honor… but are you willing to let others die for your pride? A youngling, perhaps…?"
"Mista Ashwoooooood! Help meeeeeee!"
A dibbun's shrill wail split the air, announcing the entrance of a young mouse dragged in tail-first by Deathcry's iron paw. The ferret lifted the dibbun by its tail, one claw reaching out to draw a thin line of red across its chin. The youngling shrieked with fear and the sting of pain, eyes wide and staring.
A swear wrenched its way from the squirrel's chest and he jerked forward against his bonds, pulling his captors forward a step before they managed to recover and brace themselves against his struggles. He strained at the ropes, teeth bared in a savage snarl, ears lying flat against his skull. "You bloody monster!" he raged. "Thirce-cursed coward! You… unh!" The stream of abuse cut off abruptly with the squirrel's air as his fox captor slammed a gloved fist into his midsection.
"One dead is not too high a cost?" Nightdeath mused above the squirrel's choking coughs. "What about two? Or three, or more yet?" He glanced to Astarte, tilted his head in question. "How many did you capture, captain?"
She thought for a moment. "Six fighting beasts, three female noncombatants, five younglings."
A thin smile and the wolverine turned to the squirrel once more. "One youngling tortured for every moment of trouble I'm given by you or your warriors. Is that high enough a cost?"
The squirrel blanched at the thought, stood tall for a brief moment, and then all the fight whooshed from his body in a long breath, leaving him limp in his bonds. "Aye." The answer was nearly a whisper, defeated and hopeless.
"Good squirrel… I knew you'd see sense." A nod to Deathcry, etching a triumphiant grin across her face. She pulled forth a knife and pressed the tip to the dibbun's shoulder, then pushed. Agony arched the youngling's back and the mouselet howled in pain, a cry that rose to an endless scream when the ferret dragged the knife down through tender flesh.
" No! What are you doing? STOP!" The shocked shout erupted from the squirrel while the screams rent the air again and again.
Nightdeath arched an eyebrow at the horrified squirrel. "Only doing what I said I would. You gave me trouble earlier; now a youngling is paying your penalty."
"But I…" A fresh scream slashed through the dawn and the squirrel crumpled, defiance melting to pleas. "Stop… please stop it… I'll do whatever you ask of me. Just… stop hurting her…"
The Longclaws held up a commanding paw and Deathcry wrenched her dagger free with a disappointed scowl. The mouselet's cries died to whimpers that faded to silence as unconsciousness took her at last.
"Deathcry, have your archers build pens for the prisoners," Nightdeath said as both dibbun and squirrel were dragged away. "Veneno, put any healers under your command to work on the injured soldiers and prisoners. Kiern, Astarte, Stormsong—come with me." He turned on his heel with those last orders and strode back into the relative privacy of the trees, leaving his captains to their assignments.
"Stormsong, Kiern, you've both recruited soldiers before…" The Longclaws cast a cursory glance over the two captains before turning his attention to Astarte. "Do you know how it is done, captain?"
She shook her head. "Nay, sir. Tekhyl told me somethin' of it, but not more'n that ya use woodlanders."
"Very well then… Kiern, you will explain the recruiting process to Astarte." The ebon gaze flicked to Stormsong. "You will scout, as usual. Do you have a tally of our casualties yet?"
The gray weasel inclined his head as he received the order. "Aye, sir. Of the Nightfangs," and he nodded to Astarte, face carefully blank, "three be lost, an' three wounded so to be barred from battle for a fair pass of time. Of the Nightblood, one be wounded sorely."
One eyebrow quirked skywards at the numbers. "Three dead?" Nightdeath repeated, eyeing Astarte in question. "Surely your Nightfangs are better trained than that."
The stoat fem's jaw clenched, a minute twitch beneath ginger-red fur. "They're first t'fight an' last t'leave, sir," she said evenly. "An' so they get killed easier. Which means more new recruits more often an' less time t'train."
"I see." A smile, amusement or approval or both, ghosted across the wolverine's face. "Well done in the battle." He turned back to Kiern. "Assemble the recruition team and wait for word from Stormsong's scouts. You know what to do." A pause. "Ah yes… bring Astarte with you and explain everything to her. Dismissed."
The barest hint of a grimace twisted Kiern's expression as Nightdeath headed back to the camp and Stormsong melted into the undergrowth, leaving him alone with Astarte. She smiled, triumphant and sultry, and glided to his side.
"Well, captain," the stoat fem purred, "shall we be goin'?"
One paw clenched, a spasm of irritation, and Kiern glared at the Nightfangs captain. "Aye, we shall, but you'd best remember this: the chief has effectively put you under my command. You will behave as such." With that he spun about, setting his nose to the camp and striding away, leaving Astarte to swear indignation and follow with furious grace.
Kiern stepped into the orderly chaos of the Nightclaws' section of the camp, a circle of tents around a merrily blazing campfire. Some lounged about the flames, talking in idle voices, while others sharpened weapons and cleaned gear. Woodsmoke drifted about the entire area, scenting everything it touched.
Kiern stood on the outskirts of the camp for a few long moments before he was noticed. Glances shot his way and silence followed, except for one unaware rat, back facing his captain, jaws flapping in the autumn breeze.
"An' then me an' Crow sneaked up on th' sleepin' redglove, an'… whaddaya want?" The irritated question burst from his mouth, propelled by a companion's elbow in the rat's ribs. The rat glanced over his shoulder, yelped at the sight of Kiern, and almost fell into the campfire when he hastened to his footpaws. "Cap'n! Sorry sir, didn't notice ya…"
A slight smile played about Kiern's lips. "So I gathered. Sandblood, correct?" A nod from the rat. "New recruit, I believe… You will need to be more alert if you wish to remain a Nightclaw."
Sandblood ducked his head in shameful apology. "Sorry sir. I'll do better from now on."
"See that you do. At ease." As the rat reseated himself, Kiern let his gaze take in the entire Nightclaws camp. "As usual, the Nightfangs lost somebeasts in the battle." A dry chuckle rippled through the ranks at that—Kiern's Nightclaws held a good deal of scorn for the rival Nightfangs. "So we have to go recruiting to restock their ranks for them. Recruition team, form up by my tent once I'm finished. Meanwhile, I need twobeasts to help guard the prisoners in case the Nightarms manage to fail in their duty. Are there any volunteers?"
A grizzled ferret and a wiry fox stood up. "We'll go," the ferret said, leaning casually on his spear.
Kiern nodded. "Very well." A pause as fallen leaves crackled and Astarte stalkedi nto view, glaring at every Nightclaw in sight. A faint snicker waas the response and the stoat fem's claws flexed as if she wanted to rip out each black-garbed throat.
Kiern ignored her and gave his last orders instead. "Double guard on the chief for the next few days, starting now. The rest of you, go back to whatever you were doing."
There was silence for a moment as the stoat turned to Astarte and lifted one brow. "What took you so long, captain?" Behind him, the camp realized Kiern had finished and began to carry out their orders, some rising and jogging off to their assignment while the remainder returned to their chatter and chores.
"Was I expected to hurry, captain?" she asked in reply, sweet as poison.
A shrug from Kiern, who simply stepped out towards his tent and the waiting recruiting team. "Come along, Darkmoon."
Silence behind him. He smirked at the thought of her enraged expression – he was almost beginning to enjoy this. Then Astarte spoke, and uncertainty slithered through his mind.
"Yes sir!"
She sounded entirely too cheerful.
The stoat fem sauntered up beside and a pace behind him, flashing him a grin with a glimmer of her usual sultry manner lurking silken behind the expression. "Care to explain this recruiting process to me, captain?"
She was up to something; he was as sure of that as he was of the brisk autumn wind tearing at his cloak. But Kiern turned her request over in his mind once, again, found nothing to suspect with it. No reason not to answer…
"Stormsong is looking for likely recruits," he said. "Unattached rats, foxes, stoats, and the like. The worse off the better. Once he finds some, he'll report back to me, and I and the recruition team will gather up a few of the captives that can fight. We'll give them weapons and turn them loose on the creatures we want to recruit."
"But… won't they attack us too?"
Kiern shook his head. "We have their dibbuns and the woodlanders know what misbehavior might bring their young. They will do what we tell them to." A pause, straightening out his thoughts in their orderly precision once more. "Once the ones we're trying to recruit start having a hard time of it, we step in, kill the woodlanders, and we're owed a debt. Most beasts jump at the chance of good clothes, decent food, and steady pay."
A frown from Astarte. "And if they don't care about debts?"
Kiern smiled thinly and tossed a bag heavy with coins into the air, holding his paw out for it to smack into with a seductive jingle. "That's what the gold is for."
The two stoats had reached the waiting recruition team by then and they stopped, letting Kiern scrutinize the small group.
"Have any of Stormsong's scouts returned yet?"
Skyfire turned from her study of the woods and shook her head. "Not yet, captain… should be any moment now."
"Very well…at ease." This last was to the stiff-standing team of six, who relaxed and resumed chatting quietly, sharp eyes never wavering from the thick woods.
A low chuckle from Astarte, earning a quick glance from Kiern. "What is so amusing, Darkmoon?" he asked.
A slight smirk. "Just somethin' that occurred te me… How loyal is yer subcaptain?"
"How loyal…" Kiern's eyes narrowed to wary slits. "What do you mean?"
She chuckled, easing into her typical sultry air. "Weeell…"
"Captain Kiern?"
A gray shadow in mottled greens and browns detached itself from the dark woods, startling the nearest Nightclaw soldier, who growled something about "Nighteye demons." Kiern nodded to the gray weasel as he concealed a smirk at his soldier's comment. "Captain Stormsong. You've found something?"
"Aye. A brood of foxes, three younger an' five elder. They be none too well fed, an' living in much squalor."
"Good…" Kiern glanced to the recruition team. "Did you hear that?"
The response came in sharp unison. "Aye, sir!"
A nod. "Stormsong, I'll need more information on these foxes. Would you come with me to retrieve the captives?"
Stormsong inclined his head in agreement. "Aye, Kiern."
"Astarte—remain here with the recruition team," Kiern ordered. "Skyfire should be able to answer any questions you might have."
A scowl flickered across the stoat fem's face, then shifted to a mocking smirk as she saluted. "As you command, captain."
Kiern shook his head and turned to follow Stormsong, black cloak whispering behind him in the crisp autumn breeze.
It was a short walk to the penned-up slaves. Kiern strode alongside Stormsong, dark gaze never still, trained senses alert for danger at all times—as a guard of the Longclaws must be. Stormsong moved with almost equal awareness, yet his paws made no more sound on the leaf strewn earth than the ghost his cloud-gray fur caused him to resemble. He glided more than walked, all wary stealth next to Kiern's coiled readiness.
Stormsong broke the silence first. "Didst thou volunteer for this task?"
Kiern tilted his head in the weasel's direction, ears swiveling towards him, but that was the only indication of his surprise at the question. He walked on for several moments, letting the rustle of autumn leaves and the distant murmur of horde voices fill the quiet. "It is my duty," he said at last.
"It doth not suit thee."
The stoat's eyes narrowed at the quiet words. "What do you mean?"
Stormsong's gaze drifted to the clear sky, shadows gathering in his face. "Thou art honorable," he said, choosing each word with deliberate care. "This task…it be trickery an' threats. Harming the young if the warriors doth not obey… attacking others only to 'save' them… this be not thine way."
"It is my duty," Kiern repeated, jaw clenching along with his fists.
The spy captain shook his head slowly, a sadness creeping into his pale gaze. "Thou thinkest harming children be honorable? Thou thinkest such treachery be right? Doth it sit well on thine heart, Kiern?"
Kiern's lips drew back in a snarl, and he hissed out fury to shield himself from the pain of the bard's words. "I serve the Longclaws! He freed me from slavery—trained me—made me his captain… My life is his." Intensity and conviction filled those last four words, and he grasped onto the thought of his duty like a bird might grasp a branch in the midst of a roaring storm.
"Your life…" Stormsong turned to regard Kiern, deep sadness still lingering in his eyes, as well as something—an intensity, an unattainable dream, mingling with other secrets of the soul that Kiern could not identify and was not sure he wanted to… "Thine life be his," the healer bard echoed. "And what of thine soul?"
Silence. Kiern's thoughts hung motionless, the very air stilled, time frozen in waiting of the answer.
"Enough!" A near shout erupted from the captain of the Longclaws' guard and the world caught its breath. "You tread dangerous ground, captain. You, too, serve the Longclaws. And I protect him."
The thread of something akin to a threat snaked dark through Kiern's words. He held Stormsong's gaze a moment longer, anger and warning sparking from his russet fur, and then he resumed his purposeful stride to the captives' pen once more. After a moment, Stormsong followed, silence stretching tense between the two captains.
"Now." Kiern's turn to break the quiet this time. "Tell me more of these foxes…"
"…and there be little more to tell," Stormsong finished as the two captains reached the pen that held the woodlander captives.
Kiern turned the weasel's report over in his mind as he scrutinized the captives. Most sat against the hastily built walls, staring into nothingness, ears and tails drooped with hopeless dejection. They numbered six: the lithe squirrel archer who led the band of woodlanders; a burly hedgehog fem slumped in the corner, glaring at all who passed; a wiry young mouse, huddled listless against the wall, turning a stick over and over in his paws without seeming to realize what he was doing; a powerfully built river otter, dozing on his back in apparent carelessness; another squirrel, this one a young female with dark brown gaze wide and staring, mind locked in horrors of memory; and another male mouse, older than the previous, dark fur flecked with silver, eyes closed as he leaned against the wall, tensed muscles and clenched paws showing that he was far from asleep.
At the soft pad of paws on earth, the squirrel archer looked up with narrowed gaze. "More of you come to mock?" he said in a soft voice, the low volume not quite concealing depths of hate and resentment. Behind him the hedgehog fem rose with clenched fists, glaring murder at the two Nighthunt captains.
Kiern met the hate-filled looks with a calm lack of expression. "I am Captain Kiern of the Nightclaws; this is Captain Stormsong of the Nighteyes. We've come to take the six of you on a mission. This is the only task you will have with us."
"Ye fool!" It was the hedgehog, pushing past the squirrel, quivering with barely contained rage. "Ye think we'd be believin' yew lyin' vermin scum?" She spat at Kiern's footpaws, teeth bared in a snarl. "All yew think about be control an' power! Ye're goin' to make us slaves, don't think we don't be knowin' that!"
Oddly enough, it was Stormsong who retorted, musical voice quiet in response to the hedgehog's tirade. "Thou knowest very little of us," he said, stepping forward to meet the woodlander face to face. "Never has the Nighthunt kept slaves of any sort. Captives, aye, but never for long, and they never be sold. An' the captain thou spake to be the most truthful being I hath met. Thou shalt not accuse him of lying."
The hedgehog's only response was to sneer, quills standing on end. "Ye talk mighty nice, but ye take me fer a fool, an'…"
"Quilla." The squirrel placed a paw on her spiny shoulder, the command in his quiet tone silencing her at once. "Enough." She glared once more at the two captains and huffed off, nudging the sleeping woodlanders awake with bad grace. The woodland leader remained facing Kiern and Stormsong, arms loose at his side, waiting. "What is it you wish us to do?"
Kiern studied the squirrel for a long moment before nodding. This is a creature I can respect… An odd notion, but the thought seemed perfectly sensible, whispering through his mind. "All you must do is fight a few foxes. We will lead you to them and you will attack them. You will make no mention of us to the foxes; you will simply attack."
A troubled shadow flickered across the squirrel's face, but at last he bowed his head in reluctant consent. "I have no choice, do I?" His mouth twisted into a parody of a smile, resigned and angry. "You have our younglings, after all…"
"Aye." Kiern's jaw clenched at the thought of such manipulation, stomach twisting slightly before he quelled it. Duty first… "Gather your warriors. We will arm you for attack. Come."
The squirrel turned to the other five woodlanders. "We have our orders," he said dryly, fist clenching despite his apparent calm. "I'll explain as we go."
Kiern watched for a moment longer as the woodlanders formed up in a tight knot, and then whirled on his heel, disgusted at what he had to do.
It didn't take long to reach the recruition team. Kiern led the way, with Stormsong on careful watch behind the six woodlanders. Each woodlander's expression held a grim resignation, a knowledge of a lifetime's end. Some, like the young mouse and equally young squirrel fem, showed fear in darting gazes and flickering tails; others, like the river otter and the squirrel leader, moved with unwavering acceptance, jaws set and faces blank.
The recruition team straightened to attention at the sight of the two captains, then relaxed at the casual "at ease" from Kiern. "Give the captives their weapons," Kiern ordered, one paw resting on his saber. Soon the woodlanders were armed—the squirrel leader with his bow and arrows; the hedgehog with a massive club; the young mouse with a fine-edged paw-and-a-half sword; the river otter with twin polished scimitars; the young squirrelmaid with a blade-tipped staff in shaking paws; and the older mouse with a well-used saber. The captives stood in a wary circle, weapons at paw, eyeing their waiting captors with uneasy glances.
Kiern never removed his paw from the hilt of his saber as he stepped forward from the other soldiers. "You have your orders," he said, voice quiet but firm," and you know the consequences of any misbehavior. Disobey, and your younglings take the punishment. It will serve you no purpose to attack us. Do you understand?"
Jaws clenched along with paws, and muscles tensed, but the squirrel archer again took charge, nodding with sharp curtness. "Aye, we understand quite well, vermin," he growled. "Lead us to our targets."
"Very well." An answering inclination of the head from Kiern, and the stoat captain turned to Stormsong. "Lead on, captain."
Stormsong's pale gaze searched Kiern's for a long moment, but he turned away without a word, melting into the underbrush with the ease of lifelong practice. Another moment, and the recruition team and woodlander captives followed, soon swallowed up in the forest's depths.