Vengeance Quest
Chapter 11: Recruitment
It was a lengthy hike over a nonexistent trail, snaking between tight-grown trees as the sun continued its unceasing journey to the distant horizon. Golden evening light struggled through the browning leaves of autumn, turning everything a musty amber that seemed out of place for the silent creep to battle and bloodshed.
"Hsst!"
Stormsong raised a silent paw and the small group halted at once, ears pricked, eyes staring into the shifting shadows of evening woodlands. The spy captain motioned and Kiern crept to his side, following the direction of the weasel's paw to a small clearing and the flashes of red and gray fur within.
Foxes.
Kiern studied the scene for a long moment. A dilapidated hut rested by a small, none-too-clear stream. Slow movement was evident through the cracks in the poorly built hut, and a young fox kit tumbled out of the building, followed by a scolding vixen. Two more kits played a game of tag at the opposite edge of the clearing, and three male foxes sat around a campfire, chatting idly, slanted amber gazes flicking occasionally to the fringe of their home.
Where's the fifth adult…?
A young vixen, scrawny but attractive enough in the manner of her species, stepped through the hut's doorway, a basket in paw. She brought it over to the tods, red brush swishing side to side as she revealed a few meager loaves of bread. The male foxes grumbled a bit over the pitiful meal but ate ravenously enough, and the vixen headed back to the hut.
Kiern took in the cutlass at the oldest fox's side, a grizzled gray male with scars webbing his tough but emaciated frame. The younger tod, barely an adult, speared one of the loaves on a longknife and ate it with relish, seeming content despite the way his ribs stuck out from beneath thin-stretched russet fur. Another dogfox, probably the younger's father, toyed with his bread with one paw as he set down the double-headed axe he'd been sharpening.
Not a good season for this brood…but they'd do well enough as soldiers. If they managed to survive…
The stoat captain nodded to the recruition team, motioning with his paw to the clearing. Each Nighthunt soldier sketched a brief salute in return, careful movement so as not to attract attention, and each took charge of a woodland captive, spreading out over the perimeter of the clearing. They waited…
Kiern placed a paw on the squirrel leader's back, and the archer stiffened at the touch as if it burned him. The Nightclaw captain lowered his mouth to the squirrel's ear, barely breathing his instructions. "Fire once…do not shoot to kill….that will be the signal for your warriors to attack. You will attack as well," he pressed a long dagger into the squirrel's paw, "but not with your bow… Wait…"
The foxes around the fire stood, stretched, and one barked a command to the kits still playing their game of tag. The two ran to their mother, who had caught the wayward youngling from the hut at last, and the kits and vixen started back to the hut.
Kiern's paw tightened on the squirrel's shoulder. "Wait…"
The foxes were a pace away from the hut's entrance.
"Now!"
Ssthunk!
A scream from the eldest dogfox as a brown-fletched arrow struck him in the shoulder. He whirled about, reaching for his cutlass with incredible speed as the other foxes dove for their weapons and the woodlanders charged with a furious yell.
The hedgehog barreled into the younger tod, but he dodged the blow of her club with expert agility, matching the superior might of the brawny hedgehog with the speed of his species. Yet he showed his inexperience despite the swiftness of his longknife—the hedgehog curled into a ball as she dove at him and his knife made little impact on her hard spikes. Instead her tackling roll knocked the tod to the ground, raised spikes pricking painfully but relatively harmlessly. Both combatants rose, and again they charged each other, both a bit more wary this time.
The young squirrelmaid faced off with the young vixen—the woodlander shaking but determined; the vixen glaring fury at the one who dared attack her home. The vixen was unarmed, with only the bread basket at paw, but she didn't appear to be ready to back down. A sharp movement from the squirrel and her glaive whistled through the air, blade aimed straight for the vixen's skull—but the young foxmaid ducked, raising her basket above her head, catching the glaive in the sturdy weave. A twist of the basket took the squirrel off balance and the vixen dove for a sturdy quarterstaff leaned against the hut as the squirrelmaid quickly freed her weapon.
Axe ready in both paws, the third dogfox met the river otter's charge with glimmering yellow fangs and an amber gaze dancing with eagerness for battle. They clashed, whirling scimitars against hefty axe, straining for a moment as they locked blades, then twisting apart. Again they came, circling wary this time, and again they clashed, and the clearing rang with the bell tones of steel on steel.
The older vixen shoved her brood of younglings into the hut as she took up a spear from just inside the doorway, crouching with bared fangs as the older mouse closed in on her. Her silver-touched fur rose on edge, ears flattened to her skull as she prepared to defend her young with her very life. The vixen's silver-red brush lashed with motherly rage as she jabbed the spear in expert warning, keeping the saber-armed mouse at bay with the longer reach of her polearm.
The wounded dogfox stood ready for the younger mouse as the inexperienced mouse warrior charged him, leaving his defenses open as he swung his paw-and-a-half sword with reckless abandon. A wonder the youngling had survived long enough to be taken captive…but he'd not survive much longer. The grizzled old fox easily blocked the blade, sliding his cutlass down to the hilt, catching at the guard and twisting… The mouse's sword skittered out of his paws, landing with a clatter and a hiss of disturbed embers on the stone-ringed fire. Sparks shot into the air, blinding in the dimming light, and by the time Kiern's eyes cleared enough to see, the mouse lay slain by a single blow to the chest, sprawled in a growing pool of blood on the stained earth.
"Caliaaaan!"
A cry of grief and rage erupting from the squirrel leader and he charged with the long dagger and an arrow as his only weapons weapons. The dogfox turned, surprised by the speed and ferocity of the squirrel's attack, barely fending off the dagger with his cutlass as the arrow's point sank into his thigh. A roar of pain and the dogfox pushed with his blade, trying to force the squirrel back, trying to wound him in return…
Kiern glanced aside as a second scream met his sharp ears. The older mouse had ducked below the older vixen's spear and slashed her stomach open, spilling entrails to the hut's dirt-packed floor. Shriller screams erupted from inside the hut and the vixen fell to her knees, gasping as the mouse warrior closed in for the kill.
"Mommeeeeee!" A wail of grief and horror from one of the fox kits in the hut, and the vixen's eyes narrowed with determination, even as saltwater regret glimmered over the silt amber gaze.
"Leave…them…be!" Gasped through the agony and she lunged at the mouse with the last of her strength, landing atop his sword but clamping her jaws shut over his throat, locking them tight as death began to seal them closed for eternity.
"Nooo!" The tod armed with the axe saw the vixen fall over the shoulder of his opponent, and that minute distraction was all the otter needed. Cutlasses whirling, he chopped past the dogfox's guard to slice into his leg, and almost lashed into the fox's neck before the axe haft came up and blocked it.
Kiern looked from battle to battle. The young vixen suffered from shallow gashes but her squirrelmaid opponent was limping from bruised bones and perhaps a few broken ones as well. The older dogfox seemed to have the upper hand with his foe, but the squirrel was not nearly so badly wounded as his opponent, and the fox wouldn't last long with that bloodloss. Any longer and the recruition team would not have enough new soldiers to replace the ones lost in the woodlander battle…
"Attack!" The harsh yell erupted from Kiern's throat and he and the small group of Nighthunt soldiers spilled out into the clearing. Kiern saw Astarte cut down the river otter from behind, laughing all the merry while, but then he had to concentrate on his own shimmering blade as he neared the hedgehog and her beleaguered opponent. His saber blocked her club just before it crashed down on the nearly unconscious tod's head, and he lashed out with one footpaw, catching the hedgehog in her unprotected stomach.
The hedgehog wheezed out a laugh, grim and unsurprised. "I see yer game now, vermin…such is te be expected from ye scum!" She twisted her club from his saber's grip and let out a wordless yell, slamming her weapon down towards Kiern's head.
But the stoat wasn't the captain of the Longclaws' elite guard for nothing. He blocked the club with the flat of his blade, sliding it harmlessly to the side, then twisting body and blade in a single smooth movement. The tip of his saber sank into the hedgehog's throat, turning bright red with the surge of lifeblood in an instant, and he yanked it down and out as the woodlander fell with a gasping gurgle.
Kiern turned, breath only somewhat heavier than normal from the brief fight, gaze searching for more opponents. Skyfire stood over the body of the squirrelmaid, jaw clenched and head bowed as she cleaned off her bloodstained rapier. One of the recruition team, a rough-built ferret, wiped his axe clean as he leaned against the hut, watching the suffocating older mouse gasp for breath beneath the dead vixen. A slice from the ferret's axe against the mouse's rib cage had hastened the process along, but now he merely watched with a sort of detached curiosity. The squirrel leader lay slain not too far away, taken out by the expert cutlass of a Nightclaw weasel.
The stoat captain nodded and plunged his saber into the violence-stained soil to clean it of blood. A swipe from a black cloth returned it to an acceptable gleam, and he sheathed the weapon with a single smooth motion. The battle of blades and blood was done; now came the far more subtle battle for loyalty.
"Stormsong!" Kiern's call rang clear over the clearing, cutting through the groans of wounded and the sobs of motherless kits.
The weasel needed no further notice. He'd already begun to make his way to the eldest dogfox, and now he crouched over the grizzled form with his healing kit at paw. The prone tod glared up at him, one paw clenching for his stray cutlass. "Leave…me be…weasel…" he snarled, a fighter to the last.
Stormsong shook his head. "Fight me not, warrior," he said, melodic voice reassuring and calming. "I come to heal thee, not to harm thee."
"Eh?" The fox tilted his head, eyes narrowing in puzzled suspicion. "Why would ye do somethin' like that?"
The healer pulled clean gauze from his kit and poised his paw over the arrow embedded in the fox's shoulder. "It shall be explained to thee and thine soon, but thou will soon perish if thine wounds be not cared for. Allow me to do so?"
A long silence from the tod, a grimace of pain, then a nod as he rested his head against the soiled earth, teeth gritting in anticipation of the agony of arrows being removed from flesh.
The elder dogfox was the most sorely wounded; Kiern closed his ears to the wrenching sounds of pain from the grizzled tod, turning his attention to the other foxes instead. The vixen crouched over the body of the elder female, head bowed, saltwater grief dripping down her muzzle onto the bloodstained form of the dead vixen. With wide gazes and uncertain movements, the three kits took step by hesitating step through the doorway of the hut, staring at the prostate form of their mother, not yet comprehending the fact that she was forever gone.
The tod who'd been fighting the river otter dropped his axe, staring blankly at the body of the vixen, seeming oblivious to the watching eyes of the Nighthunt team. He staggered as if through a dream across the clearing, never once looking away from the pile of russet fur etched with silver--and now stained with deepest red. A low moan wrenched from his throat as he fell to his knees beside her, purest grief, and he closed his eyes in unimaginable loss as he lifted his muzzle to the sky, silver-white throat flashing gold in the fading sunlight as he let loose a grieving cry, wavering in the still air.
A sob tore loose from the young vixen's chest at the sound, and she hugged herself tight as if to ward against the pain that assaulted her spirit, ignoring the shallow cuts across her body that caused far less agony. She, too, raised her face to the expanse of darkening blue, joining her voice to the older fox's.
They were joined by a third cry, the youngest tod's sorrow melding with their own as he stumbled to the slain vixen's body as well, and then three pitiful shrill wails soared above the mourning harmonies as the kits cried their grief and loss, understanding at last that their mother was never going to return.
Something clenched tight in Kiern's chest as he watched the grieving foxes, listened to their song of farewell to the dead member of their family. This is mostly your fault, you know… A treacherous whisper of guilt rippling through his mind, and he bared his fangs and shook his head in disgust. Creatures die all the time. They'll live a better life with the Nighthunt. My duty is almost complete.
"Amusing, isn't it?"
A grimace twitched over Kiern's face as Astarte's smirking tones reached his ears. He erased the expression as he turned, cast a dismissive glance over her sultry pose, and let his gaze return to the grieving brood. "What do you mean?"
The stoat fem motioned to include the entire clearing. "We saved them and all they can think about's th' loss of their poor fem, who'd've likely died afore too long anyway." A chuckle. "Pitiful, really."
Kiern forced his features to remain devoid of expression, though his ears flickered back in an attempt to lay flat against his skull. "That means, at least, that they probably have some measure of loyalty. Likely they'll be no challenge to recruit."
"Heh…" A grin from Astarte as she eyed the other captain from the corner of her dark gaze. "Yore always surprisin', Kiern. Yer more ruthless'n I'd thought. Good t'know." She inclined her head in mock respect, then sauntered off to chat with the ferret who leaned up against the hut, honing his axe as he watched the scene.
Disgusting… Kiern swiped away the troubled thoughts Astarte's words had brought to the surface with that one word, directing his inner turmoil towards the stoat fem as pure disgust and anger.
"Captain?"
Skyfire's voice this time. The Nightclaws captain forced himself to relax, turning to his subcaptain with a questioning look. "Yes?"
She edged from footpaw to footpaw, uneasy and uncertain. "Shouldn't we…start recruiting now…?" She glanced to the fox brood and swallowed, then lowered her gaze to her still-drawn rapier. "I mean…the others are getting restless…and we ought to bury the bodies…or at least burn them…and probably the foxes'll want to bury the vixen…and…"
Kiern let out an inaudible sigh and nodded. "Aye, you're right…thank you, subcaptain." He nodded silent approval as she blinked in mild surprise, and then the stoat captain headed over to the foxes as their mourning melody finally faded to silence, leaving them with bowed heads and drooping ears.
"Ahem…" Kiern cleared his throat just loudly enough to catch the brood's attention. The three adults lifted their heads, all eyes dry and empty with grief. He nearly took a step back from the force of those pain-filled gazes, but didn't move from his relaxed stance. He lowered his head in acknowledgement of their loss. "I am sorry for the death of your kin…"
A choked sob freed itself from the young vixen's throat. "She … she was my mother…"
"And mine…" This last from the young dogfox.
The third fox rose to his footpaws, nodding silent greeting to the stoat. "She were my mate," he said simply, "and we'll be missin' her…" A deep breath and he composed himself, facing Kiern with a direct gaze, gathering the shattered pieces of his soul together once more. "I be Swiftaxe Lothame. My mate," and the word caught in his throat, but he forced the rest of the sentence out despite the recent loss, "were Sagebrush Lothame. The young vixen here…she be my daughter, Loamstar Lothame; the young tod be my son, Bladefall Lothame; and th' elder fox th' weasel be treatin' be my mate's sire, Shade Venant." A short bow, unpracticed but well meant. "We thank ye fer joinin' with us against th' woodlanders. More've us might be at hellgates but fer you an' yourn."
A nod from Kiern in acknowledgement. "I am Kiern, Captain of the Nightclaws of the Nighthunt. Our leader is the wolverine Nightdeath Longclaws."
Swiftaxe's amber gaze widened. "Longclaws… We've heard of th' dark wolverine. Ye serve him?"
"Aye…and of my own full will. It's steady pay, good clothing, decent food…good work, and the Longclaws is a fine leader." Kiern studied the foxes for a moment, weighing his words with care. "Might you and your brood be interested in joining our army? We're always looking for good fighters…"
A long silence from the fox, and he turned towards his son and daughter. "I'll not be choosin' for ye. What do ye be wantin'?"
The vixen was the first to reply, raising her chin high with stubborn resolve. "I shall join th' Nighthunt, and fight." Her paw clenched about her quarterstaff. "Never again…" The last two words held the ring of a vow, but were spoken so quiet that Kiern could scarce be sure he'd heard her right.
Bladefall looked to his mother's corpse, to the crying kits, to his father's waiting gaze, and at last to Kiern. "Aye. I'll be glad te join yer warriors."
"'Tis settled then," Swiftaxe said. "I know Shade's answer afore he speaks it…he'll be joinin' us too." He hesitated. "What of th' kits…?"
"They'll be taken care of," Kiern said, reassurance clear in his quiet voice. "We have several younglings at the Nighthunt. They're trained from an early age to fight, and kept out from under warriors' paws."
"Good…" A sigh heaved from Swiftaxe's chest, and he turned to his mate's body. "We'd best be buryin' her, then…" He bent down to touch the bloodstained cheek, and a lone tear trickled from one amber eye. "Fare ye well, Sage…"
The foxes showed mixed reactions as they entered the Nighthunt camp. From the oldest fox, leaning most of his weight on Stormsong's supportive shoulder, there was studied inexpression and a hint of grudging approval at the healer led him off to the infirmary tent. From Swiftaxe, a grim acceptance amid the sadness in his demeanor. The face of his son Bladefall held undisguised awe and the beginnings of excitement, admiration flashing in his eyes as he watched several black-uniformed Nightfangs engage in rapid sparring. The vixen Loamstar looked much the same, but it was a strange hunger that burned in her expression as she followed each deadly motion, paw gripping tighter on her quarterstaff in anticipation.
Kiern's jaw tightened at that baleful light in the young vixen's gaze. I My doing… /I Again that stray thread of guilt, honor stinging at his conscience like a nagging mosquito, but he shoved it away, turned away, forced his thoughts to less troublesome matters. He tried instead to view the camp as the foxes viewed it, as if seeing it for the first time.
Orderly tents lined the clearing like so many rows of roosting ravens. Five groups of tents and bedrolls, five groups of well-tended campfires. Circles of waiting soldiers marked out sparring grounds in each section of the camp, metallic clashes and steel flashes ringing from the active circles. Around campfires sat black-garbed Nighthunt, cleaning weapons, mending uniforms, exchanging stories and gossip over the flickering flames. Discipline showed in the rising and saluting as the three captains passed by with the recruition team and the new recruits.
The faint clearing of a vulpine throat caught his attention. "Uhm… Captain Kiern?"
Kiern glanced to the side to see the young tod, timid and uncertain, amber gaze burning with unasked questions. "Yes?"
"Uhm…" Bladefall's glance shifted to the side, caught on the black tents. "Where be we going…an' what be th' groups of tents for…an' what do th' red gloves be meanin'…and…" The tumult of questions poured out of his mouth like an avalanche, freed with one sound and then unstoppable.
Except by one thing. "Bladefall." The stern reproach of his father's voice clamped his jaws shut with an audible click. "I be sure th' captain be havin' more important things than to…"
A chuckle from Kiern. "No, it's all right. I don't mind answering his questions."
A grin spread across the young tod's russet face. "Thanks!"
Kiern nodded, barely suppressing his own grin, this one of amusement at Bladefall's youthful exuberance. "Well…" He glanced about him, wondering where to begin. "The Nighthunt is divided into five units: the Nightclaws, the Nightfangs, the Nightarms, the Nightblood, and the Nighteyes. I am the captain of the Nightclaws, the personal guard of Nightdeath Longclaws. We only accept elite fighters who are absolutely loyal to the Longclaws. You can tell the Nightclaws from the rest of the Nighthunt by their black cloaks."
"Elite fighters?" Bladefall's eyes gleamed. "How do ye get into th' Nightclaws?"
"First there has to be an opening…there's a score of fighters in each unit, and the Nightclaws lose less than most units. When there's an opening, I go through available soldiers and narrow the numbers down until I find the best fighter that is also suitably loyal. Usually there's a couple soldiers I've already had in mind, so it's not too long a process."
Bladefall nodded, thinking it over. "What about th' other units?"
Kiern inclined his head in Astarte's direction and kept his dislike of her from his expression and voice. "Astarte Darkmoon is the captain of the Nightfangs. They're our main fighting force—first into battle and last to leave. You'll be placed under her command; they suffer the most losses and so need newbeasts more than the other units. The Nightfangs are marked by the red gloves they wear."
A pause as they passed a sparring ring in the Nightclaw camp, the ringing of steel and shouts of onlookers momentarily drowning out all talk. "Then there's the Nighteyes—the spies and scouts of the Nighthunt. Stormsong here is their captain. They are marked by their lack of uniform—they wear whatever blends best into their surroundings. Most of them know more than just woodlore and tracking, too; they're versed in many crafts so as to blend better with other creatures. Stormsong is a healer and a bard; others are carpenters, smiths, cooks, tailors…" A shrug. "They're perhaps the most useful unit, when we're not fighting."
"The Nightarms are led by Captain Deathcry." His mouth twisted ever so slightly on the name but he suppressed it to blankness. "They are archers, slingers, javelinbeasts…" A shrug. "They are marked by leather armguards."
"The Nightblood…" A wry smile, distaste flickering in the shadows of that dark gaze. "They are assassins. Also our healers, since they know so much of herblore and wounds. Veneno is the Nightblood captain…you can recognize him by his black cloak and scythe, and you can recognize the rest of the Nightblood by their fangs and claws…they dye them blood red."
"What be the ranking system?" This last came from Loamstar, quiet until then; Kiern glanced at her in mild surprise.
"We don't have much of one…" he said. "The Longclaws is our leader—he's the highest in rank, I suppose… then there's the five captains, marked by white bars on their uniform…" he brushed his claws across the three white stripes on the neck of his black tunic, "and each captain has one or two subcaptains, marked by two white bars…but beyond that, there's no real ranking. Veterans have more privileges than new recruits, but that's just within the ranks themselves—that's not anything official."
The vixen nodded and fell silent, a thoughtful look on her angular features as they continued walking. Kiern's gaze flickered to Bladefall. "Anything else you'd like to know?"
The young tod's mouth twisted in thought. "Uhm... Oh!" A sheepish grin skittered across his face. "Ah…where do we be gettin' food?"
That startled a laugh from the normally shy Skyfire, trailing behind Kiern. "Typical young one, aren't you…?" she said with a smile, then shook her head in amusement at his self-conscious scowl. "Everybeast usually cooks their own food—it's distributed by the Nighteyes—or get somebeast who knows how to cook to cook it for them. You usually have to pay for it somehow though—either with coin or with a service in exchange."
"But…" Bladefall stared about at the mass of tents and fires. "What group be the Nighteyes?"
"The one with all the Nighteyes in it, of course…" Skyfire shrugged. "Or you could just look at the banners. The Nighteyes' banner is the blue eye on a white field; the Nightclaws are white claws on a black shield on a blue field; the Nightfangs are white fangs on a crimson field; the Nightblood are a crimson dagger on a gray field; and the Nightarms are crossed black arrows on a gold field." She motioned to the white claw insignia on her uniform. "The banner of the Nighthunt, and of the Longclaws, is the same as the Nighthunt's uniform—white claws on a black field."
Bladefall rubbed his temples, eyes beginning to unfocus just a little. "I be not knowin' if I can be rememberin' all this."
Kiern's subcaptain smiled and patted the young tod on the shoulder. "You'll learn—it's not difficult. Likely you'll be too caught up in training to worry about much anyway."
"Aye, that you will." Astarte's voice, languorous and smirking. "I'm not easy on th' recruits."
Kiern managed not to roll his eyes. I How easy will you be on the young tod, whore? /I But he kept it to himself, even as the stoat fem gave him a slow and sultry wink. I
He was saved from Astarte's antics by the sudden looming of a large black tent. "Ah…here we are." Kiern ducked his head through the half-open tent flap, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light within. "Woodrell?"
A rustle of papers and a shadowed paw waved in distracted greeting. "What do you want this—oh!" The grizzled rat blinked in owlish surprise as he recognized the tall stoat in the tent entrance. "Captain! Sorry, didn't realize…" He clambered to his footpaws, rattling inkwells and shifting scrolls in the process, and offered a salute stiff from a body hunched too long over papers and quills. It seemed odd to see ink stained paws on as athletic a creature as Woodrell—he was burly for his species, and tall, with scars lacing his graying fur that spoke of battle experience.
"At ease…" The rat settled back into his seat with a grimace and Kiern motioned the fox brood into the tent. A word to the recruition team and they saluted farewell, dispersing in a matter of moments, all except Astarte.
"These are the new recruits," Kiern said to the rat. "There's another one, an older tod, but he's injured so you can take your time getting his records…"
"Take my time, take my time," Woodrell muttered, fumbling for scrolls. "Shoddy way to run an army, very shoddy. And you a scribe too. Hmph."
A smile tugged at the corner of the stoat's mouth. "Whatever you'd prefer. It's your job." He glanced over at the bemused foxes. "This is Woodrell of the Nighteyes. He's…well, you could call him our resident record keeper. He handles the entry of new recruits and he keeps track of records, unused uniforms, and unused weapons."
"Yes, yes, that's my job…" More muttering, and the rat dipped his quill in an inkwell and poised it over a fresh sheet of parchment. He looked expectantly at Swiftaxe. "Well, well? Don't just stand there gawking—what's your name?"
Indignation flashed in the amber eyes and the older tod's paw clenched, but he forced himself to relax. "Swiftaxe Lothame," he said through tight jaws.
"Lothame, Swiftaxe, male fox, and that axe, that one in your belt, is that your preferred weapon?"
The tod touched a paw to the well-used haft. "Aye, that it be."
"Good, good, no need to use up weapons then, very good." Woodrell squinted at the parchment, then up at the tod. "Any other weapons, maybe? Other skills, any disabilities, hmm?"
"I be good enough at slingin' a knife," Swiftaxe said with a shrug, "but not much else. An' I be not bad at trackin', neither."
The flicker of a scowl passed across the rat's face. "Throwing knife for you then, yes, of course, and tracking, good, good… You!" The black-brown gaze pierced Bladefall like twin arrows. "Your name. Tell it. And your weapon, and all the rest, like your father, of course, of course."
"Uhmm…" Bladefall shifted from paw to paw, eyes flicking to his father.
"Not all day, young tod!" A harrumph from the rat. "Hurry, hurry, haven't got all day you know…"
The tod ducked his head in self-conscious apology. "Sorry…uhm…I be Bladefall Lothame…I be usin' the longknife, nothin' else yet…an'…that be all, sir."
"Hmph. Well, Darkmoon'll be shapin' you up soon, she will, or she'd better. Longknife! Pah!"
Bladefall stiffened. "It be a good weapon!"
"Hmph." The rat shook his head and dipped his quill again. "You. Vixen."
She nodded, closing her eyes for the briefest instant. "I be Loamstar Lothame. My weapon be the quarterstaff, though I be wantin' to learn any other polearm. I be skilled in cookin', mendin', an' woodlore."
"Pah." The quill scratched across the parchment. "Cookin' an' mendin', everybeast here learns anyhow. Woodlore, though, that's good to know, it is, it is." A shake of drying powder and he stood, shoving past the foxes and ducking through the tent flap. "Come, come, don't just stand there…"
The foxes exchanged glances and followed, somewhat hesitative. A smile tugged at Kiern's mouth as he stepped into the open air, and Astarte laughed aloud as she left the shadows of the tent.
"Are recruits always this amusin'?" she asked in a low tone, walking alongside Kiern.
He edged away, uncomfortable with the invasion of his space. "Aye; though it's Woodrell that's the most amusing…"
Silence for a moment, trailing along behind the foxes that followed the grizzled rat like confused ducklings after their mother. Astarte watched them with a rare thoughtful look, head tilted just a bit. "That vixen…"
"Hm?" Kiern glanced at the stoat in mild surprise. "What about her?"
"She's th' most promisin' of th' lot." The dark eyes narrowed, and for a moment Astarte lost any trace of seduction. "Reminds me almost of myself…"
Kiern blinked, studying the stoat fem intently as her gaze turned inward, as a brief frown creased her forehead. Then she closed her eyes, shook her head as if to free it from clinging thoughts, and grinned over at Kiern.
"Enough of that…"
Her voice turned sultry as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, sidled close enough for Kiern to feel her body heat. He snarled and whirled away, stalking ahead to catch up to the foxes as Astarte's laugh rang out behind him with mocking amusement.
"…here it is, here it is…"
Woodrell's muttering voice drifted down the wind to Kiern's flattened ears, and he forced himself to relax, paws unclenching and muscles loosening. They'd reached a large cart, covered against the rain threatened by gathering clouds.
"Let's see, hmm, hmm…" The tall rat shoved his head under the tarp, rummaging around for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder at Swiftaxe, squinted, then turned back to the tarp's shadowed contents. A few eyeblinks later he straightened and shoved a pile of black cloth at the tod.
"What…" Swiftaxe shook out the top garment and blinked in realization at the sight of white clawmarks on the black tunic. "I see."
In short time, all three foxes had their uniforms, complete with crimson gloves to mark them as soldiers of the Nightfangs. Swiftaxe was also given a couple of throwing knives in decent condition, and Loamstar was now armed with a finely crafted glaive—a staff topped with a slightly curving blade.
"You're all ready, then?" Astarte asked, glancing from fox to fox.
Woodrell nodded for them. "Yes, yes, all done. Now shoo, all of you. I've got work to do. Work, work…hmph…" He shook his head and hunched his shoulders, muttering to himself as he strode back to his tent and his quill.
"Good…" Astarte grinned back at Swiftaxe, Loamstar, and Bladefall. "Let's be goin', then." She cast a wink back at Kiern. "See you 'round, captain."
The stoat suppressed a grimace of utter distaste, then nodded to the three foxes. "Good luck."
Swiftaxe offered a passable attempt at the Nighthunt salute. "Thank ye, Captain Kiern."
A nod from the Nightclaws captain, and he watched for a moment as Astarte led the new recruits to the Nightfangs' camp. Then, with the touch of a rueful smile lingering on his face, Kiern turned and headed back to his own command.