7. Forces.
Sungesh Splintclaw, one of many weasels in the King Kunas' army was an experienced scout talented at tracking and archery. Many of the other vermin set to patrol the northern coast considered their assignment about as meaningful as claw-biting. After all, otters of the Starscatter Rocks weren't foolish enough to venture inland, where they would be vastly outnumbered by foes. And although the vermin force had some boats, they, in turn, weren't foolish enough to attempt fighting otters on water – Kunas himself tried it once, with the bulk of his horde, and found that numbers weren't enough to compensate for ineptitude of his beasts at boat combat, paying with a couple scores of soldiers for the object lesson. So to most vermin it was just terminally boring coastwatching, punctuated with inconsequential clashes whenever the otters tried to ambush a patrol. To Sungesh it was an opportunity to hunt. Let the fools think that the otters completely abandoned their old holds on the mainland, only appearing there when they sought a fight. Sungesh was certain that their foragers visit the coast on darker nights, to gather whatever food they could. So, on this night, when the low rainclouds covered the thin sliver of the freshly waxing moon, he took Migroo and Flogg, two sharp and agile stoat brothers, who looked up to him, and went out to hunt.
Sungesh laid his ambush on a hummock overlooking a small stream, which, he was sure, otters used for their forays inland, where it ran into the sea. Even in the dark of the night he would be able to see a boat on the water, while himself remaining safely hidden in the wilting grass. Now the three vermin waited patiently.
Their patience was rewarded in the quietest hour of the night, when the sky already began to brighten slightly. Just as predicted, a longboat was quietly gliding down to the sea, carried by softly murmuring waters. Sungesh could even discern three or four figures moving the oars. He gently tapped one of the brothers, then another. The stoats, not as experienced as him, got drowsy, after hours of inaction, but at least they had what it took to come to their senses swiftly and without making noise. Sungesh took a look around, before drawing an arrow from his quiver – life taught him long ago that before concentrating on your prey it is wise to check one extra time whether you are being hunted yourself. But the coast seemed clear, as far as he could see in the near-total blackness. The three vermin silently edged closer to the stream, picking good positions to shoot. The slowly moving boat had to come within less than half of a stone's throw from them, so even in the dark of the night they were certain to hit their marks. Rewards and praise for coming back to the camp with otters' heads were as good as theirs!
A muffled sound of a very brief scuffle from the left, where Flogg crouched, and then immediately a suffocated wheeze, as if a beast tried to cry out in pain, but could not find enough breath, were the first things that alerted Sungesh of danger. The weasel's warrior reflexes did not fail him. He turned in that direction swiftly as an attacking snake, drawing his bowstring with the same movement. His eyes discerned a moving darker blot in the darkness of pre-dawn hour, right over Flogg's slumping body. Just as a spear whooshed through the air, almost touching his whiskers and piercing Migroo, he let his shaft loose. Sungesh could have sworn his aim was true, but the foe was still coming! Dropping the bow the weasel reached for his cutlass. He yanked the blade out of the scabbard and swung it aiming at the enemy more by guess than by eye. Then something cold struck his chest. Sungesh tried to yell a battlecry and slash again, but blood came out of his mouth instead of sounds, and his paw suddenly grew heavy as lead. Then, everything went even darker.
Rowanbloom was not very good at navigating the night forest. Truth to be told, she was not very good at navigating any forests at all: she was raised in Redwall, and survival in wilderness was not the top priority in an Abbey sister's education. And how could she apply any skills she might have had when seeing her own paws was difficult? Ewalt said that the night was when they were most likely to meet the otters of the Starscatter Rocks and least likely to run into a vermin patrol. After travelling across the island with him, she had no reason to doubt his judgment in such matters – even burdened with her, Ewalt slipped through the vermin-ruled land like a shadow, always knowing some hidden trailway that allowed them to bypass danger. Here on the coast, he said, the danger was higher than right next to Castle Seacrag, because Kunas' soldiers actively patrolled it instead of just going about their businesses, so, as long as they were travelling together, it was more prudent to move by night and hide by day. But no amount of reasoning could make sitting alone in the dark, after the warrior mouse suddenly whispered to her to be silent and wait before disappearing, any easier. When they left Marroch's camp, she promised that on the road she will obey Ewalt's commands without question, and this promise was the only thing that gave her mental strength to hold still.
"It's safe now." Rowanbloom only realized that Ewalt is back after hearing his voice. "And I've found the otters. Let's go."
The shore was not far away. Against the backdrop of horizon that slowly turned from black to lead-grey, as the first rays of the yet-invisible sun tried to pierce the clouds, even Rowanbloom could clearly discern a longboat on the shore and four long-bodied beasts, clearly the otters Ewalt was talked about, in it.
"Quicker, here!" a female voice called out. As soon as the two rodents were in the boat, the large otter sitting at the aft end shoved it off the rocky beach and the small crew of four started rowing, to swiftly put some distance between them and dangers of the hostile shore.
"I need your help." Ewalt turned to Rowanbloom and only now she saw that the whole right side of his head was dark from blood. "A weasel there was good with the bow, nicked my ear."
"Nicked" was a considerable understatement. But Rowabloom saw far worse injuries in her time on Ergaph, and even with the improvised kit of healing instruments, remedies and herbs that she gathered after her old, Redwall-made one was stolen by Kunas' soldiers, she could treat such wound in her sleep. "Sit down and hold still, unless you want to have two ears on your right."
Ewalt obeyed, and made neither sound nor movement, while the squirrel cleaned his wound and then, seeing that there is enough illumination already, started stitching the ear back.
The otters were impressed. The one sitting and rowing at the fore end, a lithe, simple-dressed female, barely past the age when an otter could be considered a warrior, but already marked by a huge, jagged battlescar crossing her brow, commented. "They said the truth that Ewalt the Ghost is made of cold steel, I see. And ye, little bushtail, is pretty good too, doing such a fine work on a wobbling boat in morning halflight."
Ewalt did not answer, until Rowanbloom had finished her work.
"Steel doesn't bleed, Selvathy. And this "little bushtail" is named Rowanbloom, remember her name, for she's now gonna be the healer for you lot."
"Rowanbloom, eh? Nice name, nice to know ye. Freshly freed from vermin slavery, I guess?"
The squirrel bowed, as best as she could in a moving boat. "Sort of. I'm pleased to meet you too, Selvathy. Sorry, I had no time to introduce myself properly."
"Aren't ye a polite one, eh?" Selvathy laughed. "Are ye here just to deliver her to safety, Ewalt, or do ye have something else on yer mind, going to our Rocks?"
"And you, aren't you a smart one now? You grew up to be a fine otter, Selvathy. Yes, I have something very important to tell Ilmo Wavedog."
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Starscatter Rocks were little more than a bunch of grayish-white sea-cliffs, scattered in total disorder in the dark sea off the northern shore of Ergaph, hence the name. Few things dared to live on those weather-beaten, inhospitable pieces of stone surrounded by treacherous waters, with fast currents and many sharp submerged rocks.
Otters, of course, knew these waters as their palms, including seaways leading to a small cove between two of the largest cliffs, the only place on Starscatter Rocks somewhat protected from wind and storm. In better times just a handful of others lived here, the rest preferring to settle on Ergaph proper. Now hastily-erected shacks and tents covered almost every relatively flat spot on the stone. Otters, those too young, too old or too maimed to be fishing out in the sea, were seen here and there, cooking, mending fishing nets, repairing boats and weapons.
This scenery was rather far from Ewalt' mind, as he sat on the aft of the Wavecrest, a beautiful two-mast schooner, that otters, by skill or sheer luck, managed to guide here through very confined and very dangerous waters. He was much more concerned with one particular otter.
Ilmo Wavedog, the chieftain of the Starscatter otters and the captain of the Wavecrest, changed for the worse, since Ewalt last saw him. He still was a burly, grizzled beast, still strong and stout, despite his age, still dressed flamboyantly, like a corsair, with a red sash, into which his long curved blade was tucked, a bright green waistcoat with gold embroidery and a double necklace of small pearls. But now, when they were sitting on seaweed pillows at the opposite sides of a low table, Ewalt did not miss that he lost some weight and gained a tired, haunted look in exchange.
But however hard life treated Ilmo Wavedog, he retained his old composure. So, after hearing Ewalt's message, he remained as cordial, as he always was with his guests.
"Lemme see if I heard ye right, matey." As Ilmo spoke those words, another otter, an angry-looking large young male, who sat rightward of him, tried to rise and probably say something very unflattering about Ewalt, but Ilmo brook no interference and tapped him on the shoulder, almost playfully but with such strength that the deck planks groaned for a second and the younger otter winced from pain.
"Douse yer sails, Torbit, let yer elders speak first. So, Ewalt, lemme see, if I heard ye right. Ye got yer tail saved by that Whiteveir cur, and he swayed ye to fight for him, by hook or by crook, and now ye askin' me to fight alongside his vermin, with whatever remains of me otters. Ye're not lacking nerve, I say! Now, if only ye had as much sense! Do ye really think yer Marroch could be trusted?"
"In two things," answered Ewalt levelly. "To put fighting Kunas above anything, and to not turn on us until Kunas is dead and he thinks his odds are good. I'm not asking to rely on his honor, just on his hatred and wits. Speaking about the odds, if I'm not blind, your camp is sized for about twoscore of families, and there should be a couple more, scattered here and there. Even without those too old or too young, you should have more fighting beasts than Marroch to safeguard yourselves from any double-dealing."
"Hmhmhm." Ilmo didn't seem to be impressed by Ewalt's logic. "Ye know, matey, I recon you always were the smart one among yer kin, ever since ye were just a mouseling. Always tough-minded and cool-headed, always with a plan, even with bloody revenge on yer mind thinkin' of a way out, when another beast would just scream an' charge. Ye're not a beast to be easily tricked, but how me and me crew can be sure ye aren't behind that ferret cause ye're seeing the same temper in him. How can we be sure ye aren't wrong in that? If vermin stabbed our kind only when sure of odds, livin' will be much easier, methinks!"
Torbit looked jubilant, seeing that the chieftain was about to reject Ewalt's offer. Selvathy, the last member of the small otter council, kept the look of indifference that she wore ever since the conversation began. From them Ewalt could not expect any help in swaying Ilmo's opinion, and for a moment he was at loss for words.
But then Rowanbloom, who also sat and listened silently up until that point, spoke. "You are smart and observant, Ilmo Wavedog, truly an equal of great Skippers of old stories. Surely you won't refuse to hear a word from a squirrel who knows more of those stories, than anybeast here, won't you?"
"Go on, missy." Ilmo turned to her.
"Your decision to reject Marroch's offer of alliance is very wise, no doubt about that." As Ewalt stared at his companion in disbelief, his face betraying emotion for the first time this day, Rowanbloom continued. "Why risk betrayal and losing all of your lives by allying with old enemies and their scheming leader? You have a seagoing ship, after all, so your backs are not truly against the wall – if the worst comes to the worst, you can escape by sea to some other place, maybe to the Green Isle, where your distant relatives live, or the High North Coast, where otters rule strong. And that risk cannot even win you much – even if Kunas dies tomorrow, Ergaph is already overran by vermin, so you'll just have four smaller warlords to deal with, instead of one. Weighting danger against possible gain for your holt, you've chosen prudently."
"But!" The squirrel made a pause and pointed her index claw at Ilmo, looking the otter who towered over her even when sitting, straight in the eyes. "One thing I hoped to never see in my life is a day, when goodbeasts choose what is prudent over what is right! If you don't care about all the woodlanders who drudge in slavery right now, about many more who will end up in chains or common graves if Kunas is allowed to reign free, then how about your own pride? Your revenge for blood spilled, for being chased to those rocks, like spanked babes?"
Torbit looked like he was ready to tear Rowanbloom apart with his bare fangs, but Ilmo raised his paw, warning him to remain properly silent and still. Then the old chieftain spoke, each word dropping like a stone: "Ain't ye a bold one, missy, to speak to me like that on me own ship? Now tell me one thing: what in the seven seas makes ye think, that allyin' with thrice-cursed vermin scum is "right"?"
"I know many stories of the past, and I could have told you quite a number of famous goodbeasts being helped by vermin, off the top of my head. But if all of Ewalt's reasoning wasn't convincing enough to you, of what use my old and dusty tales will be? Decide what is right yourself, Ilmo Wavedog. I will only say one more thing – if Ewalt will have to go back to Marroch without your otters, I'm going with him."
"Back to slavery?" barked Ilmo incredulously.
"Back to fighting, whatever way I can!"
That was too much for Torbit, warnings or not. "Enough, treerat! Are ye saying, we're cowards who run from the fight?!"
Ewalt tensed, like a drawn bowstring, ready to jump forward. Even a woodlander, even an unarmed female, would not be safe, after confirming explicitly that she meant the worst possible insult, an accusation of cowardice! But Ilmo suddenly laughed uproariously, and patted Torbit on the back, knocking all breath out of him:
"And who would we be, if we pass this chance, me bucko? Well, missy, it'd be a bloody shame to let such a brave little beast as ye rot in vermin paws! And ye, Ewalt, start honing yer sword! Let's go and set fire to Kunas' scurvy tail together with ye and that ferret laddie!"