Vengeance Quest
Chapter 16: On to Southsward
The messenger from the Longclaws came shortly after Swiftblade's departure, with simply a terse "Captains meeting in th' Chief's tent". Kiern checked his uniform, black and spotless except for the inescapable dust that ever clogged the grassland air, and headed for the Longclaws' tent.
"…heard the news?"
"Castle… gonna lay siege…"
"Never done somethin' quite like this afore…"
"…Longclaws settling down?"
Whispers, soft voices, snatches of conversation drifting to Kiern's pricked ears. He frowned a bit, listening. Lay siege to a castle? Certainly something out of the ordinary raid-and-plunder…
Two Nightclaws stood guard at Nightdeath's tent. They saluted to their captain as he approached, metal gleaming like blood in the light of the setting sun, and parted to let him enter. Kiern nodded to the two weasels and ducked into the darkness of the tent.
The other captains waited there already—Astarte, refusing to meet his gaze; Deathcry, gnawing on yet another bone in the corner; Veneno, leaning on his scythe in the darkest shadow in the tent; and—
"Sharshek."
It was more of a curse than a greeting, flat and cold on Kiern's tongue. The rat grinned up savagely from his leaning position against the tent pole. "Good even, Kiern."
The stoat stiffened. "Even the Longclaws calls me 'captain', and he is my superior, rat. I suggest you do the same."
Sharshek's flat mud-brown eyes narrowed. "I'm a captain now, too, you know. You can't act all high and mighty towards me anymore!"
"Can't I?" A hissed whisper accompanying the slither of steel and in an instant Kiern's saber was at the new captain's dark throat. "Can't I, snitch?" He growled, low and deadly as Sharshek's eyes widened. "You're a very new captain… and one who gained his position through treachery. Note this, rat…" and the saber bit into the rat's neck, drawing the thinnest line of blood. "Those who gain their positions by treachery here rarely keep them for long. Can't be trusted, after all… who knows how high your ambition reaches? For my position? For the Longclaws', maybe?" A dry and bitter laugh. "He is not a fool… and you will not keep your position nor your life for long. Not with how you gained captaincy, scum."
He released the rat with a jerk, wiped the thin stain of blood off the saber onto the rat's dark green breeches. A smooth motion and it was sheathed, and Kiern turned away, seemingly relaxed but ears pricked back to Sharshek, muscles ready for any retaliation.
The rat scowled to cover a shaken soul, swiped his paw across the bare slice on his throat, spat onto the ground—but he remained standing, and he remained silent.
Purposeful pawsteps and hasty greetings from the guards announced the approach of Nightdeath Longclaws. The five captains stood, straightened, and snapped salutes when the sinuous midnight form bent into the tent, white claws polished as usual to a high gleam, ebon eyes concealing any emotion. He waved the five to ease.
"I suppose you've all heard the news," he said dryly. Nods all around. The Longclaws shook his head and glanced to Sharshek. "Spycaptain. Fill them in on the situation."
Sharshek cast a smirk Kiern's way and stepped forward to the center of the tent. "My scouts," he said, with a slight proud emphasis on the possessive, "have found a large castle not three days' march from here. The inhabitants call it 'Floret', apparently, and it's ruled by" and distaste colored his face and tone "squirrels. Otters make up the majority of the guards within."
Nightdeath nodded. "Good." He turned to the other captains. "I've already dispatched some of the Nighteyes to scout out the castle. Veneno—"
"Yessir?"
"Send some of your best Nightblood to help scout—and capture a couple for questioning, if possible." At the anticipatory gleam in the black fox's eye, Nightdeath added to that order. "And kill not… we do not need an announcement to our presence. Though if they can kill any of the leaders…"
A low dark laugh. "Death hears… and Death will gladly comply."
Kiern's mouth twisted into a disgusted grimace that quickly smoothed to expressionlessness when Nightdeath turned his way. "Have you a concern, Guardcaptain?"
Kiern thought a moment, then nodded. "We've never really attacked a fortification before, sir… Why now?"
"Several reasons," the wolverine replied. "For one, it has a large profit within its walls. For another, it is about time that we built a base… a training ground for new recruits, and a place to store our plunder. And I…" He paused, and his gaze distanced. "There is something I've been needing to do for many seasons…"
A nod. "I see…" An uncomfortable silence passed, and Kiern straightened. "Well. What would you have the rest of us do?"
"I want you—" and the Longclaws turned to Astarte "—to establish patrols. We'll be camping at a hill not far from here; you'll patrol outward, round up anybeast you find. Try to gather food as well." He turned to Deathcry. "Drill your archers into the ground. I want them as accurate as possible." And then to Kiern. "You know what to do."
Kiern nodded; his mind had already been tallying up tasks. Double guard on the Longclaws; border sentries; drilling… "Aye, sir."
"Oh—and after losing your subcaptain, you will need another Nightclaw, will you not?"
The guardcaptain's lips thinned and he flinched inside. "…Aye."
"Have you any in mind?" the Longclaws asked.
Kiern drew a deep breath. He'd been trying his hardest not to think about finding a replacement for Skyfire… not a replacement subcaptain, not a replacement Nightclaw, not… But he had to. Duty to the Longclaws came first.
Always duty…He shook his head. "But I shall find one."
"Aye, you shall." The wolverine frowned a little. "There is one among the Nighteyes… she has been restless of late since the change in command. A young vixen… Bloodmoon by name. Very good with the scimitar."
Kiern bowed his head in consent. "Aye, sir, I shall look into it."
"Good." And as he ever did, the Longclaws turned his attention away, satisfied as ever that his captain of the guard would follow out his orders without question. To perfection…
The world awoke to a fieldfare's song, dawn opening eyes gray with sleep to overlook the woodland scene. A bird, feathers fluffed, wings aflutter, slate beak opened wide for the warbling song. On the ground below, a young squirrel groaned and pulled her cloak up over her tufted ears. In the boughs above, an older squirrel snarled and tossed a twig at the bird.
"Awk!"
He jumped and tilted his head, angling one accusing dark eye up at Riala. "Whatcha go an' do that fer, crazyfur, strangebeast?!"
"What're ya doin' wakin' us up at this hour, birdbrain?" Malaya growled from below.
"There's a lot I'd rather wake up to than your squawking," Riala said.
Pilar hissed. "Singing, not squawkingness!"
"Could've fooled me," Riala muttered, swinging to the ground next to Malaya.
The fieldfaire's feathers stood upright for a moment, and then memory of their quest transformed indignation to impatience and he fluttered down beside the two squirrels. "Go nownownow!" His eyes gleamed. "Catchascum, killit kill kill!"
Riala shot Pilar a sour glance. "We will," she said, "as soon as we pack up and pick up the trail…"
"I knows trailthing already! Follow from skyplace! Go now slowbeasts!"
The goldentailed squirrel cast her eyes to the leafy canopy above. "Seasons… all right, birdbrain…" She skittered up the tree and came down with her haversack. Below, Malaya rolled up her foodstuffs in her blanket and tied it across her back, then slung on her bow and quiver and rapier.
"I'm ready," Malaya said, straightening her tunic.
"Right… Lead the way, bird," Riala said.
Pilar clacked his beak at her, not liking the commanding tone, but took to the sky without further complaint.
They followed the bird through the thinning wood as the sun rose to brighten the day, illuminating the path, filtering through the green of leaves to cast summer leafshadow across the ground. Riala's sharp gaze picked out the heavily crushed brush from the passage of scores of footpaws—it was a simple path to follow, aged though it was. Here the healing scar of a slashed branch, there a wilted sapling with stripped bark… the signs were there for those who knew how to look.
But she didn't even need to look, for the fieldfare seemed to know the way quite well. They made good time, and by late afternoon, as the sun glared into the squirrels' eyes, Pilar fluttered to a landing on a low-hanging branch. "Furbeasts, stopstop…"
Riala did so, shifting automatically to the cover of brush, and Malaya stood confused in the middle of the path. "What's th' matter?" the younger squirrel asked.
"Umm… no more leaftrees t'hide in, perch in, sing in…"
Malaya tilted her head. "Whatcha mean? Th' forest ends'r somethin'?"
The steel-gray head bobbed up, down, up, down. "Lotsa grassplains, no hidespots, just flatflatflat."
Riala frowned. "The plains…? I've heard of them but I've never been there…"
"Thought you'd been everywhere, Ria!"
"…no," Riala said with an exasperated glance Malaya's way. "Northlands, Salamandastron, the sand dunes, Mossflower… not everywhere." She looked to Pilar, who was dancing from claw to claw. "What's wrong?"
His beak clacked, and he glanced side to side. "Dun' like notrees. Live in forests, not in plainplace! Wherehide from hawkbirds, fangbeasts, meanarrows…?"
"Ya don't hafta come, Pilar," Malaya said gently.
The dark eye glared. "Am going! Thinking Pilar cowardworm? Nonono! Pilar brave, not gonna fly from just notrees, nobush, noleaves…" His feathers fluffed upwards and his claws gripped the branch tighter. "Bravebird. Gonna kill evilbeast who hurtshamedkilled my songsinger! Evenif… go through nocover grassplace."
"Right…" Riala shook her head. "Well then. Lead the way, bird."
He stretched his wings out, flapped a few times, but didn't loosen his death-grip on the branch. "Am leading. Soonlike. …Wantsay farewell to leaftrees."
Riala grimaced. "You do that. Come, Malaya… we'll walk on ahead."
Pilar tightened and loosened his claws, gripped and ungripped, watching the two squirrels hike off into the ever-thinning wood, tailbrushes high. "Mustgo, mustkill evilbeasts… evilbeasts killa Pilar's songsinger. Mustkill!" His head twisted back to look at the woods behind almost longingly. "Mustgo…"
With a deep breath, the fieldfare thrust off from the branch in a flutter of wings and a wild shriek of defiance. "Waitwait, brushtails! I come!"
Riala wasn't sure what she'd expected. A slow tapering of trees, smaller and smaller until they disappeared entirely? Or more and more sparse, or maybe tall grass among the undergrowth? She certainly hadn't been expecting this—a sudden halt of forest, a sudden beginning of golden plains, lightshimmer flowing across the grasses with the wind.
"Beautiful…"
Malaya's voice, awe-struck, nightoak gaze taking in the expanse of green and gold stretching in gentle slopes all the way to the distant horizon, where gold met deep summer blue with the song of the plains. Here there clumped a patch of purple heather, there a stretch of wildflower reds, and bursting from the cover of the gold came a thunderclap of wings, grouse taking to the sapphire sky.
Riala had to agree, staring up into the cloudless heavens and drawing in a deep breath of summer-scented air. For a moment her scarred and hardened visage softened, and she looked almost her true age, rather than seasons older.
But the nervous flutter of wings behind her prodded trained reflexes, and she whirled, paw to her dagger. And relaxed again at the sight of a startled Pilar, but caution still rippled beneath the marred red-brown fur. "Well. We're here. Now what?"
A cough, and the dark gaze flicked from side to side. "Uhm. I searchstuff? Meanhorde going thisway," and one wing pointed in the same direction they'd been traveling, "so… I flythere, look for passagesigns?"
"All right, bird… We'll follow?"
He ducked his head in an awkward nod. "Yesyesyes." A whirlwind of feathers and he was in the air again, describing an erratic pattern through the sky.
"He don't like this place, does he?" Malaya asked after several minutes of walking with no sound but the swish of their movement through the waist-high grasses.
Riala shrugged. "I suppose not… though I don't blame him."
Malaya's head tilted. "Why? It's beautiful…"
"What did I tell you about beauty?"
The younger squirrel winced at the tension in Riala's tone. "That it's deceptive… an' c'n be dangerous-like?"
"Aye." The warrior squirrel looked about the featureless plains. "Aye, it's beautiful, but there's no real place to hide—and too many places to hide."
Malaya frowned. "Whatcha mean?"
A sigh from Riala. "Stay here. Close your eyes, count to ten, then open them."
Confused, Malaya obeyed, the whispered "one, two, three" of her counting following Riala into the grasses. Wind rustled about the younger squirrel, covering her mentor's leaving, though her ears strained for any telltale sound. "…nine… ten."
Malaya opened her eyes. All about was grass, golden wheat, featureless plains stretching to the curve of the horizon. And no sign of Riala.
The squirrelmaid peered close to the ground, crouched beside broken grass. Impossible to move through the plains without breaking a few grass blades, even if one were as skilled as Riala Goldentail. Malaya stepped forward along the faint trail, nose twitching for her mentor's scent, eyes focused for signs of passage—
—and then there was the too-familiar prick of cold steel at the back of her neck, and she stiffened.
"You see?" Riala's rough voice behind her, and the dagger withdrew. Malaya stood, rubbing at the back of her neck. "A false trail, quick movements, stay in the target's footsteps… it's all too easy for an opponent to hide. And all too hard to hide if you've already been spotted…"
Malaya swallowed hard, nodding. "I… see whatcha mean…"
"Good." Riala started onward. "Keep a sharp eye out."
The squirrelmaid followed, far less carefree and wide-eyed now that she knew the potential dangers of the golden plains.
The sun's lower edge was just touching the horizon, painting the sky as golden as the plains, when Pilar came fluttering back. Just a black shape against the darkening sky at first, and wariness flattened both squirrels to the ground, but as he flew closer they recognized the form of the fieldfaire and rose to standing.
"Found a brushtail furbeast sortlike youtwo," the fieldfare called as he landed, yellow breast heaving with exhaustion. Malaya offered her waterskin; the bird tilted his head back for her to trickle the water into his gaping beak.
"A squirrel?" Riala asked as the younger squirrel tended Pilar.
A nod, tiny tongue flicking water from the slate beak. "Yesyes. Redder'n youtypes, brightbright redness. Notlook too goodlike—footpaws drag, earwilt, limptail. Sicklike?"
Malaya frowned. "Where is it?"
"Thattaway." Pilar motioned with his wing roughly in the direction they'd been traveling. "Methinks a he-squirrel? Notsure, hard ta tell with furbeasts… no featherthings."
"…We don't have time."
Malaya glared Riala's way. "He could be hurt!"
A shrug. "His problem. We have to find the Longclaws."
Bird and squirrel stared at her. "Thought you goodbeast, goodfur…"
"I never claimed that," Riala said, harsh, almost angry. "My goal is to kill Nightdeath Longclaws. Not to rescue every dimwit that crosses my path."
Malaya winced and took a step back. "Ria… but ya saved me…"
"Orders. A mission. The Wanderers was just to occupy my time until I found signs of the Longclaws."
Riala deliberately didn't look at Malaya's face; she knew it would hold a hurt expression and she didn't want to see it. I'm back on the hunt. I can't afford to care… I can't let her burden me. I should never have let her come… A slow breath. …I shouldn't have said that…
Grass rustled with Malaya's passage, a hesitant staggering movement escalating to an outright run. Riala forced herself to still and calm, forced herself not to flinch. The gold-brown eyes closed for a long moment.
Whap!
A blow to her head opened them wide, and in an instant her dagger was against the fieldfare's pale throat. "What was that for?" she growled.
Pilar didn't flinch, simply glared at her with his beady gaze. "Notnice! Mean furtail! Thought you and prettysquirrel friends!"
Riala glared back. "I never asked her to come along. She invited herself and I couldn't stop her."
"Seen ya move," the bird shot back. "Ya coulda stopped prettybrush. She notgood tracker, notlike you. You teachsquirrel, trainsquirrel, takecare. Why mean-like now?"
"…What would you know of it, featherbrain?" Riala snarled, turning away, fists curled at her side. "You considered a weasel to be your friend! One you never even talked to! So don't speak to me of friends."
A hiss. "Me no speak?! What of you? Snarlgrowl, try an' drive all away, an' why? Friendstuffs no make weak, like you thinkseem! Make strong! Youthink you find meanwolverine, killathing, all by self?" The beak clacked in scorn. "I seen darkhorde, verminhorde. Lotsa furbeasts, lotsa weapons, goodfighters. You no killa!"
Riala's teeth bared in a silent snarl, but she didn't move and didn't reply.
The fieldfare's voice grew sly. "Or mebbe I know reasonthing… You scaredfur. No want lose prettybrush. No wantfor prettybrush to die. Yesyes?"
"…Pilar."
A rustle of feathers, the scrape of claws at the threat of death in Riala's voice. "Yesyesyes?"
"…Enough. Unless you wish to lose a wing."
The bird gulped, the beak clicked shut. "Yesyes fursquirrel…" A nervous hop. "But… methinks notnice horde thatway… and prettybrush went thatway… and notwell squirrel thatway too… so… yougo thatway too?" he finished in a rush.
Riala sighed and forced taut muscles into calm. "Aye… I suppose I must…"
Night had almost closed its doors on the last light of day by the time Riala spied the telltale movement of grasses that betrayed somebeast's presence. Malaya had long since rejoined her, silence heavy and hurting between the two squirrels. Pilar circled ahead, swooping low to relay a message.
"Hurtsquirrel notfarnow… tenlengths, nine, eight? Notsure."
"Wait above… We'll meet him."
Pilar nodded and flew off, and Riala turned to Malaya for the first time since her harsh comments of before. "You circle around to the left… I'll go right. Be wary."
Malaya didn't meet her gaze, simply nodded and rustled off into the brush, head bowed. Riala watched her go, heart clenching within her chest, but she forced the feeling to the back of her consciousness and headed in the opposite direction.
He wasn't hard to find, noisy as the squirrel was, with dragging brush and stumbling footpaws. Riala waited just out of sight, watching for Malaya. Within moments grass rustled, and her sharp eyes caught the flash of russet among the shadowed gold. A nod, and Riala stepped from the grasses.
The squirrel started, almost falling over himself as he backpedaled, fumbling with a short sword. A fine blade, gleaming in the dying red light of day, but he held it awkwardly, as one in the beginning stages of training. Malaya emerged behind him and he whirled, eyes wild and wary.
"Who are you?" he said at last, confronted with the silent stares of the two obviously better trained squirrels.
"It seems we'd be in better positions to be asking questions," Riala said, voice flat and chill, though she saw no threat from this squirrel, worn and harmless as he seemed.
He straightened, coughed, smoothed down a dusty jerkin. Emerald green, and finely woven—it spoke of wealth, and again of little experience in the wilds, offering little protection against the elements. "I am Malcan," he said, and seemed about to say more, but checked himself.
Riala looked him up and down. Young, well built, with healthy flame-red fur, if a bit travel-dusted. "You don't belong out here."
"Um?" He blinked. "Why do you say that? I am a traveler, and a fine warrior…" A snicker from Malaya whirled him about, an offended expression on his face. "Excuse me, miss, but it is no laughing matter! I am Malcan, greatest of swordsbeasts in Southsward…"
Malaya nearly doubled over with laughter. "S-sorry, Malcan, but…" Another fresh burst of laughter. "Haven't been trainin' long or nothin', but… even I c'n tell ya don't know how ta use that." She nodded towards the short sword and started laughing again.
Riala sighed and dropped her dagger into its sheath. "Put the blade away, youngling."
He scowled, now doubly offended, and waved it at her. "I am a warrior of Castle Floret! I'll not sheath my blade for anybeast! You must take it from my cold, dead…" The words dried in his throat as Riala slowly drew her dagger, dropped into a fighting crouch, and gazed at him with eyes as chill and empty as the gates of Black Forest. "Er… or… mayhap I'll… put it away…" A nervous laugh and he sheathed the short sword with suddenly shaking paws. "Not because I am surrendering, you know, but it is against my code to fight females."
"Really now?" Malaya grinned and her rapier slithered free of its sheath to point at Malcan. "Betcha I could take ya any day!"
He stared at the point of the blade hovering just before his nose. "Er… will not be necessary, I assure you… now… I believe it is your turn to introduce yourselves? Only polite, you know…"
Riala replaced her dagger and nodded to Malaya, who sheathed her rapier with a sigh. "I am Riala Goldentail. This is Malaya of the Wanderers of Mossflower. And the birdbrain over there," she motioned to the fieldfare fluttering in to land among them, "is Pilaris Arrowflight."
"Well!" Malcan flourished an elegant bow. "Well met, Lady Goldentail, Sir Arrowflight…" He turned to Malaya and his bow deepened. "Lady Malaya."
"Just Riala, kit," she growled. "Don't like formalities." Riala glanced to Pilar, who was preening under the respect and title. That certainly wasn't surprising, but the way Malaya's nosetip reddened and her eyes lowered in blushing modesty was quite the surprise. What, Malaya's subject to flattery? Who would have known…?
"So, uhmmm…" Malaya shifted from footpaw to footpaw. "Anythin' we can do ta help ya?"
Malcan straightened, stood himself even taller. "Nay, I require nothing, for I am a great warrior and—" The growl of his stomach drew snickers from all threebeasts surrounding him, and now it was the proud young squirrel's turn to redden. "Er…"
Malaya laughed and reached into her haversack, pulling out two oatcakes and a canteen of water. She handed both to Malcan. "Here, you seem hung…ry…" She faltered as the oatcakes disappeared in three quick bites, leaving crumbs on Malcan's whiskers and fine jerkin. "Very hungry…"
He gulped down water, swiped his paw across his face, and dusted off his clothes as he handed back the canteen. "Thankyouverymuch," he gasped out, drawing in breath after the long drink. "Was a bit thirsty and hungry, I guess."
"Just a bit?" Riala shook her head with the slightest of smiles. "Well. I suppose younglings are all the same…" A slow breath, let out in a sigh, and she shifted her roce at her side. "Now… you mentioned a Castle Floret…?"
"Oh, aye. A large castle a few days west and south of here." He paused, glanced to the side, and shifted his weight. "Er, but… you don't want to go there. Nothing to see, very boring really…"
Riala and Malaya barely heard him. "Ya think they've heard about th' Longclaws?" Malaya asked the older squirrel.
Riala frowned and nodded. "Likely… at any rate, a castle out in these flatlands is bound to attract attention from the Longclaws… never known him to lay siege, but a castle means population, which means something to raid…"
Malcan looked from squirrel to squirrel. "Uhm… Longclaws? Siege? Raid? What are you talking about?"
"We're trackin' a wolverine," Malaya explained as Riala grimaced. "Leadin' a big horde of vermin an' all, ya know? An' he likes pillagin' and burnin' and stuff. So if there's a place like a castle, he might want ta attack it."
"…attack… Castle Floret…?" Malcan looked stunned for a moment, then started laughing. "He will never succeed. The otterguard are too strong, the castle too well defended."
A humorless smile stretched a thin line across Riala's face. "You don't know the Longclaws…"
Malcan looked from Riala to Malaya and back again, his grin fading. "You're… serious, aren't you?" At their impassive stares, he swallowed hard. "Well… umm… I suppose… someone ought to warn the castle…" A long deep breath. "Which means… you'll be needing…" He grimaced. "…a guide."
"That would be helpful," Riala agreed.
The young squirrel sighed. "Well… in the morning, or do we start off now?"
Riala glanced at the horizon, now showing only the faintest streak of light. "I don't know about you, but we've been on the move all day. Malaya and Pilar, at least, need rest… they aren't used to this."
"Neither're you, anymore!" Malaya protested. "Betcha haven't done a long march since comin' ta Redwall!"
Riala did her best to ignore that comment, turning instead to the silent Pilar. "Did you see anything in the way of shelter?"
The bird's slate beak clicked. "Nonono, told foolbeasts already! Notrees, nocover, no hideplaces!" His feathers fluffed out. "Notgoodness."
"Well…" Riala sighed. "I suppose we'll be camping here then… No fire. Let's just get some sleep and take shifts… who wants first?"
Malaya rubbed her eyes. "I guess it'd be good ta get it over with an' all… I'll go first."
"You'll stay awake the entire time?"
The squirrelmaid winced, shifted from footpaw to footpaw. "…Aye. An' if I'm feelin' too drowsylike, I'll wake ya up."
Riala nodded. "Good." With that, she walked away a few lengths, flattened a bed of grasses, and curled up to a light sleep.
Malaya, Pilar, and Malcan watched her blankly for a moment, then Pilar bobbed his head to Malaya. "I sleeplike too. Keepgood watchlike! Nowant surprisethings…" His words drifted off into a yawn, and he hopped away to find a sleeping spot.
Which left just Malaya and Malcan.
"Um…" He looked about the featureless grasslands. "Well… I suppose I ought to be sleeping as well… I fear I am none too tired, however."
Malaya smiled a little. "Trust me, yer gonna wanna get all th' sleep ya can. With Ria as a taskmistress…"
Malcan's head tilted. "Aye, Riala Goldentail. What is the problem between the two of you? At moments you seem close friends; at others, utter strangers."
"…It's… hard ta explain…" Malaya's face darkened and she looked down, before remembering her sentry duties and returning her gaze to the plains. "We're friends, sorta… I think… but…" A long sigh, heavy with the pain of Riala's cold words. "Sometimes… she just gets dark an' hard, ya know? 'Specially when th' wolverine comes up in talk… so… I dunno." She drew in a deep breath. "But ya need sleep. An' I need ta be watchin' for danger an' whatnot."
The other squirrel watched her for a long moment, silhouetted there against the moon, a lonely youngling thrust into a role she was perhaps not yet ready for. When Malcan left to sleep, Malaya didn't turn from her watch, but an observer might have caught the silver gleam of starlight off a single tear rolling down her cheek to moisten the earth.
Pawsteps sounded outside Kiern's tent as morning stretched on into day. "Enter," the stoat said before the approacher had the chance to rap knuckles on the tent pole. A moment's pause, and then the sable form of Swiftblade slipped into the tent. There was the usual exchange of salutes, and then Kiern buckled down to business.
"What do you know of the vixen Bloodmoon?"
The ferret frowned. "Noo more'n most… she be a good enow bladebeast, I ken, but… th' lass be a strange one."
"…Strange?" Kiern echoed. "How so?"
"Well…" He laughed a little, but nervousness made it sound forced. "She… sees things. In flame, in water, stones, bones, whate'er."
Kiern snorted. "A 'seer'. I've meet some—all flash and little truth. A few powders that burn red or green, a lot of dancing and chanting, then useless vague words and an enormous price. Foolishness."
"Aheh, well, there be th' strange thing… she dinnae be a-doin' any o' that. She just goes all blank-eyed an' speaks in a voice like outta Dark Forest, an' whate'er she says be almost always true. Most times she stays away from t'other hordebeasts, an' we leave her alone tae…" A crooked smile, half-hearted. "Pretty enow lass, but she just ent quite right in th' soul, ye ken?"
Kiern's brow furrowed. "And the Longclaws wants her in his personal guard…?"
Swiftblade shrugged. "Weel, she do be havin' fine skills with th' scimitar, an' she be loyal as all tae th' Longclaws. She were close-like tae Stormsong, an' holds nae love for… Sharshek." The name twisted on the ferret's tongue like rotten fruit.
"Hmm…" A nod. "Very well. Thank you, Swiftblade. Dismissed."
Another exchange of salutes, and Kiern looked thoughtfully at the tent flap without really seeing it. This…Bloodmoon… sounds quite interesting. And mayhap adequate for the Nightclaws… if these "visions" of hers aren't too disruptive…
With a decisive nod, the stoat ducked out of the tent and headed towards the Nighteyes camp.
A quick hike and a few brief questions led him to an isolated fire on the outskirts of camp. A deep red vixen sat before it with her back to him, spooning stew from a bowl.
"Excuse me… are you the Nighteye called Bloodmoon?"
She rose, turned to face him with a silent salute. "Aye, sir," she said, voice soft and melodic, like a nightbird's song to the gibbous moon. Kiern studied her for a moment, weighing her in his mind. Certainly attractive enough, in the manner of vixens—thick red coat, darkening nearly to black at the ears and finely tapered muzzle; star-pale throat and tailtip; a fit form concealed by a black tunic and a faded grey cloak.
Not much different from any other attractive vixen—except for the eyes. Stormsky blue, shade of the blind, but her gaze met his as one with perfect vision. Beyond perfect… for there was something otherworldly about that intense sapphirine gaze. Something… discomfortingly unnatural…
He shook his head to clear it of the disconcerting fog. "How did you come to join the Nighthunt?"
A soft smile, a slow nod. "It is simple. My sister died of sickness; I could not heal her. I wandered in a fog until beset by thieves, rats looking to steal what little I had… The Longclaws came and killed them all, then asked me to join the Nighthunt." She laughed, suddenly. "And nay, guardcaptain, t'was not your usual recruiting ploy. I have asked about and seen this truth."
Kiern frowned. "How did you know about the recruiting…?"
Those eerie eyes fixed on his, seeming almost to glow with strange inner fire, and Kiern looked away, swallowing the sudden discomfort. "I… see. And your fighting skills?"
A flash of amusement in the stormsky gaze, and her scimitar shimmered in her paw. "I can demonstrate, if you wish."
Kiern nodded and drew forth his own saber. The two shifted to battleready, sketching salutes—and clashed.
Steel rang bell-like on steel, once and twice with sunlight flickering off polished blades, and the vixen and the stoat broke apart, each regarding the other. Not bad, Kiern thought. Not bad at all…
As if by a signal, they rushed each other again, steel screaming its clanging warcry. Parry, block, thrust; step back as the vixen's scimitar swipes for the belly, and forward in a lunge for her side; dodging, blocking, backing off, then shift to offensive to force her to parry…
A slip: a misstep, brief imbalance, and Kiern drove through the gap in the dance of steel, forcing Bloodmoon further off kilter, and his blade nicked the starpale throat.
They stood there for a moment, panting, and then Kiern withdrew his blade in a respectful salute. The vixen returned it, sheathed her scimitar with a long slow breath.
"You fight well," Kiern said. "Like a dancer."
"Or a dream," she responded, but paid no attention to Kiern's questioning gaze. She shook her head, then raised that otherworldly gaze to pierce and hold his.
"I am utterly loyal to Nightdeath Longclaws," Bloodmoon said, low and intense as if trying to tattoo the truth and forcefulness of her words into Kiern's soul. "He saved my life—and my mind. I owe him much."
Kiern nodded at last, slow and a bit unnereved. "I think… I think I see that." A salute, breaking from her gaze with effort. "If you wish, you are welcome to join the ranks of the Nightclaws."
The vixen's eyes closed for a long moment; Kiern nearly jumped when they snapped open. She bowed low. "I accept…"
It took about an hour to procure the vixen a Nightclaws uniform and introduce her to the ranks; that done, Kiern set out to search for the Longclaws' familiar midnight form. Not inside his tent; well, that wasn't too unusual. The wolverine often made rounds among the horde, sometimes taking his own scouting trips (with his guards hard-put to keep up…). Although one of the Nightclaws would tell me if he decided to do that…
Screaming protests, coarse laughter, and the sounds of struggle jerked Kiern's attention to a circle of tents by the Nightblood encampment. Seasons… what have the bloodthirsty assassins caught this time…? He grimaced and headed towards Veneno's tent, the seeming source of the sounds. He didn't bother to knock, simply brushed by the sneering guards and ducked into the tent.
There was Veneno, flat amber eyes grinning over a pair of bruised and beaten otters bound to twin posts in the spacious tent's center. And Deathcry, gnawing on yet another bone, a low giggling coursing from her throat, dagger tickling the female's dark throat. And… Nightdeath Longclaws…
The wolverine looked up as Kiern entered, and a smile flickered across the angular face. "Ah, good; I was just about to send one of the Nightblood to bring you here."
Kiern looked from male otter to female otter, to Veneno, to Deathcry, and finally to his chief. "What is all this?"
"Veneno's assassins captured these two, apparently scouts, not far from the castle," the Longclaws said.
The male otter snarled. "Never would've caught us if 'e hadn't used poison!"
Veneno leaned in close, smirking in the otter's face. "We're vermin, aren't we? I thought that was expected of us…"
The otter strained against his tight bonds, glaring utter murder. "Scum… dishonorable stinkin' pike…"
A sigh from the Longclaws. "At any rate… I want you, Veneno, and Deathcry to interrogate these two. Use whatever methods necessary—" and the fox and ferret grinned with bloodthirst "—but do not kill them. They will still prove useful. Kiern, you know what questions to ask; Veneno and Deathcry will make sure these two answer."
Kiern's mouth thinned to a tight line. "I must work with… them?"
"Aye." The flat ebon gaze fixed on Kiern's. "I raised you a bit too honorable, it seems… We must be hard, oftentimes. Woodlanders are not worthy of the same honorable treatment as our kind. And methods must sometimes be harsh… Do you understand?"
Anger burned within, but the guardcaptain lowered his gaze and nodded. "…Aye. I understand."
A curt nod. "I'll be in my tent. Meet me there when you've all the information you can extract." With that last and a salute, Nightdeath Longclaws strode from the tent, and Kiern stared blankly at the ground.
A cry of pain jerked his gaze up to the two otters. Veneno was tickling the female with his scythe, cutting thin lines of blood here and there, while the male raged at his bonds. Kiern's jaw clenched and he grasped Veneno's scythe, pulled it away with a glare.
"I have not begun questioning," he said, barely holding back a snarl. "No need to start your torturing already."
Veneno snickered and pulled away, bowing with mock respect. Kiern grimaced and turned to the otters, who stared at him with eyes full of hatred.
"Let's just get formalities out of the way first… What are your names?"
More glaring.
Kiern sighed. "I am Kiern, this is Veneno, that's Deathcry. Your turn."
No answer from the otters.
Deathcry giggled, high-pitched and eerie. "Ssshould I take the anssswer from them?"
"Deathcry… no." A grimace. "Simply names, otters…"
"Unless you'd rather we call you Bloody and Agonized," Veneno said.
Kiern glared at him for silence. "It is no difficulty to give us your names, and compromises nothing. What would we do with that?"
The female otter snorted. "Tell Castle Floret ye've captured us?"
A shrug. "Don't need your names for that; we can just as easily bind you and drag you in sight of them."
The male snarled and struggled forward as if to attempt to rip Kiern's throat out, but the female held up a paw. "No, th' stoat speaks true enow…" A nod. "I be Hyacinth, an' this be Strongpaw."
Deathcry chuckled and sidled up to the male, looking him up and down. "Aye, I can sssee why he wasss named Ssstrongpaw…"
"Enough, Deathcry…" Kiern's teeth ground together in frustration. "So the two of you are scouts for this 'Castle Floret'?" More glowering, and Kiern breathed out a sigh. "Why are you being so difficult?!"
Strongpaw snarled. "We've honor, scum! We'd protect our home despite anythin', no matter what ye'll do te us! An' if protectin' it means not answerin' a question out of yer mouth, then so be it!"
A low laugh from Veneno. "Death thinks this is where our job begins, guardcaptain…"
Kiern opened his mouth to protest, then shut it with a click of teeth. Have to… allow this… So he forced his attention on the two otters and the two torturers, stomach twisting into knots.
Veneno slid over to Hyacinth, leering inches from her face. "Deathcry… think these two are mates…?"
"Yesss… I sssaw them before, when they thought none were watching…" A sadistic giggle. "Yesss, they—care much for each other…"
The black fox raised an eyebrow. "Well… Death knows the power in that…" He cast a laughing glance Strongpaw's way, and a dagger appeared in his paw, blade caressing the female otter's cheek with blood. She stiffened, eyeing the blade in motionless silence. "A pretty one, for a woodlander, is she not?"
Kiern's mouth thinned. This is… disgusting…
"Ssso, woodlander… will you cooperate with usss… or mussst we have our fun with your love there…?"
Strongpaw glared daggers at Deathcry, whose chewing bone tickled his jaw. "Ye sick vermin…" A whimper jerked his gaze to Hyacinth and the blade digging ever deeper in its designs along her cheek, her neck, her shoulder… She shuddered with pain and revulsion as Veneno's tongue licked out to lap the blood from her face. The male otter hissed with fury. "Stop it!"
Deathcry smirked in Kiern's direction. "Asssk your questions, sssir…"
"…right…" Kiern swallowed bile from a cotton-dry mouth. "How many guard Castle Floret?"
A snarl. "I'll never tell ye that!"
The stoat's eyes closed as a strangled cry erupted from Hyacinth; Veneno's blade had traveled down from her throat to her navel, slicing a thin line of blood and slitting open her tunic. Just focus on asking questions… "What species guard the castle?"
"Stop hurting her!" growled from the male otter.
"How are they armed?"
The female otter's cries grew to a sobbing scream. Kiern's eyes snapped open to see Veneno's paw on her dangling wrist. He broke it…?
"Hyacinth!"
Deathcry laughed, eerie and empty. "Ask away, guardcaptain…"
"…Who leads the castle…" Hiding a flinch at the agonized gasps from the female. "How are they guarded… What is the method of defense in case of an attack…"
"What… what are you doing?!"
Kiern opened his eyes again, reluctantly, at Strongpaw's horrified question. Veneno's blade was venturing lower still, below the female's waist, slicing off her trousers. "Veneno… What are you doing?" The stoat's voice was quiet, commanding, although he already knew the answer.
The fox glanced Kiern's way with a smirk. "Thought the otter was supposed to answer questions… not Death…"
"Answer me, Veneno!"
A theatrical sigh. "If you must know, mortal… Death is encouraging them both to speak. You see, riverdog…" He winked at Strongpaw. "Mayhap you could withstand against your pain, your death… and maybe even the torture and death of your love… but Death knows there are some things you weak woodlanders never even think of…"
"…Get out."
Veneno's eyes widened briefly and he turned to face Kiern. "What did you say?"
"Get out of the tent," the stoat said, even and quiet. "Let me speak with the otters. Alone."
Ferret and fox exchanged glances, then nods, then sketched mocking salutes to the guardcaptain and ducked out of the tent, leaving Kiern alone with the two otters.
All was silent except for the male's heaving breath, heavy with rage, and the female's gasping sobs as she cradled her snapped wrist. Kiern drew a long slow breath to calm himself, and a second one.
"I don't believe you understand," he said at last. "Deathcry and Veneno are… the most bloodthirsty sadists I have ever met. And they know how to keep a victim alive for… a very long time… "
Strongpaw straightened in his bonds, defiance lighting his rough features. "Don't matter, scum. Nothin'll make us betray Castle Floret."
"Dammit, otter!" Nearly a shout and Kiern bit back on his helpless anger, forced it to quiet. "You think they're going to just slice the two of you up? Break a few bones, rip open skin until you collapse from the pain?" A snarl. "Veneno and Deathcry are beyond that! They'll feed you plants that'll have you so confused you won't know what's real or what's hallucination. They'll starve you and then force you to eat again. They'll have you in days of agony without making barely a mark on you. And you think you can outlast that?!"
Hyacinth forced herself upright. "Aye. We can. We will. We must."
The scorn in his eyes lashed across her. "Have you ever been raped, otter?"
Shock slackened her jaw. "Wha—what?!"
"You wouldn't!" Shouted from Strongpaw, who raged against his bonds with more determined ferocity than ever before. "Ye hellbound scum! Ye filthy half-drowned vermin!!"
"Enough." Kiern glared at the male otter. "No, I would not do something like that! I have prevented my command from doing such more than once! But I am not in command of Veneno or Deathcry or their command. And they would rape her. More than once, and more than one creature, and they would force you to watch. They might even rape you, Strongpaw. Is that what you wish?!"
Scorn slashed from Hyacinath's gaze. "'E called ye honorable. Th' wolverine."
"…Aye."
A harsh laugh. "Then you have a strange sense of honor, stoat…"
Kiern frowned at her. "What do you mean?"
"As long as it isn't ye doin' th' deed, then yer paws're clean, is that it?" The female otter shook her head, gritting her teeth at the sudden rush of pain from her wounded neck. "But ent it true if ye can stop a thing, an' ye don't, then yer just as guilty and filthy as th' one who 'olds th' knife…?"
The stoat's eyes widened a little, and his paws curled at his sides. "I…"
He was saved from having to answer by the reentrance of Veneno and Deathcry. "Hope your little talk is over, Kiern," Veneno said with a smirk, "because we're ready to work again…"
Kiern turned away, stomach twisting, gaze fixing on the ground as pawsteps sounded behind him. Clothing ripping, rustling, falling; Strongpaw's shouted protests, useless threats; empty laughter, cruel giggles…
"What wasss hisss firssst quessstion, male…?" Deathcry, whispered over Hyacinth's cries. "How many guard the cassstle?"
"Stop touchin' her… don't touch her like that…"
"What speciesss?"
"Get away from her…"
"Who leadsss it?"
"Stop… please stop…!"
"How are the leadersss guarded?"
"STRONGPAW…!" Hyacinth's scream, Veneno's laughter, and Kiern knew by the ragged breaths that he was beyond simple touches…
"What isss the defenssse?"
"STOP IT! HYACIIIINTH!"
Kiern's eyes squeezed shut, his claws dug deep into his pawpads. This is… wrong… The female's words echoed in his mind. 'If you can stop a thing, and you don't, then you're just as guilty as the paw that holds the blade.' The screaming grew louder, longer, intermingled with laughter and rhythmic gasps, with sobbing cries, with howling protests, helpless threats.
And Kiern remained motionless, frozen by uncertainties, by duty, by ingrained obedience to a dark voice and ebon gaze.
'…just as guilty and filthy as the one that holds the knife…'
Kiern had spoken true to the otters: They were not able to withstand against Veneno and Deathcry's ruthless attentions. He soon had the answers to his questions… and he fled the tent the instant he ran dry of questions, paw clutching the parchment with the information that the Longclaws needed.
At the entrance to the Longclaws' tent he stopped, drew in a long slow breath to loosen the tightness in his stomach and his throat. Calm… Another deep breath, and finally he stepped across the threshold.
"Sir." An exchange of salutes. "The information you required."
The wolverine took the parchment, barely glancing at it. "Aye. Good." A sidelong look at the stoat. "An' had ye much trouble with th' otters?"
Kiern forced himself not to flinch. "A bit."
"Oh?"
He swallowed. "Veneno and one of his assassins had to… rape the female… before either would talk."
"Ahh." The slightest of smiles. "That be explainin' th' sick look on yon face of yours…"
"…It shows…?"
Nightdeath shook his head. "Only tae one who knows ye well enow," he said. "Ye be utterly repulsed, aye? Wonderin' why I be makin' ye do such?"
Kiern closed his eyes and nodded. "Aye, sir."
"Aye." The Longclaws leaned back against the tent's center pole. "Ye're tae soft, Captain. Ye've a stomach that turns at torture an' rape, an' seein' I be allowin' it, e'en orderin' it, ye've been doubtin' me. Fighting 'honor' an' loyalty tae me."
The stoat's eyes widened and he met the wolverine's ebon gaze. "What…"
A chuckle. "I ken ye better'n ye ken, Kiern… I raised ye, after all." A sigh. "We live in rough times, an' we be surrounded by rough types. Coarse types. T'would be grand tae not need tae kill, or torture, or rape… but 'tis needed, at times. Would ye use a smile on an adder, or would ye use a blade quick, afore it could bite ye?"
"…A blade, of course…"
"An' 'tis th' same with anythin' else, especially leadin' a horde. Ye must be ruthless, kill before ye can be killed, gather information any way necessary so fewer of yours need die. Do ye understand?"
Kiern drew in a deep breath. Do what you must, so that fewer of your own die? Minimize losses in any way possible… "I understand, sir. Thank you."
The Longclaws nodded with a glimmer of a smile. "Good… I knew ye would. Away with ye, then; do what ye must among the Nightclaws. Check on that new Nightclaw, shift the guard… ye ken what tae be doin'." A slight frown. "Oh… an' I did hear that ye and Astarte be on th' outs for some reason or another… Ye shall find another stoat to sleep with at nights, will ye not?"
He barely withheld a flinch. I like that not… but… He swallowed his reservations. "Aye, sir."
"Good. Off with ye, then." The Longclaws turned away to his paperwork, and Kiern knew he was dismissed. A salute to the wolverine's back, and he ducked out of the tent, teeth gritting against the unsavory task ahead.