Vengeance Quest

by Sounasha

When a wolverine slays her father, Riala Goldentail sets off on a quest for vengeance that will lead her through pain and hardship, companionship won and lost, and eventually to the final confrontation... (R for mild sexual content in chapters 12, 14, 16)

17. Castle Floret

Vengeance Quest Chapter 17: Castle Floret

The next afternoon found the three squirrels trudging across the endless plains. They'd made excellent time, but the stress of being without cover or trees wore on their morale, and it didn't help that they were running low on water. Or supplies…

Never expected to be far from a food source, Riala thought, frustrated. How does the Longclaws keep a whole horde fed?!

She winced as the answer flashed across her mind. No need to wonder—skeletons of birds and fish and even occasional mice had turned up on the trail, long ago, when she'd first hunted the horde. And creatures complaining of raided foodstores, trampled gardens, emptied pantries…

"Skreeeee! Furbeasts, stopbeasts!"

The three squirrels drew to a halt as the familiar shape of Pilaris arced across the sun. He fluttered to a landing, feathers fluffed with agitation.

"What did you find?" Riala asked.

His beak clacked. "Manybeasts. Evilbeasts…" A screech. "Wolverinescum!"

Riala's eyes widened and her roce was in her paw before she'd realized she'd drawn it. "Longclaws! Where?!"

Pilar stared, aghast at the bared fangs and the battlelight in gold-brown eyes. "What, you fight? Now?" A laugh. "You diequick if try, foolbrush!"

A snarl ripped from Riala's throat, and she stepped towards the bird. A firm small paw clasped her shoulder and she whirled to see Malaya's concerned face.

"Ya can't fight th' Longclaws on yer own, Ria!"

The grin on Riala's face resembled a skull's death-smirk. "Can't I?"

"Not allhorde!" Pilar squawked. "Scores and scores! Can't killall, fightall! Would die!"

"Um…" Malcan's voice, timid and uncertain. "I do not know this Longclaws, but even if his horde were utterly incompetent, one squirrel—or even three and a bird—would not be able to defeat such odds."

Riala whirled on him with a growl. "Then what do ye suggest we be doin', lad?!"

"Eheh…" He stood his ground, though he looked as if he'd rather flee. "Well, Castle Floret is well fortified, with a well-trained Otterguard. I am certain that the Squirrelking and Squirrelqueen would be glad to aid you…"

"We'd stand a chance that way, Ria!" Malaya said, almost pleading with the older squirrel.

Riala's mouth twisted as she stared in the direction Pilar had flown from, almost longingly. A sigh, and finally she turned back to the small group. "Very well… I suppose ye be correct…" She glanced to the fieldfare. "How far tae th' castle?"

"Notlong flyways… Nogood stayhere, nogood goslow—hordescouts allover! Gofast, nostop, nosleep… reach castlething at moonhigh?"
A gusty sigh from Malcan. "No rest for the weary… My poor footpads will be bleeding if we go any quicker!"

Malaya poked his stomach. "Ya might lose that babyfat, lazybeast!" He stuck his tongue out at her and she grinned. "C'mon, we've been goin' slow. Ria's pace is usually lots faster, ya know."

"No, I do not know," Malcan said, stiffening. "And I am not lazy."

"Hmph, well, coulda fooled me…" Malaya shrugged and turned to Pilar. "Lead th' way, feathers!"

"Notfeathers! Feathers is sisterbird! Stupidbird, bossybird…" Grumbling, Pilar took to the air, and the three squirrels half-jogged after him.

They traveled in silence for a long while, too focused on the rhythm of pounding paws and the regulation of breathing to speak. But as Malcan dropped back, heaving, Malaya slowed to keep pace, casting him a concerned glance. "Ya doin' all right, Malky?"

"Do not… call me… Malky," he panted, the rhythm of his pace stumbling to irregularity.

She frowned. "Paws hurtin', or just getting' tired-like?"

He glared. "How… can you… keep this pace?!"

"Well, I couldn't at first…" A grin and a shrug. "Had ta do worse'n this afore Ria and Shadow freed me."

"Freed?" Malcan forgot his exhauston for a moment, looking at her quizzically. "From what?"

Malaya looked to the ground for a long moment, at the golden grasses folding beneath her footpaws. "I was a slave… Ever since I could remember afore Riala freed me."

Malcan's step faltered with the rush of shock. "You… you were… a slave?" He found his stride again and caught up to her, gasping out words between ragged breaths. "But… you do not… act like it!"

"Act like it?" One eyebrow arched high. "Like everybeast should pity me? Or weak an' servantlike? Or what?"

"Like…" He struggled for clarification. "I—met an otter once… who had been… a slave. He was—empty. As if… he had been… killed inside. You… you are the opposite! You are… so full… of life!"

Malaya's tail twitched a little and her gaze returned to the shifting ground. "I was empty, too. Didn't care if I lived'r died. I think… I think it's why Ria took me in."

"What, she… pitied you?" Malcan stared at the rust-gold brush several lengths ahead. "She seems not… the type… to pity."

"No, she's not… it wasn't pity." A sad smile etched its way across Malaya's face. "She's empty-like too. Only thing keepin' her so alive an' fightin' is her hate fer th' wolverine, I think…"

Malcan frowned a little. "But… she seems like… she cares about you, sometimes… She watched you… sleep last night… and didn't seem… cold for… once."

"…maybe." Malaya didn't look up. "Maybe…"

"Screeheehee!" A gleeful call from above, and Pilar circled overhead. "Woodtrees, hillwoods! Then castlething and cliffstuffs and saltlake!"

"Ha!" Malcan said. "The valley, the castle, the cliffs, and the sea! The bird was right—we should be there by midnight."

"Trees!" The relief in Riala's rough voice rang clear. "Finally get some cover…"

Malaya nodded. "And some rest!"

The promise of journey's end lent a spring to the squirrels' step. Flat grasslands gave way to hilly scrub, and in the distance, Riala's sharp gaze picked out the lush dark green of forest and the tall shadow of a soaring building.

The sun had long set by the time they reached the cover of the woods. Pilar was waiting for them, perched on an overhanging limb, singing his heart out. Malaya let out a cry of delight and ran to the nearest tree, hugging the oak like a shipwrecked sailor might embrace the long-lost earth. Even Riala smiled, relaxed a little, placed a calloused paw on a beech's straight silver trunk.

The only one who didn't seem thrilled to reach the treeline was Malcan. He eyed the leafshadow with distrust and reluctance. "Well, you can find your way from here, so I shall be leaving…"

Riala's eyes flashed. "Oh no you won't!" She grabbed his tail and he yelped as he was brought up short. "I still don't trust you. You're hiding something and I want to know what it is!"

He opened his mouth to protest, or perhaps to explain, but a javelin burying its point a hair's breadth from Riala's footpaw interrupted.

"Release Prince Malcan!"

Riala whirled, roce in paw, gaze raking the woods. Malaya stared at the wincing Malcan, dumbfounded.

"Prince?!"

"Eheh…" His ears flattened back. "Well…"

A brawny otter stepped out of the treeshadow, javelin at paw. He glared at Riala. "Release the prince. Now. Lest you get a javelin buried in yer heart!"

Malcan heaved a sigh and stepped forward. "It is well, Swiftrudd… They are friends."

The otter motioned with his javelin at Riala's scarred paw still grasping Malcan's red brush. "Then why does she hold you captive?"

Riala tugged on Malcan's tail; he yelped protest. "The brat was trying to run off," she growled, glowering at the squirrelprince. "And you've just told me why. Prince?!"

"Well…" A nervous laugh. "Yes… I suppose I forgot to mention that…"

Malaya snorted. "Convenient."

The otter frowned, and now his javelin aimed at Malcan. "You weren't going to return!"

Malcan winced and raised his paws. "I was going to! …eventually…"

"If you didn't die first!" Swiftrudd took an angry step towards the squirrelprince. "Do you have any idea how worried we've all been?! Captain Sandor has the entire guard searching for you! Yer mother is worrying herself sick! The squirrelking isn't fit to be around! All because you wanted to go adventuring?!"

Malcan cowered before the otter's fury. "I… left a note…"

"Oh, aye, I know about that bloody note! Who doesn't?! 'Goodbye, all! I'm off for adventure to prove myself a true warrior. I shall return when I have done so.' Faugh! You haven't the skill to survive out there! You're lucky these two squirrels helped you out!"

Riala sighed and released Malcan's tailbrush. "If you're quite finished scolding him… We need to speak with the squirrelking and queen."

Swiftrudd whirled on her. "What? Why?"

A grimace. "We have news that they'd be… very interested in. An impending attack by a vermin horde…"

"An attack?" Swiftrudd's rudder slammed on the earth. "Well blow me over! I'll take you to the castle at once! And don't you dare try sneaking off, you brat of a prince…" He snagged Malcan's poor abused tail as the squirrelprince tried edging away. "You're not escaping what the captain and your parents'll have in store for you…!"

Malcan sighed and cast a piteous look Malaya's way. "I was afraid of that…"

The squirrelmaid just shook her head and laughed. "Ya got yerself into this one… prince!"

They reached the castle as the crescent moon arched high overhead, and Riala could do little but stare. Redwall had been an amazing sight, but this…! A sheer cliff towered flush against the north wall, and the other three cream-hued walls stood watch behind a wide moat the same shape as the moon. The drawbridge, lowered for now, covered near to a third of the south side. Emerald ivy, golden saxifrage, red and pink roses—climbing plants of every hue crawled up the walls, lounged out the windows, caressed the ramparts. Magnificent, even in the pale light of the dying moon.

"The Longclaws might be in over his cursed head here," Riala murmured, admiring the castle's strategic placement. "Once the drawbridge is up, he'd be hard put to enter!"

Swiftrudd nodded, pride obvious in his gaze and voice. "Only time any vermin ever conquered Floret was through treachery, and we won it back, didn't we?"

Two otters met them at the drawbridge, and brown eyes widened at the sight of Malcan, tail still held tight in Swiftrudd's paw.

"Is that—it is! Bitin' barnacles, it's Prince Malcan!"

The second otter ran back inside, yelling all the way. "Ring the Warrior's Bell! Swiftrudd's found Prince Malcan! He's back!"

A bell clanged in the distance, and the three squirrels were ushered into the castle. Pilar fluttered just behind, squawking admonishments at the otters who tried to stop him.

"Stupid riverbeasts, waterdogs, mudforears! I Pilaris Arrowflight, bestest of birds! I friend! Am with prettybrush and goldtail! Notouch, greasypaws!"

The otters led them up the sprawling staircase to the grand throneroom with its rich ruby carpet, ornate oak-and-silver thrones, sconces curling from the wall to illume the spacious room. Two squirrels bounded from a side entrance, and a burly otter emerged from the opposite one, all clad in white nightclothes.

"Malcan!" the female squirrel cried, rushing up to him and gripping the prince in a tight embrace. "Oh, dear seasons, I was so scared something had happened to you…!"

"Malc, thank the seasons you are safe, son!" This from the male squirrel, his red fur graying about the ears and whiskers. "Whatever possessed you to run off like that…"

The hugging and kissing and crying and scolding continued for a few minutes more as Riala, Malaya, and Pilar stood awkwardly by. More otters had spilled out of the adjacent rooms and hallways until a full twoscore otters stood in the throneroom, whispering amongst themselves.

Then a roar silenced everybeast. "Prince Malcan!"

The young squirrelprince winced beneath his parents' embraces. The king and queen released him, suddenly grim, and moved aside to leave him to face the otter's wrath.

A burly sable otter stepped down the stairs, dark brown eyes glaring at the squirrelprince. Even in a nightgown, an aura of raw strength and power and command surrounded him, and Malcan could not meet that fiery glare.

"Prince Malcan! Rise and look at me like the warrior you wish to become!" the otter thundered.

Malcan swallowed hard and lifted his gaze to meet the otter's, pulling himself to his footpaws and standing as straight as possible. "Yes, Captain Sandor?"

The otter towered over the squirrelprince, arms crossed over his barrel of a chest. "Your note said you wished to prove yourself a warrior. But racing off as you did, leaving us to worry, forcing me to spread the guard thin…!"

"I…"

Sandor plowed right over Malcan's feeble protests. "A warrior would never be so irresponsible. A warrior would never be so thoughtless. A warrior wouldn't put somebeast else in danger merely for his own pride!"

All the defiance whooshed from Malcan with his breath. He hung his head, ears drooping, tail going limp. "I… am sorry, Captain…"

The otter scrutinized him for a long moment, then turned to the squirrelking and queen. "What punishment do you think fits his crime?"

The squirrelking frowned. "Perhaps a week under Caldrin the Historian's tutelage…"

"Or a month cleaning the library," the squirrelqueen suggested.

Captain Sandor glared down at the wilting squirrelprince. "I think a month, alternating between myself and Caldrin, to teach him the true meaning of a warrior."

Nods all around, and Malcan's ears flattened. "A month?!" He cowered under the sudden force of too many glares. "I mean… yes, captain! Gladly!"

"Ah, not to interrupt," Swiftrudd said, stepping forward, "but we've visitors…"

The squirrelqueen's eyes widened as she took in Malaya, Riala, and Pilar, and she looked down at her nightgown. "Oh dear me, in this attire…?" The squirrelking elbowed her and she nodded, drawing herself up.

"Welcome, visitors of our fair kingdom of Southsward. I am Queen Sydelle Oakrune, and this is my mate, King Audric Oakrune. You have, I believe, already met our son, Prince Malcan Oakrune."

"Aye," Riala said dryly. "I'm afraid we have. Found him half-dehydrated in the grasslands…" A nod. "I am Riala Goldentail. This," and she motioned to Malaya, who bowed her head in uncertain greeting, "is Malaya of the Wanderers of Mossflower. And this—"

Pilar stepped forward, spreading his wings in a somehow elegant bow. "Pilaris Arrowflight, fieldfare and bestest of birds!"

Riala withheld a grin at the bird's ego. "We've come from up Mossflower way, tracking the horde of the wolverine Nightdeath Longclaws." Her gaze sharpened, pierced into Sandor's. "Have you seen sign of such?"

Sandor frowned. "Nay… the usual vermin here and there, but that's it…"

"Daymarch, halfday maybe," Pilar said, hopping forward. "Notfar… horde could comequick."

Sandar exchanged concerned glances with the squirrelking and queen. "Raise the drawbridge?"

Audric shook his head. "Not just yet… there are those outside who must take refuge within the castle first. But tell the otterguard to be wary, and ring the alarm."

A nod, and the burly otter turned to the other otters in the throne room. "You heard the king—make ready!" he roared. "Double duty! Call in the rest of the guard! Leave the drawbridge down, but prepare for attack!"

Riala rubbed her ringing ears and glanced over at Sydelle and Audric, who were calmly removing their paws from tufted ears—they'd expected the otter's volume. Sandor turned to Riala and Pilar. "You, Goldentail—and you, fieldfare. Follow me. We've got a defense to plan." He turned away after the king and queen. Riala shrugged and followed, with Pilar hopping along behind her.

"W-wait! What about me?" Malaya yelped, scurrying after them. "I'm a warrior too!"

"You're inexperienced and young," Riala said, cold and firm. "Stay behind."

"Captain! I led them here!" Malcan protested. "Can I not come?"

Sandor glared over his shoulder. "You," he rumbled, "are still in deep trouble! Stay here. Swiftrudd—guard the prince and the squirrelmaid." The door swung shut behind him, leaving Malcan and Malaya to glower at the heavy oak.

"I don't believe them!" Malaya fumed.

"I do." Malcan sat down on the steps, glaring at the stone. "They always do this. 'You are too young,' or 'you are the prince, we must protect you', or…" A snarl and he threw his sandle across the room. "I hate it!"

Malaya scuffed the floor with a footpaw. "No wonder ya ran off. Too young my tail!" She glanced back at the door with an angry and hurt shadow in her eyes. "I been through near as much as her, an' survived it too! I've got just as much right to be in there as Ria does!"

Malcan scowled. "Aye!" Then he deflated with a sigh. "Ah well… complaining will not do us any good…" He sprang to his footpaws. "Come on, Malaya; I shall give you a tour of the castle."

"Oh no you don't!"

Malcan sighed as he was again pulled up short by the tail. "Swiftrudd, we will not leave the castle. You may even follow us the entire time."

"Please?" Malaya turned her best pleading expression on the otter. "I just wants ta see th' castle…"

Swiftrudd rolled his eyes skyward, but relented. "All right… but wait for me!" he yelped as the two young squirrels took off down the hall, laughing all the while.

In the war room, a place of maps and records nearly filled by a huge round table, Riala and the others stared down at an outspread map of Southsward.

"Do you know where the horde is now, Pilaris?" the squirrelking asked.

The bird studied the map for a long moment, then bobbed his head and tapped a talon on the outskirts of the forest. "Hereish. Lotsa meanfurs."

Sandor slid a black stone on the spot. "How many?"

Pilar spread his wings. "Scores an' scores! Five groupses…"

"…and a score per group," Riala said. "So… fivescore."

A low whistle came from the squirrelqueen. "A full hundredbeasts…!"

Riala glanced sharp at Sandor. "How many otters do you have?"

Sandor's eyes rolled to the ceiling with thought. "Near on fifty… we're missing a couple, Hyacinth and Strongpaw. They went missing a few days ago… With them, we'd have a full two and a half score."

"Only half their numbers…" Riala's brow furrowed. "It's not enough. We'll be slaughtered."

"Not if we stayed in the castle," Sydelle said. "With Floret's defenses, and all the foodstores we have… we could easily outlast them."

Sandor clicked down four more black stones by the first, then placed two white ones and a small white pebble in the castle. "Maybe," he said slowly. "But if they used fires… and siege engines… catapults, ladders…" He shook his head. "They could overwhelm us with sheer numbers."

"I know how they attack," Riala said. "There's usually two different methods. The first is a sneak attack… they send in their assassins—the Nightblood, I think they're called—and kill off the sentries. Then kill as many as possible until they're discovered… The noise is the signal for the brute attack force, the Nightfangs. Not nearly as skilled as some of the others, but still ferocious fighters. That's always been enough to take out their target with very few losses…"

"And the other?" Audric asked.

A slow deep breath. "If there's no cover, or the target is too large or too alert… the score of archers and slingbeasts and the like, the Nightarms, strike first. It's a semi-circle of sorts—Nightfangs in the front, with Nightblood behind them, and Nightarms firing over them. The targets usually attack—you can't run from archers too easily. That's when the Nightfangs attack, with the Nightblood weaving in and out with poison and garrotes…"

Sandor's expression grew grim. "They sound like expert fighters…"

Riala nodded. "They are… None are feared more in the Northlands."

"Wait…" Sydelle frowned, looking at the array of black stones. "Fivescore… but you have mentioned only three groups. What of the other two?"

A nod. "The Nighteyes… the scouts and spies of the Nighthunt. They're the advance force every time, spying out the target and almost never being seen or caught." She stiffened, a sudden chill running up her spine. "Wait…"

The others leaned forward, tensing. "What is it?" Audric asked, low and intense.

Riala drew a deep breath. "I've seen some of the Nighteyes—and Nightblood—scale cliff walls like the ones you have here, as high and tough as your walls… I've seen them swim rivers wider than your moat…"

"…so you're saying they could scale our walls," Sandor said, flat and expressionless.

"…Aye."

The otter swore and made as if to stand. "I've got to tell the otterguard—"

"In a bit," Riala interrupted. "First… Is there any way you could get reinforcements?"

Audric nodded. "There's the Guosis, not far from here."

"And that hedgehog tribe," Sydelle added.

"And Amaranth's patrol," Sandor said. He glanced to Pilar. "Bird… would you be able to find a tribe of shrews, a group of hedgehogs, and eight hares?"

Pilar clacked his beak in scorn. "Can Pilar find? Pilar finds anything easy-like! Pilaris Arrowflight swiftest of birds, bestest, sharpest eyes of allbirds!"

"Aye, aye, but you can find them?"

The fieldfare nodded his head. "Tellame where-like, whatkind, whatsay."

Sandor glanced out the window at the moon. "For now… just tell them of the horde. Tell them to be wary. And tell them we may call for aid…"

Pilar's feathers fluffed upwards. "Can do suchstuffs!" A sudden yawn, not quite stifled by his wing. "But… notnightness. Nightfly bad, an' Pilarbird tiredlike…"

Riala didn't manage to hold back a yawn of her own. "Aye, we've been on the move since dawn. A bed would be… very welcome, for a change."

"Of course!" Sydelle exclaimed, eyes widening. "Oh, how could I have been so thoughtless? Of course you're exhausted! Come, come, I'll show you to the guest quarters…"

She hustled Riala and Pilar out of the room, fretting all the while, and down the hall to fluffed pillows, thick mattresses, and welcome sleep.

"Captain Kiern!"

A quiet voice from the shadows as Kiern neared his tent; only long training kept him from jumping.

"Who's there?"

Footpaws touched the earth, and in moments the vixen Bloodmoon ghosted into view. "Simply myself, captain…"

Kiern relaxed minutely and nodded. "Do you need something?"

"Nay… naught but to speak with you."

"Come in, then." The stoat ducked into his tent and the vixen followed. Kiern shuffled papers aside, motioned her to sit. She lowered herself to the edge of his cot and regarded him with those stormsky eyes that saw all too much.

"Well, what did you want to say?"

She remained silent for a long moment, gaze growing even more intense. "You walk two roads, Kiern," and somehow her use of his name without its title was entirely acceptable. Her voice grew hollow, seeming almost to echo in the confines of the tent. "A fine line between honor and duty… but the time fast approaches when you must choose a single path, for they shall diverge too much to leave a footpaw on each. When that time comes, you must choose quick and sure… for there can be no turning back."

She blinked, and the spell shattered. Kiern tore his eyes from her at last, shaking for no reason he could see. "What—what are you talking about?" he stammered, backing away a step.

Bloodmoon's dark paws pressed against her temples. "I said… what needed to be said. Think on it, captain." At least her voice is normal again… "I can never remember what I say, but… it has always come true… and it is well to heed the words I speak in these times."

"Wait… what is all this?!" Anger simmered within. "Choose honor or duty? And now you almost threaten me to listen to you? Why should I?"

Weariness etched tired lines in her face, slumped her shoulders and drooped her ears. "I know not… Stormsong did not heed my warning to flee, and—look what happened to him."

Shock widened Kiern's eyes. "You told him… to flee?"

"Aye," she said, staring blankly at her paws. "He said I foretold pain, and death of spirit, and death of body—that all were imminent if he did not flee the Nighthunt. But he… he did not listen…"

Kiern shook his head as if in a dream. "No… he listened…" Remembering the look of Dark Forest in the gentle bard's eyes, remembering the desperate embrace, the wistful kiss. "He did listen…"

The vixen glanced up. "He came to you."

Kiern winced. "…Aye."

"And told you of… his feelings."

His voice was almost a whisper, low and pained. "Aye…"

"Hellsteeth take him!" she burst out, sudden and grieving. "He could have fled! He could have lived! And instead he… he professes love for the one who could have saved him… but would not…"

A flinch, and then realization dawned and Kiern stared at Bloodmoon. "You… you cared for him!"

"Aye, and what of it?!" Whirling on him, and he was shocked to see the sheen of moisture in the pale blue gaze.

"Stormsong… had no attraction to—females, did he?"

Her jaw clenched. "Nay. But you cannot control whom you… whom you care for."

Kiern looked down and away. "…Nay… you cannot." Skyfire… why couldn't you have stayed?

"Because you could not choose."

Again that hollow voice, striking to his core, and he stared at the vixen. She gazed into nothing, or perhaps everything. "What… what do you mean?"

She didn't stir. "You could not choose between honor and duty. You could not choose between Skyfire and Nightdeath.

"She chose honor. You stood frozen at the crossroads. As you always have…

"When will you choose a path?"

Kiern could do nothing but stare, reeling. She means to say… that my indecision… my loyalty to the Longclaws… is why Skyfire left? That it's my fault?

Scorn touched the otherworldly voice. "Aye. It is, and you cannot argue this.

"You've repaid your debt to the wolverine threefold. Your debt is paid with interest. Why, then, do you follow one who has proven to be dishonorable?

"Are you afraid to choose?

"Are you afraid to see?"

The strange presence dissipated without warning, like smoke before a sudden gust of wind, and Bloodmoon crumpled with a sigh of breath. It shocked Kiern from his stupor; he darted forward, managed to catch the unconscious vixen.

"Bloodmoon?" he called, gently slapping her face. "Are you all right? Wake up!"

She groaned, eyes cracking open. "Oh, not again," she croaked, pulling herself up. One paw gripped tight to the tent pole as the other shook with exertion. "Seasons… too many visions… for one day…"

Frowning in mingled confusion and concern, Kiern helped the vixen to the doorflap. "Will you be all right?"

A nod, stiff and sore. "Aye. My bedroll is not far… and I've herbs there, for the headache."

She paused in the doorway, speaking hollow again, not turning. "Go see Astarte Darkmoon. She will be an important ally in the time to come. There is… much more to her than meets the eye…"

Kiern watched her go, consternation furrowing his brow, turning the cryptic words over in his mind. What she says has the ring of truth… but…

'You must choose at last between honor and duty.'

He shook his head as if to shoo a buzzing gnat. "I see what Swiftblade meant when he said she was not quite… right. She's closer to unnatural than anybeast I've ever met!"

'Why do you follow one who has proven to be dishonorable? …Are you afraid to choose?'

"Faugh!" He spat, kicking at the earth. "Seers! Nonsense and riddles…"

But her words danced about his head, unceasing. Can't just stand here and do nothing… it'll drive me mad. There was one thing she'd said, though, at the last… unsavory, but easier to think about than—the other things.

Kiern stepped into the fading sunlight and strode for Astarte's tent.

Eyes widened and shocked faces shifted to knowing leers, speculative whispers. Kiern grimaced beneath the oily touch of all those gazes, all the gossip. So the "spat" I had with Astarte is all over the Nighthunt… wonderful.

The guard at Darkmoon's tent stared as Kiern approached, then scurried into the tent before ducking back out and saluting the guardcaptain.

"Captain Darkmoon welcomes you to her tent…"

Kiern paid the rat barely a glance, sweeping into the tent with a face as expressive as stone. Astarte smirked, lunged across the too-familiar bed of furs.

"I said ya'd be back, didn't I…"

His eyes narrowed, and leather creaked as his paw tightened automatically on his sword. "Aye, I'm back, but not for what you wish, Darkmoon."

She frowned a little. "What else would ya come back to my tent for?"

"To settle misconceptions."

A swift smooth movement and he sat cross-legged on the ground, unsmiling. "I was told it would be… wise… to speak with you. That there was more to you than—meets the eye."

The dubiousness he felt must have leaked out through his voice, for Astarte sat up to face him, seductive languor melting away. "What 'meets the eye'?" she asked, gaze darkening. "Just speaking straightforward and honest. That's what you want, right?"

"Straightforward… aye… Very well." A decisive nod. "I see you as a ruthless, power-grasping whore without scruples or honor."

One eyebrow arched. "Truly?"

"Truthfully."

"Then you know me not at all…" Her forehead crinkled. "Of course… ya've never been good at figuring beasts out. Ya never knew Skyfire loved you till the end, after all… or that Stormsong did… or that half your command pities you while respecting ya as a leader at the same time…"

A sharp glance. "What did you say?"

She laughed a little, but it sounded forced. "Ya see? You're oblivious."

"How would you know how any of the Nightclaws feel?!"

"I hear things, captain… and your command has urges too. After a night with me, well…" A sly smile crept across her face. "Most beasts don't watch their mouths too well after that, ya know?"

Kiern forced himself to remain seated, but rising fury darkened his glare and growled in his voice. "You've been subverting my command!"

"Not at all…!" She lifted her paws to ward off his fury. "Simply… asking questions. And giving them—payment."

"Darkmoon, you…!"

"Captain!" The rare steel in her tone startled him to stillness. "It's not wrong for them to sleep with me or any other fem. It's not wrong for me to talk with them. I don't undermine their loyalty to you or the Longclaws. I don't even try. So ya can stop glaring like I'm some sort of criminal and start thinking without your impossible scruples getting in the way!"

Kiern could only stare. This is definitely new… The righteous anger in her voice and burning gaze threw him off-kilter, chewed at the foundations of his beliefs about the Nightfangs captain. "…Maybe you're right," he said at last, a bit grudgingly.

A frown, then a sigh. "I suppose that's the best I'll get outta you… Thanks." Was that sarcasm or sincerity? Maybe a bit of both…

"Why do they pity me?"

Astarte blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt return to the earlier subject. Then a nod as she remembered. "Because… you're so divided, inside. Even they can see it."

"…divided?"

She sighed. "Between right and wrong. Conscience and duty, seeing the one who taught ya your code of honor violating it. Like with those woodlanders, the ones everybeast was raping. Most of us don't see anything wrong with it—they're just woodlanders—but ya told your command not to rape anybeast, even though the Longclaws said it was all right. So your honor wasn't his, then."

He shifted, looking away. That incident still haunted his dreams… "Go on."

"Well… there's also the slave issue…"

Shock stabbed icicles down his spine. "How did anybeast find that out?!"

"Oh, c'mon, Kiern—ya oughta know by now that there's no secrets for long in the horde." She smiled, a little sadly, at the consternation on his face. "And of course… the incident with Stormsong… and interrogating the otter pair…"

"Enough!"

Too many memories, too many doubts. Kiern's claws dug deep into his arms, paws clenching all too tight. The metallic scent of blood stung his nose, but he took little note. I can't think about these things… "What's your point, Darkmoon?"

She watched the fur darken around his paws, expressionless. "That your command pities you for having to compromise your honor. Sacrifice it to your loyalty to the Longclaws. And they respect ya for it at the same time. Sometimes… sometimes I think they're more loyal to you than the chief himself."

He stiffened; his claws dug long red furrows down his arms. "Then they should not be in the Nightclaws!"

"Don't worry…" Again that sad smile. "They'd follow your orders to the death. And ya order them to protect the Longclaws with their lives, as you do…" She regarded him for a long moment. "Ya command great respect from the Nightclaws, and even those outside it."

"…Why are you telling me this?"

Astarte looked up, at the shadows of the canvas. "Maybe because… you're the first to try to learn more about me than—" She swept her paws and gaze over her body with a crooked bitter smile. "Even if it was on another's suggestion… you're the first, after Loamstar."

Kiern frowned. "Loamstar… Isn't that—"

"—the vixen we 'recruited'?" A nod. "Aye. A bit more experience and she'll make subcaptain." Astarte smiled fondly, a far-off look clouding her gaze. "She's a bright one, she is…"

Is that affection in her voice? Kiern stared, marveling. She actually has a relationship with somebeast that isn't centered on using them?

"So you're saying that there is something to you beyond power hunger and whorish ways?"

The dark eyes flashed indignant. "Aye, there is!" she spat. "Just like there's more to you than honor and duty, and there was more to Stormsong than music and medicine! Nobeast is so one sided, nobeast is so easily categorized, and you're a fool to do so, captain!"

Again he was struck dumb by the vehemence in her voice. "I…"

"Ya what?" Astarte snapped, leaping to her footpaws. "Ya didn't think? Ya never thought 'Astarte the whore bitch' could have feelings? Ya never thought there might be more ta me than my bed?!" A snarl. "You're just like all the rest! I don't know why I ever thought different!"

He stared. "Astarte…"

She whirled away, shaking, and Kiern could do nothing but gape, stunned to silence by her outburst, her words, her—her hurt? Astarte's shook violently, and Kiern's sharp ears picked out strange sounds. Stifled whimpers, concealed snuffling—

Is Astarte Darkmoon, wild captain of the Nightfangs, crying

The second time in his life with the horde where somebeast wept before him, and like before, Kiern had no idea what to do. Leave her alone? Try to comfort? What was a stoat supposed to do in a situation like that?!

She still stood there, shaking and alone, shoulders hunched against the world. A deep uncertain breath and Kiern stood, reached a paw for her shoulder.

"Don't touch me!"

He flinched back, wide-eyed. "Are—are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" Sniffling, and she drew a paw across her face before turning his way, red-eyed and damp-faced. "Just a little sick. The sniffles." She ignored his skeptical glance and instead looked to his arms, bleeding from the long cuts carved by his claws. "Ya need to fix those up…"

Kiern didn't realize what she referred to at first, but he followed her gaze and blinked at the afterburn buzzing across his arms. "Oh… it's not deep…"

"Not deep?" One brow lifted and she ran a paw over his arm, lifted it sticky with blood. "Deep enough to bleed that much… and ya've cut up the arms… can open a vein that way. I don't think ya want to die just yet, so…" She reached for her haversack, pulled out gauze and an ointment. It stung as she spread it over the cuts, wrapped them up. "Better?"

Kiern stared down at the paws expertly winding the gauze. "Where'd you learn that?"

A shrug. "I was learning to be a healer before—things—happened, and the Longclaws picked me up."

"A healer!" Another wave of shock swept over him. "But—why weren't you put in the Nighteyes, then? Or the Nightblood?"

She turned away. "Like I said… things happened."

Kiern opened his mouth to inquire further, but the stiffness of her shoulders and the twitching of her tail warned that she didn't want to talk about it. He closed his mouth and nodded slowly. "I'll leave you to your sleep," he said at last, as the silenced stretched on. He turned to leave.

"Kiern, wait…!"

He stopped, one paw on the tent flap, glanced back at the stoat fem. "What?"

"I…" She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath. "I'm—sorry. About Skyfire. And—and what I said, before."

Kiern regarded her for a long moment. At last he bowed his head in acknowledgment—in acceptance?—and touched his saber's pommel in a silent salute. A few short steps, canvas rustling over his back, and the cool night air embraced his brooding thoughts.

The captains met in the Longclaws' tent the next day for a council of war and battle plans. There was the usual laying out of statistics, information—a tally of morale and numbers, supplies and discontents—and finally the Longclaws called on Sharshek to review his scouts' findings in Castle Floret.

The rat laid out a crude floorplan next to an outspread map of the Southsward area. "Here's wot we can tell of th' castle," he drawled. "Th' moat's pretty wide an' deep—I'd say thirty lengths wide, twenty lengths deep, give or take a few paw-heights… Goes all the way 'round th' castle except for where there's cliffs. An' th' drawbridge is up—guess they got wind of us."

"But your spies were able to get inside," the Longclaws said. Not a question, more of a statement with a veiled threat beneath if it wasn't true.

"Oh, of course," Sharshek said, almost off hand. "See, here's th' entrance… an' th' throneroom… with lotsa rooms goin' off it. Downstairs there's a dungeon—empty, not been used in seasons by th' looks of it. A few towers…"

"Aye, we see all that," Astarte said, impatient. "The map's there, we can all read it… do ya have anything else of import?"

Sharshek shot her an indignant glare. "…Aye. There's mebbe threescore otter fighters, led by a big bloke, a Captain Sandor. Then there's th' king, a squirrel, Audric something, an' th' queen, Sydelle. They've got a son, spoiled little brat, thinks he's a warrior an' such—Malcan. Oh… and two visitors…" A sly side glance to Nightdeath's dark form. "A squirrelbrat called Malaya… an' a warrior squirrel. They call 'er… Riala Goldentail."

The wolverine's ebon eyes narrowed. "Battlecry's whelp… still alive, hm? I thought the nuisance had died seasons ago when she stopped picking off stragglers from the trees…" A shrug of broad black shoulders. "It matters not—she's simply an annoyance. We'll kill her with the rest… Is that all?"

Sharshek looked disappointed at the lack of reaction, but shook his head. "Nothin' more."

"Sir…"

The Longclaws glanced at Kiern. "What is it?"

Kiern's brow furrowed. "The goldentailed squirrel… she hunts you out of hatred. She's vengeance-driven… it makes her dangerous. She doesn't have the honor of most woodlanders. Shouldn't something be done about her?"

Fangs gleamed in the slightest of snarls. "You're saying that I should fear a squirrelmaid?"

"No sir, but—"

The Longclaws laughed. "You're overzealous in your duty, guardcaptain… I killed her father. She should be no different. Let her come… Maybe I'll even play at dueling with the treejumper."

Kiern nodded acquiescence, stepping back to his prior spot by the entrance, but his brow remained furrowed in concerned thought. Aye, you killed her father—but I heard that he nearly bested you in single combat, and you had to call archers to slay him… A slow breath. That tribe… they are vicious fighters. I'll have to put double guard on the chief if Goldentail is about.

"Deathcry, Sharshek," Nightdeath said, "how are the siege engines coming?"

Deathcry's fangs gleamed in a vicious smile. "Going well, sssir… the catapultsss are nearly done."

"Good…" He turned to Veneno, standing in the shadows of the tent's corner, sharpening his scythe. "Veneno—I want you to dispatch assassins. Go for their king and queen, and the otter captain too. They think they're safe in their castle… we'll put fear and uncertainty into their hearts."

The rasping of the whetstone silenced, and the flat amber eyes glimmered in the dark. "Do you wish Death to visit the foodstores, the water…?"

"…No, not yet," the wolverine replied after a moment's thought. "Not yet…"

He turned to Astarte. "Have your troops start training at climbing and using the siege ladders. When they're not training, they should be helping build siege engines."

She saluted. "Aye, sir."

"Kiern…"

The stoat straightened. "Sir?"

"You know best what to do."

A nod. "Aye, sir." Drilling, double guard, help with siege engines…

Nightdeath nodded to each captain. "That's all, then… Unless something unexpected happens, we will meet again this time tomorrow." An exchange of salutes, and he swept out of the tent. The captains of the Nighthunt followed, scattering to their assigned tasks with a will.

Sunset of the next day found Riala pacing the halls of Castle Floret. She'd been around the entire place twice now—up every one of its myriad towers, through every room and closet. She'd even explored the dungeon. Twice.

Not enough for her impatient vengeance-lust. He's so close… so close… I can almost smell that rank stench… see those hated eyes.. feel my dagger slide into his black heart! Riala's paw clenched on the hilt of her blade. And I am stuck here! Doing nothing!

She stopped, tufted ears twitching. There! A scuffling, muffled shouts, the clang of steel on steel. Riala broke into a run, racing for the sounds, bounding off the walls in hasty turns.

The noise of combat grew louder, nearer, and then—ceased. Riala's roce sprang into her paw; she crouched low, pushed gentle and slow on the heavy wood door—

—and swiped the club to parry the longsword pointed at her skull.

"Who…!" The otter at the other end of the blade stopped, stared down at the squirrel. "Oh… Goldentail." A nod; he moved his sword aside. "Find Sandor, will you? I've caught an intruder…"

The hackles on Riala's neck stood on end. "An intruder—one of the Longclaws'?!

He nodded, massaging a bleeding shoulder. "Go quick! I've got to guard the vermin."

"I'll guard it," she snarled, shoving past him. There, in the corner of the room, past upturned tables and sputtering torches, lay a bound and beaten weasel garbed all in black. And on his chest… A growl rumbled from Riala's throat at the sight of the white claw insignia.

A heavy paw touched her shoulder; she whirled. "What?!"

The otter stared at the pinned-back ears, the bared fangs, the lashing tailbrush. "You're a visitor here… I'll guard the prisoner."

"Nay, otter," she hissed. "I be the visitor here, an' so I ken little o' this place. Ye ken best how tae find your captain. Ye'd best be findin' him!" The otter hesitated; Riala forced her ears up, her tail to stillness. "I will nae be killin' th' scum; ye'll have enough left tae question, worry not."

He sighed and nodded. "I suppose I've no real choice…" The otter stumbled out the door, calling for his captain.

Riala watched him go with narrowed gaze, then whirled on the unconscious weasel. She stared down at him, lip curling, hate fogging her mind. "Wake ye up, scum," she snarled, kicking him in the side. The weasel groaned and she kicked him again. "Wake ye!"

His eyes cracked open, then widened as he took in the situation. "What—"

In an instant her dagger's cold steel tickled his throat. "Answer swift an' true, weasel," Riala growled. "How did ye get in here?"

A grunt, instinctively tightening his throat to draw it away from the threatening blade. "Like anybeast else," he said, gaze sparking defiance. "Through the door."

Blood welled as the dagger pricked through skin. "I be not in th' mood for humor! Answer me!"

"Or what?" A sneer. "You'll kill me? I'll get far worse if the Longclaws finds I've talked."

"Far worse than from me, ye think?" She laughed, harsh and mirthless. "Nay, weasel…" Her tail lashed into view. "I be not like most woodlanders. I'll do whate'er needed tae find an' kill th' wolverine!"

He stared at her tail. "Golden…tail…"

"Aye, that I am," Riala said with a deadbeast's smile. "Now—ye'll be talk, or I'll be havin' tae bleed it out o' ye!"

The weasel's eyes darted side to side, and then he drew a long breath. "Nay."

His defiance melted away to a scream as Riala's dagger plunged into his paw. "Ye'll talk, scum!" She twisted the blade, and he writhed in agony. Riala's face remained an expressionless mask. "How did ye get in here? Be there more o' ye? What plans th' wolverine? Tell me!"

"Goldentail…!"

Another gasping scream as the squirrel wrenched her dagger from the weasel's paw, whirled away to see Captain Sandor standing in the doorway. Behind him peered the shocked faces of Malaya and Malcan.

Riala crouched, bloody dagger weaving, rust-gold brush lashing back and forth. "Ye'll have him when I'm done," she growled. "He'll still be able tae talk. An' likely more willing."

Sandor's expression set to stone. "It is not our way."

"Not your way," she said with a feral grin. "But I'll be doin' whate'er it takes tae kill th' Longclaws…"

Sandor stepped forward; Riala snarled, and he stopped. "You can't torture him… that's what his kind do. You can't lower yourself to their level."

"Can't I?" Her ears pinned back flat against her skull. "They'd do the same an' worse yet tae ye if they e'er caught ye! If ye want tae win against honorless scum like th' Longclaws, ye'll be needin' tae fight dirty as they."

He frowned. "There's been many victories over vermin without resorting to cruelties!"

Riala spat on the ground. "Aye, an' many deaths, an' many losses! My own father—he fought th' wolverine with honor, in a duel, an' what did th' black-hearted blaggard do? Shot him full o' arrows th' moment th' Longclaws lost th' upper paw!" Her lips drew back in an enraged snarl. "No use usin' honor with those who haven one. Ye'll be dyin' that way!"

"But dying with a clear conscience," the otter captain said, circling around.

Riala watched him warily, dagger at the ready. "Dead is dead. It matters not how ye die."

"Doesn't it?" Sandor's gaze pierced hers. "Can you say you're proud of your actions, Goldentail? That you're at piece with yourself? That you could die tomorrow with no regrets?"

She snarled. "My only regret would be nae killin' th' Longclaws!"

Phht—

A puff of air; Riala whirled, cursing, but not in time. A feathered dart pricked her shoulder. She howled fury, glaring up at the ottermaid in the doorway with the blowgun. "Ye fools…!" She wrenched out the dart, hurled it back at the otter, sprang for Sandor. "Th' weasel's mine…!"

The sleeping poison spreading through her body must have stiffened her limbs and slowed her reactions, for Sandor seemed to move in an impossible blur, pity on his sable face. "I'm sorry, Goldentail, but I must…"

The hilt of his sword crashed down as she fought to move limbs filled with lead. Stars burst in her sight, in her skull, in her mind—and all fell to black oblivion.

Malaya bit back a cry as Riala crumpled to the ground. "Ria…!"

She bent to race forward, but a paw clamped down on her shoulder. "Malaya, do not—she will be all right."

The squirrelmaid whirled on Malcan, anger flaring in the nightoak gaze. "He hit her! He hurt her!"

"Nay, she's not hurt," Sandor said, quiet and even. He bent over and scooped the warrior squirrel up from the ground. "She'll have a headache when she wakes, but she'll be fine."

Malaya followed, worry lashing her tail. "You're not gonna lock her up, are ya?"

Sandor walked on in silence. "We may have to."

"No!" The squirrelmaid broke into a trot to keep up with him. "She'll go crazy! Ya can't lock her up!"

"You saw what she did to that weasel," the otter said, grim and cold. "She was planning on torturing him. She's as bad as any vermin!"

That stopped Malaya in her tracks. She stared in disbelief. "She is not!" She caught up to him again, brow furrowing. "Yah, she's ruthless, an' not real honorable all th' time, but she told ya why. An' it's only ta vermin she's like that! She's good! She'd never hurt a goodbeast!"

"No?" Sandor stopped, turned to give her a piercing look. "She certainly seemed ready to attack me back there."

Malaya winced. "Well… only when somebeast gets in th' way of her revenge… an' even then, she's only ever threatened. Never actually hurt anybeast." Her voice grew quiet, saddened. "Revenge on th' Longclaws… she don't live for much other'n that, now."

A long silence from the otter. Then, "I don't know if she can be trusted." He resumed his quick stride.

"She can!" Malaya cried. "Just lock th' weasel in your dungeon where she can't get at 'im without a key or somethin', and it'll be fine!"

"Captain Sandor…"

The otter glanced back at the squirrelprince. "Aye?"

He shifted uncertainly. "Malaya knows Riala Goldentail better than we… and I know Malaya to be an honest beast."

Sandor paused in front of a solid oaken door, pushed it open with a footpaw. He laid Riala out on the bed. "So you think she can be trusted to go free."

"Aye!" A deep breath. "An'… an' if she does wrong… ya can lock me up too." A shudder rippled across her body and she swallowed hard, but kept her chin lifted high in defiant certainty.

Sandor turned to regard her for a tense endless moment. At last his head dipped in acquiescence. "That won't be necessary," he said, and air whooshed from Malaya's lungs with relief, "but… I'll have to take her weapons."

"All right," she said. Ria won't be happy…! "Just don't lock her up."

A nod, and Sandor pulled Riala's roce and dagger from her belt. "I've got to go question that weasel," he said by way of farewell, and stepped out of the room.

Malaya sat down hard on the floor, ears and tailbrush drooping. Pawsteps sounded in the doorway, and a slight cough. Malaya glanced up at Malcan. "Whatcha want?" she said, somewhat morose in tone and manner.

"Uhm…" He took a step towards her. "Are you well…?"

"…Aye, well enough…" She sighed. "C'mon, let's get outta here."

They walked in silence, footpaws echoing on stone walls. "You seemed almost—frightened, offering to be locked up."

Malaya flinched, then nodded. "Aye…" A sigh. "My name—it means 'freedom'. Chose it myself."

"What was your name before?"

She looked down at her paws, at the shackle-scars encircling her wrists. "Onliest name I remember is 'Scumbrush'—it's what th' slavers called me…" She drew in a long breath as Malcan stared, aghast. "But… it's why I can't—why I'm scared ta be locked up. I'd rather die than not be free."

"Malaya…"

She didn't look up at his shocked whisper. "So ya see… I'm pretty confident in Ria…"

More silence. "…How could she do something—like she did?"

"Torture somebeast?" Malaya's gaze darkened. "Outta hate. It's… powerful. If she an' Shadow hadn't killed th' slavers… I might've done th' same. After—after what they did…" A shudder. "I… I hated them. I wanted 'em ta feel every bit of my pain. Wanted ta pay 'em back for everything they did…"

"…but you did not."

"They died afore I could." She breathed in deep, let it out in a slow sigh. "But… I'm over it now. I let it go—th' hate. So now… I'll kill any slaver I find, but it's just so's they won't slave anybeast else. I won't torture 'em or nothin'…"

Malcan reached out a paw, placed it gentle on her shoulder. "What… what did they do to you…?"

Silence, stiffening with dark memories that haunted her nights and that she pushed away at day. "…lots…" Flinching, walking faster as if to escape. "I wasn't very strong-like, so I wasn't much good workin' like th' otherbeasts. They made me work anyhow, but… I couldn't do much. Not much profit for 'em. So… they had me do—other stuff."

Malcan stared, uncomprehending in his naïveté. "Other stuff? Like what…?"

A slow breath. "Like… well, they learned me ta sing, an' dance. Dance… strange dances. They'd clean me an' a coupla other fems up when we got ta vermin camps'r castles'r whatnot. Dress us in gauzy clothin', lotsa layers that come off easy an' never cover much…"

She'd stopped walking, gaze growing distant, trembling with remembering. "An' we'd—dance, an' sing sometimes, but mostly dance. An' th' vermin'd watch an' laugh an' have us dance more. An' sometimes watchin' weren't enough, an' they'd… they'd touch…" The trembling grew to shuddering, and she leaned back against the wall. "Th' slavers'd make 'em pay more ta do that, but after th' dancing, they'd pay it without even complainin'. An' some—some'd pay lots… ta do more'n just… touch…"

She slid down the wall, huddled on the floor, hugged her legs to her chest as shaking overwhelmed her thin frame. Malcan stared, aghast and shocked, unable to move, not knowing what to say—what could be said… and finally he just sat next to her, reached out an arm, uncertain and hesitant. When she didn't flinch at his touch, he hugged her to him.

"Shh…" He rocked her back and forth as the dam of tears held in for far too long finally broke, let her sob out her pain into his shoulder. "It is over now… Malaya… shh…"