Nemesis
SALAMANDASTRON, LORDSHIP OF SALAMANDASTRON
"So this is what you call Conjuration." Lord Rathor sat impassively as his eyes fell on Arbert.
"You are correct, Your Lordship." Arbert tucked back Finnbarr into its sheath. The sword was one of two he had taken from the Chamber of Stars back in Floret, the other being in the possession of his brother. Or it could be still in Floret. Arbert did not know.
A gust of wind followed by a fountain of water were all that was needed to convince Arbert's Seercraft that it was real, not some trick taught to him by some vermin band.
"And why do you need Verminfate from me again?" The badger was kind and gentle, but that did not mean that he was to believe all that Arbert said.
"There are beasts that are trying to destroy worlds. So far, they have succeeded in one count. Hundred of millions of beasts lost their lives due to a cruel beast's will. The entire world has been frozen in ice, with its inhabitants willing to ingest the most lethal poison than to live in a world forsaken by all that could help them. My brother and I were unlucky enough to witness the few survivors trying desperately to end themselves - and succeed."
"Would this fate befall us as well?" This managed to grab the badgerlord's attention.
"This is unknown to me," Arbert told the truth. "But I suspect that their next target is to invade another world. One containing another myriad beasts."
"Can you tell me what they look like? I can notify you when I see them."
"One is an old otter with a regal bearing and dark grey fur, but that had been taken care of. We know of one other - a black fox with a smug smile and a staff."
"So he is what you call a Thaumaturge?"
"Correct. I can even say that he is the most dangerous beast living at this moment."
"That is serious. You are to stop him, are you?"
"Without a doubt. He will fall to my paws, I am sure."
"Then can I tell you of a dream I had last night?"
Arbert's ears rose. "Please do so, Lord Rathor."
"I saw you, in desperation, with the black fox in the same room as you are, and a third figure. He and you seemed to be staring at each other."
"Are you sure it was me?" Arbert pressed.
"He looked very much like you. You were in a white robe, and seemed to be fighting."
Dagbert? Why? "Do you know more? Where did the dream happen? Who was the third beast?"
"I am sorry, but it was not really clear to me. Dreams are hard to remember, and this one was all too difficult to remember. I got all the important things down, but I am afraid that some details are not really remembered."
"Thank you for telling me about this dream. I shall notify my companions immediately. They need to be prepared for what is coming next." With that, Arbert gripped Finnbarr's hilt, and aligned the points together. A Pathway to Floret was formed, like a tunnel passing through a mountain of space.
"Oh, and watch out for the black fox. I have a feeling he will come to the mountain soon."
Seeing the badger nod, Arbert stepped through the Path and made a beeline for the Chamber of Stars. He needed Fatch as much as Finnbarr.
BALSAMU
The beast who called himself Emetselk had never loved the island, but here he was.
In a remote beach did the two beasts tumble out from a Corridor of Darkness. The beast that called himself Emetselk had his obligations to the beasts under him, dead they might be. Two souls did he carry, and a third was on its way.
Of course, the stoat was with him. Beneath the signature black cloak of the Ward (there was also a white cloak, but the stoat decided he looked better in black), there was a jet-black suit of armour, which was used to cultivate an image of doom and malevolence (quite ironic, since he was not actually a creature beasts consider to be evil). Well, if any beast had to strike fear into the enemy, it was the black stoat in black armour with a black Landservant sword, massive, thick and heavy, though more like a sword than a heap of raw steel.
He was a Black Knight, as the stories told. A knight with no liege - the beast who called himself Emetselk does not count.
The Protector, the stoat was called, despite having failed in his task of protection when he was a woodlander, and living. The name was not meant to be ironic when the beast who called himself Emetselk gave it to him, though the vermin himself bore it and its translation with pride. A second chance was not easily seized, after all.
But before his task of protection, there was something he had to do. Near the waters, there was a figure of within a suit of armour, unconscious. Apparently he was an otter who washed up during the battle of the straits, with his heavy armour impeding any attempt at swimming. But he was no corpse yet.
The stoat stepped forward, only to be stopped by a paw in front of him. The beast who called himself Emetselk had his own ideas. "Not now, Fandaniel. Not now."
After their misadventure with Somerled in Dravania, the duo rested at Dalagab for a while, then they came here as befitting to the will of the Fates. 'Amalrik' was to wait for another time where a disguise proved favourable to their goals.
The beast who called himself Emetselk rushed forward, examining the downed Godred Swalestrom. His pulse was still here, weak, but existent. Clutching his Augmenter from the Iceshard, a sword from their version of Redwall, he set to work. Embracing and surrendering to Conjuration as Emmeroloth had told him, droplets of water were expelled from Godred Swalestrom's mouth, first in a trickle, then in a flood.
Of course, this did not save him immediately. As the stoat watched on, the beast who called himself Emetselk Conjured flows of healing, patiently waiting for them to do their work.
Of course, the beast that called himself Emetselk was no slouch in the healing department. Before long, the otter coughed once, then twice. Cupping Lord Swalestrom's head, the stoat continued to observe as the beast who called himself Emetselk continued to heal him.
The otter on the sand spoke. "Thank you. Thank you very much." This, he said in Valeran - a big mistake. Balsamu had its own language, which is similar but not all that related to the Valeran, Garlean and Parmese languages of the Ilsadian language family.
The beast who called himself Emetselk spoke in Trielo-Southard, just so Fandaniel the stoat can understand. "It shall seem that you are better than before."
Godred did a double take, clearly not expecting more Southards in Balsamu. "What are your names? I wish to reward you once this whole war thing was over."
"Call me Amalrik." The beast who did not call himself Amalrik laughed. "The stoat does not talk often, especially to a child of Lord Becker."
"You two know who I am?" A flash of worry erupted before Godred Swalestrom's eyes.
"Yes." The beast who called himself Emetselk nodded, and the stoat swung his weapon, cutting through fur, skin, tendon, muscle and bone, until Godred's head was permanently separated from his neck.
"We are not kin anymore, Godred," the stoat seethed under his helm.
DRAVANIAN HINTERLANDS
Is this how it all ends? Dying in a box?
Thordan was clearly not thinking straightly simply because he was not able to do so physically. He had awoken inside a chest, bound and gagged, and the moment he struggled, he realised Isangrim was with him in the container - too close for any sort of comfort.
They had only let the two out once for who-knows-when, to sluice him in a river, after which their invisible bonds have been replaced with material ones, and his clothes were sent down a river - to 'confuse your friends', the mole or hedgehog said.
Thordan had always refrained from hating anyone, but Dagbert really came close. He knew that taking him by any other method would lead to suspicion, but this was truly hellish. This scheme, of course, came from a mind that knew Isangrim was dangerous - Thordan's grandfather always told him that vermin seers were prickly beasts - but this was too extreme for the mole.
Thordan remembered he was a kindly beast back in Floret, a better avuncular figure than Becker, even. So why the cruelty now? Either he was doing this on the orders of someone, or he had to do something for Southsward - mere patriotism. Thordan desperately hoped it was the latter option that was offered to the mole.
"Keep with us a second. We're almost there." This 'Bodvar' otter had talked to him since he was confirmed to have awoken, despite the (quite obvious) fact that he was still gagged. He was annoying, to say the least.
Isangrim did not help matters. Thordan had learned smells and scents during his time in Healer training, but he had only heard of a fox's pungent smell which was emitted when he or she was scared once, in an offpaw mention by Niels. Well, he was forced to experience it for more than twenty-three hours a day. And horrible it was, even without counting the times that the both of them relieved themselves out of fear or failure to hold it in. They were fed nothing during the journey, and Thordan overheard something about starving them for the time being, if only to add to Thordan's ever-growing list of worries.
He must have dozed off, for when the next time he opened his eyes, he was in that box, but there was no fox in it. He waited.
Voices. From afar. Moving in.
"Oh, Birger. I am sure he would cooperate for a bit. He's not had food for Gates knows how long, and beasts like him are not used to hunger." The definitive and irksome voice of Captain Bodvar Waycaster. How welcoming.
"I'm just afraid that he'll still resist. Try to escape. You know what is to happen if he does, don't you? If the worst happens-" The mouse.
"Don't worry, Pickner. All will end well for us, having a lord in our back pocket." Someone new.
The box was quickly opened, and Thordan squinted at the sudden influx of light. One head was definitely Bodvar, and the other two were guards as well. Next to the otter and the mouse was another otter, though in a blue uniform instead of red.
"Wakey wakey, lordling!" The vexing captain untied his muzzle, and Thordan tried too hard to resist biting his paw. He succeeded - the only thing that went his way today.
The ropes around his body were then curled away and tossed to the side, while Thordan took the younger otter's paw. Stumbling for a bit, it took half a minute for him to stand upright, with a bit of help, of course.
The captain half-dragged him to a wooden chair, where Thordan sat down without much prodding. He was then left tied up, of course. All four of his paws were bound to one of the chair's appendages - frontpaws to armrests and footpaws to chairlegs. Even his tail was tied to another chairleg, while he did nothing to struggle against his bonds. He had taken enough punishment already.
Then they left him unattended for a while. That was the disconcerting bit. Having other beasts discuss your fate while you sat as helpless as a fish on a tree.
"The swordstaff-"
"-no, we wouldn't want him-"
"- to feel relaxed, not-"
Thordan must have slept without knowing again, beacuse the next thing he felt was a bucketful of water sloshing down his muzzle.
Bodvar sighed in mock disappointment. "Ah, you've fallen asleep again."
"What else was I to do?" Thordan muttered behind his breath, ensuring nobeast heard his sudden outburst..
"Tell me. Do you want to play a little game, otterlord?"
"A game?" The naked otter couldn't believe that.
"You know, a structured form of play for entertainment. That's what Phronesis told me anyway."
Still too nervous for normal thinking methods, Thordan quickly nodded. "You're not going to hurt me if I play, are you?"
"No!" the mouse cried out almost on impulse.
"Well, not a lot, anyway." The third otter was inclined to disagree.
"Oh, try to shut up for a while, Birger." A first name basis usually is a sign of familiarity - Thordan was sure they were close. Brothers, maybe? Or commander and soldier? "The Boreller brothers invented it, and I made a few adjustments as befitting your status."
Thordan stared blindly and blankly at the trio as the elder otter fumbled for his weapon. It looked like a sword on a stick, but was definitely not a spear. A Dravain weapon somehow found its way into a Southard with a Dravain name.
"Alright. Here are the rules. We point the swordstaff at you. You just sit there, being totally silent while we ask you questions with no definite answer. Then we will move the spear closer or farther away from you depending on the answer."
"Depending on the answer?"
"That means we will move it to you if we don't like your answer." The mouse (Pickner, was it?) smiled like a demon from Hellgates.
'Alright. What is your name?" Captain Bodvar asked the first question, the swordstaff horizontally held to Thordan's neck.
Name. Not title. "Thordan Swalestrom."
True to his word the blade was moved about an inch towards the back. Hiding a shocked expression, the otter asked his second question. "What is your favourite colour?"
"Grey." The swordstaff was retreated a another inch.
"Gates, you're good at this!" Captain Bodvar smiled - not a sadistic one as a prisoner was interrogated, but one that appeared when a game was played. "Let me see - I forgot the last question." He gestured at Birger. 'Whatsit again?"
The second otter was nonchalant. "What was the capital of Parma before the Skywards became its kings?"
For once, Thordan was glad about studying history. "Kurburg."
For the first time, the swordstaff did not move as Bodvar scratched his head. "Was it Kurburg?"
"That's what Phronesis said it was, anyway." Pickner whispered into his companion's ear, but Thordan caught the words.
The spear retreated further back and Bodvar complained in his usual mocking tone. "You're no fun, lordling. At least Joar gave us a few chances before he fell sick an' had to walk away from the mission. You're better than the fox at it anyways."
'The fox?" For the first time in what seemed like millenia for Thordan (yet was actually a few hours), Bodvar managed to get his attention.
"Ah, yes. When we asked about his name, he refused t' answer, even when the spear drew blood. Phronesis called him over to his side, and we have no idea what's happening t' him."
"You must not treat us seers so." Dagbert may not have been the usual interrogator, but with Ralos absent, he had no choice but to leave the three guards with Thordan and deal with Emmeroloth himself.
"Seers? You call yourself a proper seer?" Three hours of interrogations yielded no results, and the fox was resilient indeed. "Aren't you at least a bit ashamed, calling yourself that? Like a rabbit calling himself a hare?"
"You know we do not know everything, but-"
"Well, we know you know nothing, and I'm not telling you anything, so there's that." The fox would have crossed his paws if he was not tied spread eagle by bonds of air.
"Very well." The mole turned around and sauntered away, walking away from a tent into another, weaving the Veil along the way, where the three guards were trying to get something out of Thordan. Judging by the whole three feet from the swordpoint to the unclothed otter, it was not going very well.
"You three, go outside for a while. I have words for you." The woodlander guards swiftly obeyed his orders, leaving Thordan seating on his 'throne'.
"I see that you were having quite a bit of fun back there." Dagbert stated.
"Well, you ordered us not to draw blood from him like we did to Emmeroloth, so we to try new methods." Bodvar's smile disappeared, as if expecting punishment.
'Well, I need help with breaking the fox."
"The one you called the seer?" This time, it was Birger Waycaster who spoke out of turn. "Well, seers are quick to anger, and should not be treated like a mere prisoner."
An idea hit Dagbert. That was the problem. Everybeast fears him - even I do. Before we could break him, our fear and our respect of him has to be shattered once and for all.
'Come with me." Momentarily later, the four were in Emmerloth's tent. He was still helpless, away from his Augmenter, and Dagbert kept his Thaumaturgy locked away, so he was useless in the physical sense.
The mole-as-hedgehog whispered into his guard's ears. "Laugh when you want. No need to keep a straight face."
Calling his winds, Dagbert, the beast who called himself Phronesis yet was not, severed Emmeroloth's bonds and blew him towards the hedgehog himself. A slight trip was enough to send the starved and weakened fox tumbling down into Dagbert's lap.
He is a monster responsible for the deaths of hundreds of millions, and is totally willing to doom another five times that number. And he dares to withhold information that can be used to save thousands of millions. The time for normalcy is over.
"Are you going to tell me where the Iceshard Worldcleaver is, or are you going to suffer?" Dagbert took on Arbert's voice and mannerisms for this beast and his alone
"How about I give you a fast death that you do not deserve, and burn everybeast in Southsward to a crisp? That is the right thing to do, as you might put it."
"I see." Dagbert sighed. So this is what it has come to.
Flipping Emmeroloth over with Wind, Dagbert proceeded to spank the most powerful Thaumaturge in the Source like a disobedient child.
Of course, he resisted at first. He snarled, and raged, and gave wild threats that were as impotent as his previous ones. Then he howled, not in anger, but in pain. Not only pain, but rage as well - rage at one of the sole beasts in the world who dared oppose him, and rage at all the beasts that watched him suffer, and did nothing.
"Now," Dagbert smiled like a mother to her child. "Will you please tell us where it is?"
"Damn you! Damn you all!" The fox shrieked before he could curse a third time - as Dagbert began again. The guards's silences became sniggers, and soon evolved into full blown laughter, just as Dagbert intended. All the while, the fox's tears began to fall one by one. Not from pain, or the promise of further pain, but humiliation. Humiliation breaks proud beasts.
"Where is it?"
"I am not-" Dagbert raised his paw up again, and the fox's attitude changed like the wind. "It's in the Aetherochemical Research Facility in the Windshard! It's with Emetselk!"
Dagbert stood up, and Emmeroloth flopped onto the ground, still crying. Serves him right - and his queen too.
He was about to leave the tent when he was intercepted by Bodvar Waycaster, who was still trying to hold in his laughter, and his two companions.
"Well, that was effective. Should we use it on Thordan next? I mean, he won't be seriously hurt or something, but-"
Dagbert's face changed so fast that his Veil almost peeled off. "No! No. Thordan's as humble as nobles could be - humiliation would not work as well. Stick to physical methods."
The mole recalled a little incident in the Earthshard, in the castle they used as a base. It was about a pine marten who was a prisoner of a hare which he had heard from a witness, far in their version of the Lands of Ice and Snow.
"Well, Captain Waycaster, there's quite a method I want to see used on our little lordling…"
A/N: This is one chapter that I seemed to have rushed a bit too fast, but I am still quite proud of it for one reason or another. Maybe it's my first chapter where all the POVs are all seers?
Responses coming up! Oh wait.
Anyway, thanks for decreasing my workload, guys!
More seers coming up next chapter, and another Thordan segment shall be here before November!
Chapter 30 (Calamity Unbound) will be up on 23/24 October! A Thursday!