LEGACY OF SHADOWS

Disclaimer: As before

CHAPTER FIVE: RUMOUR

Another few seasons passed, and the two vermin moved camp finally to bring them closer to an often-travelled route. The first beast they met was a vicious-tempered stoat who tried to kill them on sight; Kayto used the experience as his first battle and won fairly easily. This gave him a lot more confidence and it also meant they had a sword for him to practise with, albeit a rusty and poor quality blade. Black Tip had never used a sword, so Kayto was forced to try and learn by himself, as well as keeping up training with other weapons and unarmed.

Whilst the vixen grew more edgy as the days drifted past with no sign of a traveller who might bring word of the one they sought, Kayto was now old enough to appreciate the hiatus. He was using the time to grow, and every day brought him closer to the adult strength and bulk he would need if he was to survive. As he neared maturity the young wildcat had become a quiet and reflective beast; once his initial anger had subsided, the knowledge that he existed for a purpose brought a sense of peace. He knew where his life was headed and there was little uncertainty.

But time was growing short, and not only for him. Black Tip had been a mature vixen when she ran with Lisk's horde, and much as he hated to see it, she was growing older. It was Kayto who did all the hunting now, who built their shelter when it rained since this area had no convenient cave, who scouted the area continually for signs of otherbeasts. He drilled and practised combat alone now, because he was simply too strong for his foster mother and winning every match against a weaker opponent would not prepare him to fight a stronger one.

Kayto enjoyed their peaceful existence here near the road, but he knew it could not last forever. Sooner or later their idyllic life would end and he would be forced to grow up fast, so he enjoyed his youth while he still could. Watching the vixen age had given him a sense of mortality and he knew with cold clarity that it was likely he would not live much longer.

It was on a cold clear winter morning some months later that everything changed.

Kayto was down by the river, scowling at the uncooperative layer of ice that prevented him filling his water flask. The ice had grown thicker each morning until now he had to resort to jumping up and down, slamming his forepaws down with a pouncing motion to try and break through. Claws extended, he smashed downwards again, breath steaming in the cold air. A hairline crack rewarded his efforts, and he was about to jump again when he heard a distant sound, a sharp whistle that he recognised. Jumping up, he turned and began to run back towards their camp.

His only weapon was a short, broad-bladed dagger thrust through his belt; everything else was back in camp. But he didn't need any weapon other than lightning reflexes, sharp claws and muscles that were slowly becoming hard and tough. The wildcat flew through the ice-bound woods, dead leaves crackling underpaw, until he was close to the clearing they had set up home in; then he slowed to a walk and went to all four paws, moving with all his feline stealth, senses alert.

He saw Black Tip standing with her back to the rough canvas tent he had rigged up, facing three vermin - two weasels and a ferret. The bigger weasel was obviously the leader, and Kayto noted with annoyance that the other vermin held his best knife in one paw and the ferret was holding his bow.

As he watched the situation became clear. The hoped-for travellers had arrived, but not in the shape of a lone vermin inclined to share news in exchange for a hot meal; instead this trio had run across the camp, and finding only one old vixen in residence had decided to have some fun before taking what they pleased of their belongings.

"I wouldn't do this, if I were you," the vixen said calmly.

The weasel laughed. "An' who's gonna stop us? You?" His friends sniggered appreciatively; but the sound was cut off suddenly as a calm voice said from behind them, "No. I am."

The three whirled and found a young wildcat leaning against a tree with his arms folded, watching them through half-closed green eyes. The two smaller vermin exchanged glances, but the big weasel charged with a snarl and they followed, knowing their only chance was to completely overwhelm their opponent.

The fight was short and sweet. Kayto sidestepped, seized the smaller weasel by the tunic and threw him into the leader. He then dropped flat as the ferret shot an arrow; the shaft whizzed by past his head and he stood up, throwing himself into a leap and cannoning into the ferret. A paw shot out, and his claws extended as he hit the ferret's chest, and the vermin fell with blood foaming at his lips and a look of surprise on his face.

Turning, the wildcat was hit by the weasels from each side. Ducking and rolling, he knocked the footpaws out from under the larger and sent him flying into his companion, and stood over the pair of them with his paws on his waist, glaring down at them. He noted the flicker of surprise in the larger weasel's eyes, stooped, snatched his dagger back and killed the smaller vermin before stunning the leader with a swift kick to the jaw.

When the weasel awoke, he was tied to a tree. Black Tip sat by the fire some way off, stirring something in a pot; Kayto crouched on his haunches in front of the vermin, watching him intently. When he saw the weasel was awake, he spoke in a level voice. "Your mates are dead, weasel. Your only chance is to cooperate with me. Do as I say and I'll let you live."

The vermin considered it. He was brighter than he looked, but not by much, unfortunately for him. Kayto saw the weasel's eyes narrow with undisguised greed and almost sighed; the idiot thought he was going to get something out of this. "What d'yer want?"

"Information," he replied. "I saw your face when I stood over you. You looked surprised. Why?"

The vermin attempted to sneer. "Information ain't free, puss. What do I get outta this?"

Kayto hit him without emotion. "You get to live," he told the weasel, who now had blood running down his face. "Now answer me."

"That thing round yer neck," his victim panted, spitting blood.

"You know the sign of the Thousand Eyes?" The weasel nodded, and Kayto smiled. "Good. Now we're getting somewhere. What's your name, weasel?"

The grudging reply came. "Fencher."

"Well, Fencher, why don't you tell me where you last saw this sign?"

Some hours later, it was getting dark. Kayto stood up stiffly and padded over to the fire, where Black Tip handed him a cup of water without comment. "Well?"

"He served under Lisk once. He left shortly after you did; got injured in a skirmish and played dead until the horde had moved on."

"And?"

"North," Kayto replied briefly. "Says Lisk wanted a mountain stronghold overlooking a pass if he could, so he could control who went through and who didn't."

She smiled. "Excellent. And now what are you going to do with our informant?"

The wildcat shrugged. "Kill him."

The vixen regarded her adopted son for some time. "You promised to let him live if he cooperated, and he has."

"It's too risky to let him live," he answered. "The fewer beasts who know what we're doing, the less risk. So I lied to him; it's easier than torture."

She shook her head slightly, a sad look on her face as she watched him. Taking his face between both paws, she looked him in the eyes. "Kayto, son, listen to me. There is no point in you doing this and killing Lisk if you turn into his replacement. You have lost much of your innocence; that is the way of the world and a good thing. But don't let it turn to cruelty. Don't let the hate fester inside and turn bad. Fencher told you what you needed; let him live."

The young wildcat gave her a troubled look. His eyes were resigned as he replied, "This is the only way I will survive. I talked with Fencher a while after he told me what we needed to know; he told me much of Lisk. I cannot hope to beat a beast like him unless I can match him. Besides, the world is not a good place any more, Mother; the good will die and the bad will live. That is the way of things."

"But it doesn't have to be," she replied insistently. "You will change the part of the world that concerns us. You can make it better. You must be tough, and you must be able to make certain decisions when you have to, no matter the cost. But that does not mean you need be excessively cruel for the sake of it, as Lisk is. Keep your sense of perspective, Kayto."

"So what do I do with Fencher?"

"That is your decision."

Kayto sat and thought it over. The weasel watched him nervously from his tree; whilst he had no idea what the fox and the wildcat were talking about, he had followed their conversation and understood enough to know his life was in the balance. Finally Kayto stood up and crossed to where the vermin lay bound. Seizing him in one paw by the scruff, he sliced through his bonds with a claw on the other paw and held him up. It took a little effort but not as much as he had thought it would.

"Listen to me, weasel. In a moment I am going to let you go. You are going to run, south, as fast as you can. If you do anything else I will kill you. If I ever set eyes on you again I will kill you. Listen well, Fencher. My name is Kayto Greeneyes, son of Lisk; rest assured that I mean what I say. Understand?"

The weasel stared at him in total shock, finally managing to nod dumbly. The wildcat saw the flicker of greed in his eyes and growled. "You're thinking of running north to send word to Lisk. Don't. Maybe I should cut your tongue out to make sure, what do you think?"

He shook his head, frightened now; he could see that the cat meant it. He was lowered; as soon as his footpaws hit the earth Fencher fled south as instructed. Running hard for almost an hour, he stopped to catch his breath at a pool and drank thirstily. Standing, he thought about it. It didn't take a genius to work out that the son was going to travel north to challenge his father; Fencher was thankful he hadn't told everything. Oh, Lisk had found his fortress all right; luckily the younger wildcat was too soft to use torture. The weasel had held back much, and now he wanted to turn a neat little profit by passing this information on.

Turning west, he struck out, and angled northwest a few minutes later. Less than a minute after this change in direction, a dagger flashed in the sunlight and struck square and true. Kayto wandered over to the dead weasel and kicked him over onto his back, looking down at the vermin's wide-open eyes. "South is that way, Fencher. You should have listened."

Retrieving his dagger, the wildcat strode off without a backward glance, and an hour later moved into camp. Black Tip handed him a small pack without comment and he strapped it across his shoulder easily. Arming up – his bow was broken, but he had a dagger and Black Tip had a long knife; he would get a better weapon as soon as he found a beast carrying one – he looked at her.

"North?" she asked. He nodded, turning.

"North."

END OF CHAPTER FIVE