17. Obligations.

Ewalt the Ghost had a hard time falling asleep this night, staring at the glowing embers of the dying campfire long past the time everybeast else, except for Tezza the weasel, posted to keep watch, were asleep. In place of his earlier despondence again reigned the silent, cold hatred, that sustained him, drove him on for many seasons – and now denied him rest. No small part of that hatred was directed at himself. Since he became the Ghost, and until the last night, Ewalt dreamed of only one thing – to kill Kunas with his own two paws, not caring about surviving after that, only about surviving long enough to do the deed properly. And now, not only was he cheated out of his vengeance, but his hated foe's death, Hellgates, everything he ever accomplished over the last twelve seasons, amounted to exactly nothing?

Ewalt took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down, as his heart started racing again. He needed a cool head now. He needed to plan. He was not about to let the evil that took everything for him prevail yet. Neither by giving up, nor by seeking pointless battles and pointless death.

But what he could do? Rowanbloom's idea was stupidly hopeless, now that the surviving otters didn't want to even talk with her – with any of them. They had a boat sure, but even if it theoretically was sturdy enough to cross the sea – and Ewalt had no idea if it was – of what use it was to beasts with no experience in seamanship? For their sorry company, going into open sea in a small boat was no different than jumping into it with stones tied to their necks. And to boot, what a company it was – just three woodlanders amongst the bunch of vermin!

Ewalt looked at Kethra, huddling on the other side of the fire. In her sleep, even she looked defenseless – and somewhat cute. But when awake, what it would take for her to split his head or leave him to die? Most likely just a realization that he's not going to be useful to her. The warrior mouse was not even quite sure why none of the vermin dispatched him just in case, while he was barely able to move.

Then a sound drew Ewalt's attention. A beast was trying to move silently not far behind him, at the direction of water. The mouse bit his lip. He was too consumed by his thoughts to pay attention to his surroundings! The closest weapon he could see was a sword, lying next to Kethra, and the beast behind was far too close, probably close enough to get him if he were to leap for it!

"Tssss! Quiet, please! It's me, Selvathy." The whisper came just as Ewalt tensed, ready to try his luck.

"Do not sneak up on me like this," answered Ewalt just as quietly. His back was in cold sweat, she probably could smell it now. "Why you are here?"

"It's Torbit… he and others want to leave before dawn."

"Why should I care?"

"They want to take back yer boat too, leave you all stranded. Well, it was out boat to begin with."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Ye… and that ferret, and her brother – ye saved my life three times yesterday, when I… when I was seekin' death. I owe ye, and her too."

"Oh." A memory now surfaced from the haze that covered the terrible night of battle, yes, he tried to talk sense into Selvathy when she refused to leave her grandfather's body. Well, it was hard to blame her there. As far as Ewalt knew, Ilmo was her closest surviving relative. Then another thought, much more twisted, suddenly crossed his mind. Struggling with it, he asked:

"And what you, otters, want to do then?"

"Sail away, seek a place without vermin or war. Otters of Starscatter Rocks are almost gone already…"

"Well then, thanks for the warning." For a brief time, there was silence, then an ember cracked in the bonfire, and Ewalt whispered, so quietly, as if he didn't want himself to be heard: "And do you, Selvathy, really want to run with them?"

"But they are my tribe, my kin."

"You said, you owe your life to me. And her." Ewalt pointed at sleeping Kethra. "Is a life debt weights less than a bond of blood? And does that very blood not demand you to take revenge for Ilmo and the others?"

He spoke a little louder than he wanted, and Kethra heard that in her sleep. She mumbled something indistinct, half-opened her eyes for a second, her paw found the sword next to her… That apparently comforted the ferret enough to snuggle tighter and drift back to the land of dreams.

Ewalt and Selvathy remained silent for a couple of minutes. Then the mouse whispered again:

"I'm not a master of convincing others. So I'll say just one thing – think again, what you truly want. For if you don't help us, we'll likely all die, but if you join us – then together we might yet have a chance to exact our vengeance and free Ergaph from the Kunas' army."

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Scrimmo, despite his wounded paw, volunteered to guard the otter camp for the first half of night, because his senses were sharper than those of others. Torbit did not argue with him. But Scrimmo underestimated how exhausted and weak from bloodloss he was. Within two hours after sunset, when pulsated pain in his paw finally receded, he already was nodding off.

So he didn't notice a couple of beasts sneaking up on him, until he was suddenly pushed down on the sand, something very sharp against his throat.

"One yelp, and you're a deadbeast!" Harsh tone of the beast, whispering to Scrimmo's ear, left no doubt that he was serious. "Be quiet, and then we'll only take your boat. I, Ewalt the Ghost, swear that!"

Scrimmo was a pretty practical otter, in no particular haste to die. Had he been held in a similar position by vermin, he, without doubt, would have tried to scream. A blade in your throat was often preferable to being taken alive by vermin anyway. But although status of Ewalt as a fellow woodlander was dubious at best for surviving Starscatter otters, he decided to take his chance and remain silent.

While Ewalt held him down, his unlikely comrades tried to push the boat, which Torbit and other surviving otters took for themselves, into the water without raising enough ruckus to wake up everybeast. That was the biggest boat of the five that Starscatter otters used to raid the Seacrag Castle, capable of lifting a whole score of beasts, and even having a mast for a single small square sail.

And somehow, against Ewalt's expectations, no one stumbled, cursed, or placed a paw under the boat's keel, until it was bobbing in the water. Either their luck was good tonight, or all beasts who were too clumsy already died back in the castle. Ewalt did not take his eyes from Scrimmo for a moment, judging their progress by ears alone.

"If I were you," he whispered at parting, "I'd pretend to be knocked out for a time. In a fight between us, everybeast will lose."

Then Scrimmo felt that the blade no longer touches his throat, and before he moved a paw, the mouse was already running towards the boat. Whether because he heeded Ewalt's advice, or because he wanted to check if there's really no one threatening him with a weapon anymore, it was only a few seconds later, when he shouted alarm.

Ewalt was already treading water, when that shout tore apart the silence. He jumped, intending to get himself over the gunwale in a single bound, but his body hadn't fully recovered yet – he slammed into the boat's wooden side instead, but before he fell into the water, strong paws caught him and dragged him into the boat.

"Thanks, Selvathy," he muttered.

The young otter didn't listen. "Grab the oars and row," she shouted, "row faster!"

On the shore, confusion reigned among the otters. After being rudely awakened everybeast first assumed that enemies are attacking the camp. Before they figured what is going on, the boat was already gliding swiftly towards the sea.

"Shoot the thieves," roared Torbit, raising a sling, "shoot them!"

However, that was easier said than done – the moon was behind the clouds, all bonfires gone, and picking out in the dark anything more than the silhouette of the boat on the water was difficult. Torbit hesitated, aiming.

"Raise one paw and be shot!" A yell from the boat pierced the noise of commotion. "I'm Ewalt the Ghost, slayer of scores, I see in the night as if it was the brightest noon, I'm not the beast to ever miss my mark!"

Torbit didn't know that Ewalt was bluffing, but he knew with certainty that his own shot is very likely to miss. Shaking with rage, he threw his sling on the sand. "Storm and abyss! May thunder strike ye dead, ye vermin! Thief!"

"Look who's talking!" shouted Ewalt in return, as the boat slipped out of the cove.

"Well, he's kinda right," grumbled Groundswell, a veteran female seabeast, who crouched next to Torbit on all fours – or, more accurately, on all three, one of her footpaws limp from injury, "I told ye all, t'was a bad idea hangin' them out to dry!"

"Shut! Up!" Torbit roared just barely stopping himself from kicking her in the face, and clawed the sand instead, so it flew in a fan. "One more word, and we'll see if ye can catch up with those scum ye like so much on three paws!"

Groundswell backed away hastily. Torbit clenched his fists, so hard, that claws pierced the skin and drew blood and growled, quietly, but with so much menace, that fur of those who heard his words stood on end. "Bloody, treacherous vermin! To think Blackpebble died because of ye! Run away for now, cowards, but mayhap we'll meet again one day, seasons willing, and may all rivers, lakes, seas and oceans in this world and the next reject me, if I listen to yer lies then!"