13. The Fool's Dream.
Ewalt didn't know that Ilmo Wavedog has fallen, before almost stumbling on his body. Selvathy tried to haul it towards the walldoor, but Ilmo was a really big otter, and her strength was not enough to do more than drag the dead chieftain along ground.
"Leave him! We need to escape!"
"No!" Selvathy's scream was just as desperate as that of Ewalt. "Never! Not to them!"
Ewalt was about to turn away and run, when he spotted something. "He's dead, Selvathy! Help those who still live!"
Looking at the direction Evalt was pointing, the young otter saw Rowanbloom and some small stoat, burdened with two wounded warriors, whom they tried helping to walk, but were forced to practically carry. They looked unlikely to get far at this rate. Selvathy glanced at Ilmo's frozen features, at Ewalt, who was clearly wobbling on his paws, then back at the wounded.
"Curses on all this!" Her face was twisted with rage, as she rushed to help Rowanbloom.
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"Rugger, you bastard spawn of toad and fly, what ye're doing there?!" Eikeru Manybattles slammed the butt end of her spear onto the stone, unable to contain her wrath. "Why the gates are not open yet?!"
"Wait a second." Ubel placed a paw on Eikeru's shoulder. "I can't discern what's going on inside, but don't you see – there is nobeast on the walls! You should..."
"Who made ye the warlord? Shut yer trap!" Eikeru pushed the albino ferret away hard enough to nearly knock him over. A female weasel soldier, whom Eikeru saw before in Ubel's company, but couldn't remember by name, caught the ferret just in time to help him stay on his paws.
But there was sense in the Seer's words, however she loathed to admit him being right. No arrows and stones flew from the wall, nothing seemed to move over there. The rat captain pondered the situation briefly, before turning to Ulakhai Stonestrength, who watched her quarrel with the Seer bearing a faint sneer. "Ulakhai, take spearbeasts from the left, go round the castle too! If their whole bunch is runnin' already, Stagradd and Blackear might be not up to stoppin' them! And my troop will scale the wall!"
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Marroch was not about to wait and check if everybeast had escaped the castle, paying no thought to the wounded. He and Kethra were already outside, running towards the path down with whatever still remained of their small band, when a weasel who was just a pawlength behind gasped and stumbled, hit by a barbed arrow that was intended for Marroch.
Thirty steps from them, Blackear the ferret cursed under her nose, then shouted aloud, waving her bow in the air. "At them, mates! Kill! Kill!"
The whole score of vermin who followed her charged, yelling and roaring. At the same time, Stagradd the fox and another score of fighters appeared from other side. Marroch's beasts and surviving otters were caught between a rock and a hard place, hammered from both sides, cut off from the escape path. Even though the bulk of Kunas' army was still at the gates, Blackear and Stagradd saw that their two small detachments still outnumbered their depleted and exhausted foe and this realization emboldened them.
Amidst the chaos of battle, Blackear spotted moonlight on the steel helmet of Suran Longspear, and let loose another shaft. She saw it hitting the fox squarely, saw him staggering, and rushed forward, drawing a sickle-shaped sword on the run. Suran's head certainly was a mighty trophy to take! No wonder that Blackear got overeager. In the night it was not easy to see that her arrow simply got stuck in the chainmail. The shock of its strike caused agonizing pain to the fox' already-damaged shoulder, but Suran recovered control of his body just in time to knock Blackear's blade out of her paw with a wild swing. Before the astonished ferret managed to jump back, Suran counterattacked. At the very last moment, he turned his blade, so instead of having her head cleaved in two, Blackear crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold.
When Rowanbloom saw the battle, raging just beyond the walldoor, terror paralyzed her, as if her mind simply refused to process the hopeless situation. She couldn't even scream, as a rat, brandishing a broad cutlass, suddenly appeared right before them. Ewalt, at the front of their small group, let the javelin he picked from one of the dead otters in the courtyard fly, and missed, his body finally failing him. Then a mouse in slave garb swept the rat off his feet with a savage mace blow – not all of Kunas' slaves were too terrorized to fight, after all!
Selvathy too saw that they are surrounded, but being an experienced warrior, despite her young age, she reacted differently. Still holding the wounded otter, who burdened her, upright with one paw, she drew her dagger with another, snarling.
Stagradd was a strong and reckless fighter, with more bloodthirst than caution. He led his score of beasts from the front, wreaking havoc with a large halberd. Some mouse, armed with only a short sword, tried to attack him from the side, just as he eviscerated one of the otters, only to be brought down with a swift jab of his halberd's haft. Then he spotted a group of creatures, huddling in the narrow doorway, just a few steps away, with no weapon bigger than a dagger among them.
Selvathy saw Ewalt falling, and, as the savage fox who dealt the blow turned in her direction, she threw her dagger. At this range she couldn't miss. The foe as a whole that is, not places like his heart, throat or eye, hitting which a light blade could dispatch a fox in throes of battle fury right away. Stagradd roared, ignoring the dagger that got stuck in his chest, and raised the halberd for a killing blow. Then his roar was silenced, as an axeblade severed his neck – now, that was enough to stop anybeast instantly.
"Death!" Shouted Kethra, whose paw held the axe, hardly even noticing whose lives she just saved as she sought more beasts to fight. "Death on the wind!"
But Stagradd and Blackear's attack was already broken – vermin under them were run-of-the-mill hordebeasts, swift to charge when enemy seemed weak, even swifter to retreat when leaderless and faced with desperate beasts, who were not about to sell their lives cheaply.
"To me! Rally to me!" Marroch's command cut through the din of battle. "Don't chase them! Rally to me!"
The dark ferret grasped the situation correctly. The main body of Kunas' army couldn't be far behind now. Now he and his battered lot had their last chance to get away.
"Stop, you!" Kethra, brought back to her senses by the brother's voice, caught an otter, who was too consumed by the thrill of battle, easily shoving the brawny beast back. "We're retreating!"
She turned back towards Marroch – and didn't saw that before she made five steps, a retreating rat stopped for a second to blindly hurl a stone, which came to his paw as he tried to escape up a high rock. War is rife with improbable turns of fortune – and misfortune. Kethra continued to stare forward dumbly for a couple of seconds, after the lumpish piece of granite hit the back of her head. Then the warriormaid dropped on the spot, poleaxed.
Marroch saw that, and reacted immediately, shouting orders just as he rushed towards his sister. "Gather the wounded! Carry them to the boats! We aren't leaving anybeast behind! Move, you laggards!"
The warlord dropped on one knee, covering Kethra with his shield. She was out cold, but still breathing, and no blood – or brains – stained Marroch's paw, when he tried to lift his sister's head. An arrow whistled overhead – either the routed vermin were regaining boldness again, or more enemies reached the battlefield.
"You!" Marroch did his best to sound commanding, rather than desperate, pointing at Luggun and another rat who happened to be near. "Get her out of here, or I'll hang you on your own guts! Faster!"
Neither rat looked remotely happy to hear this order, but so frightening was the ferret's face, that they promptly obeyed. The warlord saw several wounded beasts limping or being carried away, Rowabloom crying for someone to help another cripple and a couple of burly otters rushing to her. Well, if his own escape had to be slowed down because of Kethra, having a few more underlings surviving was a bonus...
Just as the dark ferret started calming down and allowed himself a glimmer of confidence, sounds of boots and bare paws on stone, clanging of weapons and bloodthirsty warcries from the right informed him that it was quite premature. Before he managed to think of an order to give, a veritable wave of vermin armed with spears, halberds and long-hafted hooks surged into the view – much more numerous than the twoscore who were just routed. Rather than challenge the forest of polearms, Marroch turned and ran.
He didn't ran very far. Just to the place on the rocky, narrow path down, not a dozen steps from its start, where it circled around a massive snout of a rock, the great stone rising above the main mass of the cliff on which the Seacrag Castle stood. Marroch was an observant beast, and remembered that walking through this narrow ledge, with the rock face to the right, and the precipice over the sea to the left, was uncomfortable for even two beasts in a row, when they marched up to storm the castle.
Vermin hot on Marroch's heels howled and roared, eager to chase panicking foes and mow down wounded, exhausted beasts. The first fox to follow Marroch around the stone died even before the error of their expectations dawned on him. More vermin immediately followed, thirst for blood and hunger for glory overwhelming their caution. Nobeasts stood with Marroch, even those few not wounded and not busy helping the wounded escape broke and ran in the face of overwhelming odds. But even one ferret was not easy to slay here, where his foes hampered each other, whenever they tried to come at him more than one at a time! Marroch had a better sword than any of his foes, and a better shield, and a better armor, and better sword paw too, but more dangerous than all of that was rage, that he finally let loose. The dark ferret fought like a beast possessed, hewing shields, spearshafts, necks and limbs, and even as he took wound after wound in return, his blows remained just as heavy as they were at the beginning.
"Death on the wind!" Marroch shouted. "Hellgates await, scum!"
One young and exceptionally agile stoat managed to climb the rock, hanging over the battle, in a single furious effort, perched on its top, and raised a javelin to throw at Marroch. She took a few moments to aim, not wanting to waste a surprise attack, and that was a mistake. A spear thrown from below sent her tumbling back down, pierced straight through. As if this was a signal, foes reeled back, no one willing to brave the deadly turn anymore. Eight of them were already cut down by the ferret warlord's blade, six more wounded, some so badly that the gates of the Dark Forest were not far away for them.
Reckoning that it would take at least a minute or two for them to find their courage again, Marroch turned to see Selvathy with another "borrowed" spear in her paw.
"We'll hold them here, you and…" started the young otter. But Marroch didn't even listen. He threw away his shield, now just a mangled piece of wood, with three broken spears stuck in it, tore off his red cloak, and thrust it into Selvathy's paws.
"Give it to Kethra. It's hers now. Go!"
Selvathy hesitated, looked down at the boats, where most of the retreating beasts already were, then back at Marroch. The ferret's rage was still near the surface, and only barely he managed to speak clearly and coldly, instead of yelling. "How can you avenge your dead, if you join them here and now? Go. Go, before I kill you myself!"
Marroch was surprised how relieved he felt, when this otter, whose name he didn't even knew until a few days ago, turned and ran.
"Might she think that I'm sacrificing myself here?" he thought. The ferret lowered his left paw and cautiously touched the shaft of the fourth broken spear, lodged deeply in his belly. Even though the haze of battle hadn't completely lifted from Marroch, this gentle movement caused pain to shot through his body. The ferret warlord saw enough wounds on his lifetime to know that a spear in the guts meant almost certain death, slow and painful.
"Bloody, thrice-cursed vixen." Marroch's whisper was hoarse. For the first time in his life, he was thinking aloud. "You lied to me, may Vulpuz feast on you liver. You said I will only die when I am King! Look at me now…"
Briefly, memories of unusual clarity took the ferret back, to the times when he was just one of the many ambitious youths in this clan, to the winter day he could never forget…
Amber the vixen could have had a place of honor at the camp of any warlord on Ergaph, but since gaining her fame, she preferred to live alone and rarely settled down anywhere for long. She welcomed beasts that sought her counsel or her skills as a healer, no matter to which clan, tribe or small horde they belonged, why, some even said that she helped woodlanders, if payment was right.
Marroch, much younger then, proclaimed a warrior just a couple of seasons ago, cared not about Amber's wisdom or medical arts, when one winter day he found her tent in a mountain ravine. He wanted to meet her because she was a Seer, and the one often called the greatest on Ergaph in living memory.
Amber was not travelling alone. Two ermines, now in their handsome snow-white winter coats, but pretty vicious-looking nevertheless, guarded her tent on the frosty day when Marroch approached it. The young ferret never saw this breed before, and he wondered from where these weird beasts came from to end up serving the Seer vixen, as he talked, trying to convince them, that his business was worth their mistress' time. When he was finally admitted inside the Seer's tent, he found that Amber herself looked weird as well. A bit unsettling, to be honest. It was not the matter of some deformity, and not of her garb either – she was rather good-looking for a vixen, and wore simple, practical clothes, no elaborate paint and tattoos, no bizarre and ghastly amulets and charms that seers often covered themselves with. Marroch couldn't quite put a claw on what exactly was off about her appearance, but to him it seemed as if Amber was both old and young at the same time.
The vixen remained silent for too long, after exchanging the initial greetings, so Marroch decided not to beat around the bush. "I've come here for a prophecy of the great wisevixen. Tell me my destiny. Tell me what prizes and dangers I need to look out for. Look into my future, and I'll give you this golden bracer – and many more gifts after I become a warlord!"
"Your destiny is known to you well enough already." The vixen's voice sounded indifferent. "Why ask Amber?"
The Marroch kept his anger under a tight lid, like he was used to, and answered just as calmly. "Why anybeast wishes to ask about what is to come? Knowing when my chance comes will help me to seize it."
The vixen closed her eyes, seemingly deep in thought. Just before Marroch lost his patience, she spoke. "Be warned: what you think you're asking for is a campfire to cook your catch. What you're asking for is a raging forest fire that might burn you to ashes. Go away."
The young ferret shrugged. "I was born a warlord's child, one of eight, not the oldest and the strongest. Getting from fire into flames is what most of my life was. I won't go away. Tell me my destiny."
"Be warned again: an assassin's blade can be avoided, a foe's arrow dodged, but a true prophecy, once uttered, is inescapable."
"What will be, shall be. I prefer to face danger with my eyes open. Tell me my destiny."
"Thrice you've asked, brash one. Do not blame anybeast but yourself." The vixen finally opened her eyes. "The thread of your destiny is not that of a common ferret. This much Amber saw when first looking upon you. But what it may be?"
Speaking this, the vixen reached for a small pot, and, producing a pawful of herbs, threw them into the fire. A strange, unpleasant scent filled the tent and made Marroch's eyes water.
"Sit still, do nothing, say nothing, unless asked," warned Amber. "Seeing the unseen is perilous enough without distractions."
She poured herself a cup of some foul-looking liquid and drank it slowly. Marroch felt his head swimming just from its smell and herbal smoke filling the tent. When she spoke again, her eyes were unfocused, her voice detached.
"Amber had seen you before this day, fated one, in twisted visions that wither mind and sap will. Amber will not see you in the flesh again after this day, yet our destinies are connected in strange ways, links in the same great chain. What is your dream, fated one? Speak truly, and maybe Amber will remember where the road of your life leads."
"My dream?" Marroch suddenly found it hard to concentrate. It was as if his mouth moved by itself. "I want to be a great warlord. The greatest one on Ergaph. To rule, to conquer the Seacrag Castle, to be the King. To stand tall above all creatures, afraid of nobeast. To be great and powerful, so great that my legend will not be forgotten."
"Oh, that's it. Now Amber sees. Rejoice, fated one. The warlords of Ergaph, even the one who will someday put the crown on his head, shall fall before you. The Seacrag Castle will be conquered by you. On Ergaph your deeds will be unmatched. Your legend will live on beyond what your mind can conceive."
"So…" Despite his befuddled state, Marroch couldn't help, but be excited.
"Yet after that, there will be a price to be paid. And dying a wretched death will be just a part of it, for your line will end with you, with no child to succeed you, and not even a grave will be left after you."
In the present, the dark ferret laughed quietly, when the exact words, said many seasons ago in Amber's tent, suddenly flashed through his mind, as if some invisible, obliging prompter appeared to refresh his memory.
"Ehehehe… What a fool I am, after all. You didn't lie, I listened only to myself, as always…" Marroch whispered, then, ignoring growing pain, that every movement caused him, picked the light mace from his belt with the left paw and shouted, at the top of his lungs. "Hey you, weak-kneed, slop-nosed cowards up there! How long are you going to make me wait? I'm Marroch of Whiteweir, whomever wants to take my head, come and get it! Or is there not enough spine among all of you together to trade blows with one wounded ferret, you lily-livered rabbit spawn?"
Whether the mockery had the desired effect, or it was just fortunate timing, a foe indeed appeared from behind the rock before Marroch drew enough air into lungs for another volley of insults. And the ferret warlord saw that now he's going to eat his bold challenge.
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Ewalt the Ghost was still alive and moving – as fast as one could move with head spinning, blood pounding in the ears like mad drums and guts seemingly tied in a knot of agony. It would be wrong to say, that he carried himself forward and down to the boats by willpower. Rather, that was the blind self-preservation instinct, the will to live that took over when Ewalt's consciousness was almost gone.
Yet no hidden resources of the mind could make a completely battered body run fast enough to keep up with healthier survivors. By the time Ewalt got to the waterline, two of the five big longboats, which otters brought for their ill-fated expedition, were gliding away from the shore. One already in a stone's throw and rapidly increasing the distance, another much closer, but still too far to catch up with it on foot in this place, where the rocky bottom steeply descended into the depths a few steps away from the water's edge. Even if Ewalt could swim – and that was not among his various abilities – in his present condition he was going to sink like an axe. Even if the three remaining boats weren't holed, he was in no state to paddle, either.
Before Ewalt wholly comprehended hopelessness of his situation, Selvathy thundered down from the rocky path. Seeing boats getting away, and the lone mouse still stuck on the shore, she spat out a curse more befitting a drunken old searat, than a young otter.
"Hold onto me!" she commanded Ewalt. "We'll catch them!"
Meanwhile, a heated argument was going on the closer boat, the one where Rowanbloom and almost all of the surviving vermin ended up.
"Turn around, it will only take a mome…" pleaded the squirrel.
"Shut yer gob!" Farool the stoat, the biggest and burliest of the unwounded beasts aboard, wasn't inclined to put his own hide into any more danger. He roughly pushed Rowanbloom, knocking her down, and picked up an oar. "Let's… urgh!"
Farool wanted to let out scream, but his lungs, pierced by a lethal blade from behind, refused to move. Then Suran pushed him overboard, and turned to others, pointing the wetly glistening dagger. His blood-caked face, asymmetrical now with one ear gone, was twisted by pain, his posture crooked, his left paw hanging limply, yet still, no one dared to challenge the big fox, when he snarled. "Enough cowardice for one night! Nobeast will say, that Suran Longspear leaves comrades in arms and pretty maids to feed fish, when foes aren't even in sight! Squirrel! Give them an oar! Help them up, you wretches!"
The fox's order was timely. While the boat was still close enough to the shore that swimming to it was literally a babe's play for an otter, swimming while holding an almost unconscious mouse with one paw and a thick cloak that instantly got wet and heavy in her teeth, was another matter entirely. And Selvathy was not the sort of beast to abandon either to catch up with the boat. She had every reason to be grateful when the boat didn't move away, until she was next to it, and strong paws helped her to haul Ewalt's limp body over the gunwale.
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"Count me impressed." Ulakhai Stonestrength backed away a couple of steps, watching Marroch's every move cautiously, freshly-dinted heavy shield held forward for protection. His voice was silken-smooth, not what could be expected from the huge mustelid, who towered over Marroch head and half the neck. "By your foolishness, that is. Some warlord you are, laying your life here, just to let the last of your dregs escape!"
Marroch knew that Ulakhai is most likely just stalling for time until bleeding wounds – and Ulakhai's sword already dealt him a couple more of those – weaken him further. Yet he couldn't help but retort, words bursting forth in pained gasps. "What's the matter? Fighting with words now? Your weapons not good enough? Against a fool like me? Hah, a brave one you are!"
Ulakhai spat, still not taking his eyes off the ferret. "Deadbeast talking of bravery! What do you even want to gain? "Glory"? You, a whipped slave, who always clung to life no matter what?"
Marroch smiled, with all the mirth of a grinning skull, and spoke, his barking voice gradually rising to shout, so that not only Ulakhai, but all of the vermin above heard it. "Heh. I want you to choke. On whatever reward. You want for my head. I want you all, scum, to remember. That it took a score of your best to kill me! After I slaughtered your King! Wail in shame, cowards! Cower in fear, for I'll be avenged! Hellgates await!"
And with his last warcry, Marroch charged. Ulakhai did not back away, yet for a brief moment his heart quailed at the thought of facing a beast who no longer had any thought of self-preservation, here, in pre-dawn darkness, when even he had a hard time seeing his foe exact movements. And that nearly killed him. Steel clashed with steel, as Ulakhai protected himself with his thick shield, and was almost knocked down by the desperate attack. Marroch's sword slashed again, screeching against the shield's rim and gashing Ulakhai's neck. Before the ferret struck yet another blow, the bigger mustlelid's well-honed battle reflexes overcame the freezing fear, and he pushed away with the shield hitting Marroch straight in the face, sending him staggering back a few steps – in the direction of the path's edge. The dark ferret instinctively realized the danger, tried to regain balance, find purchase with his foot claws – then his wounded footpaw slipped on gore that covered the rocks and he was gone.
Marroch uttered no scream in the brief moment he had, before hitting sharp rocks and churning water below. Thus perished the ferret, who was called Marroch the Cold, and lived as a villain, yet managed to find enough fire in himself to die as a warrior.