Vengeance Quest

Chapter 18: War and Vengeance

Riala woke to darkness and clamor and a headache like a thousand moles digging away at her brain. "Unnh…"

And then the reason for the headache flooded back into memory, and Riala collapsed on the bed. "Hellsteeth… that blasted otter… that bloody weasel…" Anger flared, but so did the starburst of headache, and she groaned. "Wonderful…"

Yelling outside, and steel clanging, and screams—for a moment all Riala could do was press her paws to her pounding skull. "What's going on…?"

She forced herself upright, felt about for her roce and dagger. Blast it all… they took my weapons… A curse, and she stumbled to the door, pushed at it. It opened easily. At least they didn't lock me in…

The clamor sounded from across the throne room. Riala staggered across it as otters streamed out of their rooms, all heading for the king and queen's chambers.

The two otterguards at the door lay dead at their posts, blood streaming from impossibly thin slices across their necks. Riala's scarred visage grew grim. She stepped over the bodies and into the royal chambers.

Audric the squirrelking stood panting over the body of a black-garbed ferret, a bloody rapier dangling from his paw. An otterguard knelt opposite, saber gleaming red, examining the body.

"Sydelle…!" Audric exclaimed suddenly, and raced to the bed. The squirrelqueen sat leaning against the headboard, breath coming in irregular gasps, clutching her shoulder.

"Sydelle—love—are you well?" the king fretted. He pulled her paw away, hissed at the sight of blood. "Somebeast get the healer!" he shouted. When nobeast moved, he turned to glare at the otters in the doorway. "Now!" Almost a scream, verging on panic. "That's an order!"

The otters scattered. Riala shoved through them to the body of the ferret, knelt next to the otter examining it.

Yes, the ferret wore black. But there was no white insignia on her tunic. A black mask covered her face; she wore supple black gloves and no shoes whatsoever.

"Nightblood," Riala said at last, grim and hateful.

The otter glanced up. "What?"

Riala rolled the dead ferret over, paws running through pockets and over the belt. "The Longclaws' assassins," she said, pulling out a garroting wire and a pouch containing a clear gel. Riala sniffed it and grimaced. "Poison." She pried the stiletto from the ferret's frozen paws, ran a paw across the flat of the blade. It came away wet with some transparent substance. "On the blade, too…"

"What—what is wrong with her?!"

Audric's frightened cry, and Riala rose with deadly knowing resting heavy and cold in her heart. Sydelle had collapsed into violent shivering, strangled whimpers wrenching from her tightening throat. Riala watched, impassive.

"She's been poisoned…"

The blood drained from Audric's face. "No…" He gripped Sydelle in a tight embrace, as if will alone could stop her shaking. "No! She will survive. She will survive! It was but a tiny prick of the dagger…!"

Riala's voice slid toneless, emotionless, on the still air. "If your healer knows the antidote. If he can administer it in time. If it's not already too late."

"No!" The squirrelking gripped his wife tighter. "She… will… live!"

"Healer comin' through!" a wizened old otter rasped, shoving past Riala. "Move it!"

Riala watched in silence as the old healer went to work with herbs and knife, trying to work through Sydelle's uncontrollable shaking. After several long minutes, the golden-tailed squirrel bowed her head and turned away, pushing through the gathered staring otterguards to escape the room.

"My… my mother…"

Malaya placed a gentle paw on the squirrelprince's shaking shoulder. "She'll be fine, Malc…"

He slid down the wall outside his parents' bedchamber, staring into nothing. "Will she…? It has been hours—and—and the healer has said nothing. She looks even worse than before…"

"But she's stopped shakin', right?" Malaya squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "So that's gotta be good!"

"Maybe…" He dropped his face into his paws. "Oh, Malaya—what if she dies?"

"She won't!"

He didn't seem to hear her. "I… I have been naught but a trial to her… Worrying her by running away… Breaking her vases… Painting on her throne…"

Malaya blinked. "You painted on her throne?"

"I have not even said I am sorry! I have not—I have not said I love her!"

"Malcan…" Malaya stood, pulled the prince to his footpaws. "If it means so much to ya… go tell her now!"

"But—"

She grabbed his wrist, dragged him into the royal chambers. "Go."

Malcan looked at his mother for a long moment, still and limp as a dead thing, a compress on her forehead. The healer, Reed, hunched over Sydelle, peeling a bloated leech off her shoulder wound.

"Mother…?"

Her eyes cracked open the slightest bit. "Malcan… my son…"

Malcan ran to her side. He buried his face in the sheets, gripped her paws in his. She sounded so weak… speaking in the barest of whispers… and her grasp of his paw—so feeble…

"Mother, I am so sorry!"

"For… for what…?"

The sheets muffled his words. "For… for being such a difficult son… worrying you so…"

She smiled a little. "Oh, Malc… you are a son, remember… Sons are… oft troublesome…" She squeezed his paw. "But… I would not have… any other… I forgive you…"

The air whooshed from his small frame. He kissed her paw. "I love you, Mother…"

Silence. The breath caught in Malcan's throat and he looked up at his mother's face. "M—mother?"

"Sleepin'," the healer rasped. "Tired out, she is. Surprised she woke for that long. Now get outta here—check on your father. Sent him te get some sleep and grub… he'll be wantin' te come back now."

Malcan nodded, a lump forming in his throat. "Yessir…" And he scurried out, glancing back for a long look at his mother.

"She all right?"

He jumped before spotting Malaya. "Oh. Aye."

She glanced sidelong at him. "You all right?"

That took a moment's thought. "…Aye."

"Good." Malaya pushed herself off the wall. "Let's go find your da."

The old healer met them when they returned with Audric. Each face paled, and there was no need to ask after Sydelle's health. Reed's tired empty gaze said it all.

"I tried all I could, m'lord… tried everythin' I could think of…"

A strangled cry burst from Audric's throat. He shoved past the healer, into the chambers. Malcan and Malaya stared blank with shock and disbelief. And then a sobbing scream wailed from within the room.

"SYDELLE…!!"

Malcan stood motionless. Utterly unmoving. Utterly stunned. "She… she is dead…"

Evening. The entirety of the castle's inhabitants moved as if in a daze. Some faces held tear-streaked grief. Others were twisted and anger. And some—some searched every shadow in wide-eyed fear…

For the unthinkable had happened. Two vermin—two! And maybe more!—had entered the locked-down, siege-ready castle. Had slain the queen with poison. Even killed two of the skilled otterguard…!

Poison! Whispers echoed through the halls as if to speak fears loudly would make them all too true. What if the vermin poisoned the water? The food stores? If they could kill the queen, they could do that with ease! What if a spy slipped in and lowered the drawbridge? Or set a fire? Or—

Sandor sought out Riala, his expression grim. "We're having a council of war."

A nod, trying not to betray her anticipation. They can't wait out a siege now… they have to act! "You wish a weaponless torturer to join you?" she said, even and emotionless. Malaya had murmured the captain's words in her ear hours before.

"…aye. I like it not, but that doesn't matter." His gaze narrowed. "You know more about the wolverine than even the bird. So we need your knowledge."

"And my roce," she said. At his sharp questioning glance, she clarified. "Unless you've studied the wolverine's fighting. Even a badger nearly died in battle with a wolverine. I might be able to defeat the Longclaws, though… for I've watched him fight many a time."

Sandor's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Very well," he grated. "I'll return your weapons. Come."

Audric and Pilar were waiting for them in the map-strewn war room. Grief had melded with vengeful fury in the squirrelking's heart, a poisoned arrow set to a tight-strung bow. It showed in his face, impassive and cold, with eyes reddened from weeping.

"We must strike soon. On the morrow."

Sandor nodded. "Aye, else we all be too panicked to touch even a drop of water… And the assassins can apparently enter without much trouble."

"What did you learn from the captive?" Riala asked.

The otter's jaw twitched. "He's dead. A vial of poison we missed, apparently."

"Or that the assassin gave him afterwards."

Audric shook his head. "At any rate… we must plan. Strike while we have the advantage of surprise."

"Not at night."

The others looked at Riala in surprise, but Pilar nodded. "Yesyes… Pilarbird can't flydark, seedark. Notta owlbird."

"Ah… and the bird will be a useful asset in the battle, carrying messages and seeing the layout of battle," Audric mused. "Well, Pilar—did you find the warriors I told you of?"

"Yesyes, how could Pilar not?" His feathers fluffed with pride. "Prickletings here," and he tapped a claw on the map. "Longears here." Tap, tap. "An' angry shrewthings here."

Sandor placed white stones in each of the indicated spots. "They've near surrounded the horde."

"Yesyes! Pilar suggested," the bird crowed. "Directed furbeasts. Allgood!" He tapped at a black stone. "Hordething still notmove. Make big woodthings. Stoneslingers, ladderclimbs."

"Catapults!" Riala's brow furrowed. "And siege ladders… Not good."

Audric nodded. "We must attack before they finish. Sandor—have you a plan?"

He nodded. "Try to break them apart—we can't fight en masse. The river runs just past them—we otters could strike from there and escape. The hares could lead some out to the plains… and the hedgehogs lead some into the forests."

"Take out the archers first," Riala said. "They'll be in one area… each group is in a different encampment. A few fire arrows in the tents…"

"We don't use fire!" Sandor protested.

Anger flared. "Do you want to have any survivors among your forces?" she growled. "Then you'll use fire! The Nighthunt are skilled fighters—you won't find better among vermin. I suggest you use all the tools you have!"

"Listen to the squirrel."

Sandor whirled on his king. "You can't be serious!"

Audric stood, paws slamming on the table. "I am!" he said, almost a shout. "They took Sydelle with poison. They have already violated the rules of honorable warfare. Thus we must treat them the same!"

"But sir…!"

"That is an order, captain!"

Shock ripped across the otter's face, and he sat as if slapped. One paw came up in a slow salute. "As you command… my liege…"

The squirrelking glanced to Riala. "Have you any more suggestions?"

She shook her head. "Nay. But I will be following the Longclaws and his guard. The wolverine is mine."

"If Sandor or I do not get him first," Audric said grimly.

The otter captain sprang up at that. "Sir—no! You can't go into battle!"

"I can and I will! They killed my Sydelle!"

Anger flared. "Sir, think of your people! We have lost our queen. We cannot lose our king as well! You would leave us with a half-trained princeling?" Sandor's voice grew soft, almost pleading. "You would leave your son an orphan?"

The rage whooshed from Audric in a long sigh and he sank into his seat. "You are correct, as oft… I apologize, captain."

Sandor bowed his head. "Thank you, sir."

"Well…" Audric drew himself together with a deep breath. "I suppose I ought to tell the troops…

"We march… at dawn."

"Sir."

Bloodmoon's voice, out of the red shadows of evening. Kiern flinched. Not again… "Yes, Bloodmoon?"

She stepped into view, eerie blue gaze fixed on his bandaged arms. "Too many doubts, captain?"

"What of it?" he growled.

A sad slight smile. "The time of choosing approaches… Before the next setting of the sun, you must make your decision."

Kiern's brow furrowed. "Enough of riddles, seer! Speak plainly!"

"I cannot."

"Why not?!"

She sighed. "All I see—the visions—they are in images. Voices, songs—nothing simple, nothing plain. And everything keeps changing… With every decision made, the possible futures narrow and split yet again. Thus the time of your choosing has shortened."

"Choosing what, though?" Exasperation hissed in his voice. "Honor or duty? Myself or my chief? What?"

Bloodmoon bowed her head. "You've answered your own question, Captain Kiern… no need for me to tell you what you already know."

A growl. "Then tell me something!"

"…Very well…" Her voice echoed hollow and otherworldly. "Go to Astarte. Lie with her. And heed what she has to say."

"What…" He stared. "What sort of speaking is that?!"

The vixen's gaze cleared. She saluted. "I shall see you on the morrow, with dawn and flame."

Kiern watched her go, a vague confusion on his face, and at last he simply shook his head. "Strangebeast…"

Well, her words had all proven sound before. A deep breath, readjusting his saber, and Kiern strode once more for Astarte's tent.

"Come in, Kiern…"

He brushed past the guard at Astarte's welcome. She met him with a salute, standing fully clothed and fully armed for once. "How are your arms?"

A shrug. "Well enough."

"Let me see." She took his wrist gently in her paw, unwound the stiff stained dressing. "Hm." The stoat fem rummaged in her trunk, withdrew a waterskin and a clean cloth. She poured the water on his arms; it stung on the healing cuts, dripped pink from his fur. The cloth rubbed over his forearms came away stained pale red.

Kiern watched in silent wondering. I never knew she could be so—gentle. What happened to change her from a healer into the warrior she is now?

"We'll be going into battle any day now."

He nodded. "Aye."

"The goldentailed squirrel will surely challenge the Longclaws to a duel."

A sharp glance. What is she getting at? "Likely."

"…what if he loses?"

Kiern snorted, but his arms tensed beneath Astarte's touch. "He wouldn't lose to a treejumper."

"No?" She turned back to her trunk for an ointment. "What of her father?"

"…he survived, didn't he?"

"By dishonor."

Kiern's jaw clenched. Astarte spread the ointment on his arms and waited for an answer. Finally, "Mayhap."

The ointment was cold on his skin, strange with the warmth of Astarte's paws overtop. "He signaled to his guardcaptain to command the archers to slay Rilar Battlecry," she said softly. One paw reached up, touched the bone whistle about his neck. "What will you do if he signals?"

Kiern grew very, very still. His eyes closed tight. "I… I must do my duty…"

"Kiern…" Her paw smoothed the lines of his brow. "Your duty… to the one who taught you your code of honor… yet follows it not…?"

"I—I must—"

"Your debt to him has been repaid many times over. All that binds you to him now is your misplaced loyalty. He is not worthy of it…"

"Stop it!" He whirled away, shaking violently. "I—I have to remain loyal. I have to obey him. Without the Longclaws… Before him, I was a slave. Before the slavers, I was little more than a cub. I—The Longclaws, the horde, it… it's all I've ever known! He's… he's my leader. My liege. He's all I have…!"

"Oh, Kiern…" Astarte's voice was a pained and pitying whisper. "Kiern… you have the Nightclaws… You have—" She swallowed. "You have me…"

Kiern stilled. What…? He turned, slow and disbelieving, to stare at the stoat fem whose gaze held fear. Fear of—of what? Of scorn? Of—

Of rejection?

She—she cares for me?! Astarte the cold heartless whore—cares?

But she was not cold, not heartless. He knew that, had known it for a while. It was just easier not to admit it… not to dwell on it.

Kiern bowed his head. "Darkmoon… I cannot think on these things… not now."

"But you will! Soon! –Won't you?" Almost pleading. Strange…

A soft sigh. "…Aye. I shall."

It was Darkmoon's turn to bow her head. "Thank you…"

Kiern reached her in two slow steps, placed a paw on her shoulder. "Astarte."

She looked up, eyes brimming with tears. "Aye?"

Lie with her, Kiern! Heed what she says!

You make your choice tomorrow.

Before the next setting of the sun.

"We may fight tomorrow…" he said, haltingly. "It is uncertain—what will happen. Who will survive…" A deep breath. "Will you—lie with me this night, Astarte? I ask you not—not as a captain. Not out of—obligation." His paw squeezed gentle on her shoulder. "But as onebeast to another…"

A crystal tear slipped down her cheek. "Th-thank you, Kiern… I will… and gladly…"

They awoke to the light of dawn, the crackle of flames, and screams of "attack!" Kiern bolted upright, wide-eyed and disbelieving. "The woodlanders are attacking?! Here?"

Astarte sprang up, wiping sleep from her eyes in a rush, grabbing for her breeches. "Hellsteeth!" She grabbed her sword, racing out of the tent while still buckling it on, with Kiern close behind.

The Nightarms encampment was burning. Kiern swore and broke into a run, blasting on the bone whistle. "Nightclaws! To me! Guard the Longclaws!"

Astarte's shouts sounded loud behind him. "Nightfaaaangs! To arms!"

He found the Longclaws with scimitar in paw, standing at the treeline. "Sir!"

The wolverine didn't stir. "Unexpected… We should have planned for it."

"Sir, what would you have me do?!"

The Longclaws turned to regard him. "Gather the Nightclaws, of course. The Nightblood and Nighteyes are hunting down the fools who did this." Amusement sparked in the ebon gaze. "They must be very angry, to have used fire…"

A fireball charged toward them, flames in the shape of a ferret. "Longclawsssssss!" it hissed, and Kiern recognized Deathcry's voice. "They comesss!" And she collapsed with a dying shriek of spine-chilling laughter.

"Well," the wolverine mused. "That solves that particular problem…"

Sharshek moved through the trees like a living shadow, eyes gleaming. Foolbeasts… they're gonna die easy! No idea what they's dealin' with!

Ahh… A silent chuckle as he saw the sinuous form of an otter just ahead. Time to die, riverdog… His dagger fell into his paw, glinting in a stray light of sun, and the otter fell with a rattling cry.

"SKREEE! Badbeast meanbeast! Songslayer!"

The rat's gaze jerked upward, just in time to receive sharp claws through his eyes. He screamed in agony as the claws raked him again and again, until at last a slingstone ended his torment with a blow to the skull.

"Skreehee!" Pilar shrieked. "Good stonethrow, otterdog! Songkiller deadnow!"

Riala had told Malaya to stay in the castle with Malcan. But when had she ever listened? "I'll be blasted if I miss this," she muttered beneath her breath, moving on silent footpaws through the trees.

It had been an unpleasant argument she'd had with the squirrelprince, though.

"I am coming too!" he'd said.

Malaya had shaken her head. "It's not your job."

"I am a warrior! I can fight!"

She'd gripped his shoulders in her paws. "Ya have a duty ta your people! You're th' only heir, an' your da can't make another now that your ma's dead!" He'd flinched at that. "I'm a Wanderer. It's my job, my sworn duty, ta protect others. Ta fight. So I gots ta go, Malcan!"

There. Three black-garbed vermin circling an ottermaid. Malaya let two arrows fly in quick succession; the otter's short sword swiped across the neck of the surprised thirdbeast. The otter lifted a paw in thanks. Malaya nodded and raced off to the next target.

A shout, a misstep, and she barely managed to land on her footpaws. A curving scythe lifted her chin. "Well, well, well… What has Death found this time, hmm?"

Riala hissed at the sight of the tall black form at the forest's edge. A red mist flickered over her sight, and she gripped her roce tighter. Longclaws…!

He was surrounded by his full guard, an entire score. A stoat walked beside him, eyes raking the shadows. Must be that Kiern the stoat fem spoke of…

They moved into the trees, circling the battlefield. Hunting…? No—they were moving towards the castle. Hellsteeth! No… you… don't!

"Nightdeath Longclaws!"

The wolverine stop, and in an instant his guard circled him, searching the trees. Riala grinned, feral and reckless, and dropped to the ground. Bowstrings creaked, daggers gleamed—and the Longclaws held up a fist to stop his guard from attacking.

"If it isn't Battlecry's whelp…" A dark laugh. "Come to die like your father?"

The golden tail lashed. "Ye'll be th' only one dyin' here, honorless scum!"

"Sir." The stoat guard's voice was tense and wary. "Should we capture her? Kill her?" But something in his stance said he already knew the answer.

Nightdeath waved him away. "Nay… she'll die in single combat. I should give her the same respect as her father, shouldn't I? After the nuisance she's been…" He stepped forward, scimitar sliding free of its sheath with a rasp like Death Forest's gates creaking open.

Riala's grin widened, a skull's death smirk. "At last," she breathed. "Been huntin' ye my entire life, wolverine… an' at last we'll see th' quest done!"

"Your entire life?" He shook his head in mock pity. "Too bad your life will end without your vengeance quest being fulfilled…"

A snarl. "Enough talk, Longclaws!" Her dagger sprang into her paw; her other paw gripped her roce. "Let us be endin' this!"

They clashed in a fury of fur and steel and wood as the Nightclaws looked on in slience.

The empty laughter of Astarte Darkmoon in the throes of battle melded in an eerie sort of bloody harmony with the screams of the dying and the yells of warcries. She was a whirlwind of death, dancing through the bodies, untouchable and horrifyingly beautiful. She slashed through a shrew as if he was little more than a grass blade. She spitted a hare almost without looking. And all the while her feral gaze fixed on a tall brawny otter on a hill. That's the leader… that's their captain!

"Hey, handsome beast," she purred as she reached him, blade weaving a shimmering tapestry.

He watched her, impassive and wordless. His longsword slid into his paws.

"Oh, the strong silent type, hmm?" A grin. "Just the sort I like best…"

Captain and captain clashed in a storm of steel, locked in a ferocious battle for life and for death.

Kiern watched the deadly duel with clenched jaw and impassive face. She is good, he thought, watching the squirrel dance in and out of the wolverine's reach. Very good… and he is overconfident. And she knows it…

The Longclaws looked almost bored as he warded off Riala's testing jabs and blows. She, on the other paw, seemed to almost be enjoying herself. The death-grin on her scarred visage was unnerving to behold.

It's as if she knows his every move…! Keirn realized with a shock. "No…!"

The squirrel darted past the wolverine's guard, stabbed with her dagger. He twisted enough that she missed his heart, but her blade sank deep into his arm, and he roared in surprise and pain and fury.

Now the Longclaws became serious with the fight. He pressed the squirrel hard, forcing her on the defensive, but her grin never faded.

He… he might… lose…

Veneno stood panting over the prone form of Malaya. A sneer lashed over his face. "You put up a good fight, little brushtail," he hissed, "but none can defeat Death!" His scythe swung back. "Come to my domain, pretty one—kggth!"

He arched back in agony, and a sword tip pierced through his front. A jerk, a twist, and amber eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "This… cannot… be… Death cannot… be defeated…!"

"To hellgates with you, fox!" a voice snarled, and the sword yanked from his body.

Veneno fell in a rustle of black cloth, his scythe plummeting with him, catching in his hood—and he lay still, never to stir again.

Malcan plunged his sword into the earth, forcing himself not to look at the black fox. He looked instead to Malaya's silent bloody form.

"Aya… no…"

He dropped to his knees at her side, lifted her onto his lap. "You cannot die… please do not die…!" A tear fell onto her face. He bent his head to kiss her, soft and tender. "For I… I love you…"

The Longclaws and Riala Goldentail fought like wild things, savage and ferocious, for what seemed like hours. Riala seemed to be getting the worst of it; her red-brown hide looked closer to dark red, wet as it was with blood. She'd landed a few blows of her own, but not enough—not near enough…!

The bloodrage had taken over her mind completely. Riala fought in a red-tinged fury, pure reaction, pure instinct. So she was unable to stop him when his scimitar curved under her roce, caught the string, twisted—

The cord snapped and the club flew into the brush. Riala howled rage, and a warcry ripped from her throat.

"RIIIIILAAAAAAAAR!"

She sprang for the wolverine, catching him by surprise. Inside the reach of his scimitar, past it, and her jaws clamped and locked on his throat as her dagger swiped wildly. Cut across his paw, and his scimitar dropped, and the two duelists fell to biting, clawing fury.

Then Kiern heard it. Forced out through a closed throat, barely audible above Riala's snarling: Three short growls.

The signal…

He heard Bloodmoon's hollow whisper as if through a fog. "The choice is upon you! Choose well!"

Kiern froze with the bone whistle at his lips. The Nightclaws stared at him, waiting for his order, the signal to attack, the signal to save their chief.

Honor or duty?

Your debt has been repaid threefold.

He is not worthy of your loyalty!

So many voices, so many memories…

You sacrifice your honor to your loyalty and duty.

They pity you. I pity you.

Your honor is not his.

His paw shook on the whistle.

Why do you follow one who is proven to be dishonorable?

When will you choose?

There can be no turning back!

But… he's all I have…

You have the Nightclaws.

Astarte's voice, trembling in his mind.

You have me…

You must choose.

Before him, Riala's jaws tightened, and the Longclaws' breath came in ragged spurts.

Choose.

The long white claws dug into the squirrel's back, into her sides, and snapped there, stained deep red.

Choose!

A strangled growl from the Longclaws' closed throat… and a second… and a third… the signal to intervene. The signal to fire.

CHOOSE!

The bone whistle dropped from Kiern's nerveless lips, unblown. Riala Goldentail's dagger stabbed into the Longclaws' side, sheathed in his ribs. And finally… finally, both lifelong combatants stilled, and moved no more.

Kiern walked forward as if through a dream. As the Nightclaws watched in silence, he knelt beside the wolverine and the goldentailed squirrel who'd hunted him all her life. He pried her paw from the dagger, slid it out of the Longclaws' chest, watched the red blood stream down.

"Your vengeance quest is over, Goldentail," Kiern said. "And you have died with honor, Nightdeath Longclaws…

He pulled the Longclaws' paws from the squirrel's back with a respectful silent reverence. The dagger pried the squirrel's jaws from the wolverine's ravaged throat. Kiern laid Riala Goldentail next to Nightdeath Longclaws, knelt silent between them both. "It is over."

"Rest in peace…"

At last he stood, regarded the Nightclaws. "…Find the captains. Tell the Nighthunt to retreat."

"We've sacrificed enough today…"

For the second time in her life, Riala drifted on a river of oblivion. And there—there, at long last… the gates of Dark Forest. The ever-inviting ebony gates, creaking open with the whispers of the dead and the tempting promise of peace.

And there. There, between the gates, stood her father. Smiling, gentle and loving.

"Father…"

But there was a sword in his paw. And—and he was not welcoming her in—he was barring her way!

"Father—I killed the Longclaws! I did it! You are avenged!"

His smile turned sad. "It is not your time, Ria."

"But—but Father… I…" A rattling sigh. "I'm ready to die… I am ready to rest… it's over…"

"I am sorry, Ria, my little Goldentail… but it is not. You still have a life to live. Malaya yet lives… she came here, but I sent her back as well. She needs you alive, Ria…"

"Father…" He can't be turning me away… Doesn't he want me?!

"And there are beasts in need that you will help. That wouldn't be aided otherwise."

"But…"

He smiled. "Your life is far from done, Riala Goldentail. Go. Back to the land of the living! Back to where you belong! Learn to live, Ria…"

The river reversed, and she was swept away from the ebony gates, away from her father. "Father…!" Straining for a final glimpse—and then all fell to white.

Blidning white… sunlight, firelight, far too bright! Riala's eyes squeezed shut, finally creaked open.

"Ri—Riala?"

A disbelieving whisper, and then the red form beside her swtood. "Ria! You're—you're awake!"

"Not… not so loud…"

"You're alive!"

Riala cracked the slightest of smiles. "Aye, Aya… as are you."

Malaya's face split into a wide grin. "You're alive! You're gonna be all right! Malcan!" She jumped up and ran to the doorway, limping a little. "Malc! Ria's awake!"

Riala shook her head, wincing at the pain even that slight movement brought, and closed her eyes. Aye, I'm awake… and alive. Farewell, Father… until we meet again, for the last time…