18. Loose Ends.
Rugger the Black was in delirious torment. Whether by a whim of fortune or thanks to his natural vitality, he somehow staunched the bleeding with just a crude improvised bandage, but that merely made his agony prolonged. No medicine beast dared – or wanted – to approach the fox, and bloodloss made him far too weak, unable to force one of them to treat him. Rugged holed himself up in the small room on the highest floor of the main tower, before his own underlings decided to hasten his dying. Vermin soldiers, afraid of him even in his current condition, just barred the door from outside. The wound was going to kill Rugger anyway. Already the left part of his face felt burning, pain throbbing unmercifully through the fox's head when he was still, and piercing him like dozens of white-hot needless when he tried to move his jaws even a little.
Slipping from wakefulness into hallucinations offered no respite. Images of endless battle, armies clashing among the rivers of blood and mountains of corpses, and himself in the middle of it, fighting and slaying, flashed through the black fox' mind. Images that would be welcome, if not for the fact, that his old foe was there too, mocking and laughing, blocking his way, raining blows on him unmercifully, not letting him escape the lancing pain even in this dreamscape. And no matter how many times Rugger struck the rusty-red fox down, it kept coming, appearing whole and as strong as ever again and again. Rugger couldn't stand that anymore! Rage replaced by terror, he ran, stumbling on dead bodies, paws sinking in blood-soaked ground, falling on all fours, desperate to get away from this torment.
"Wake up, Rugger the Black, wake up. This is not the war I've promised you."
The fox turned his head. Another creature was next to him, a figure of pure white, whose presence seemed to suck out colors from the world, reducing everything to grey. Suddenly, hate flashed through Rugger's mind, like a flame through a haystack. The bastard promised? Thanks to those promises he was now dying! Rugger, swung his sword, aiming at the neck… and found himself in the small, dark room again, his blade snapped in half against the stone wall. Pain that reverberated through his head from effort and shock of the blow almost knocked him out on the spot.
"Calm down, Rugger." Cold paws touched his shoulders, and suddenly the black fox felt that his pain, strength of his limbs, and remnants of focus and will he still had, all are draining away. "I'm here to help."
"Ubel." Rugger acknowledged dumbly, letting the white ferret make him sit. "You promised. You promised that I'll defeat Suran."
"You will, if you only listen to me, and let me preserve your life. Already you made Suran run, in your next battle you will surely crush him. So be strong. Try to open your mouth and not choke on this – my potion will take away your pain."
Opening his jaws to take the first sip from the clay bottle of strangely-smelling brew, that Ubel offered him, was so hard and painful that Rugger wanted to break the white ferret's neck. But instead he obediently did as he was told. At least Ubel was not lying. Pain disappeared. And consciousness soon followed. Before emptying half the bottle, the black fox slumped down, senseless.
"Now you can enter." Ubel addressed a small group of vermin, awaiting on the other side of the door with a large shield. "Pick him up, and bring him to my dungeon."
Some time later – when it was already dawning outside – the white ferret was finally finished with the surgery. Thankfully his medical skills weren't too rusty. Rugger the Black had to live. To Ubel this fox was important beyond his worth as an enforcer. Letting an important thread snap this early would not do.
Ubel looked the sleeping fox again. Rugger's life was saved, sure, but his face was not. The blade went from the fox' temple, just below the left eye, aslant through the snout, slicing lips and gums, denting bone, shattering several molars. Too much time was lost, too much of inflamed, necrotizing flesh had to be excised. Rugger could be called darkly handsome before, if not for his frightening pale eyes. Ubel was sure no sane beast might call him that after the bandages are removed.
"He'll sleep for at least a day. Furnish a room for him to rest, up in the tower, where he will be safe from any "accidents". Command the cooks to make gruels for him, when he wakes up, other food he won't be able to eat for at least a moon."
Sheska the weasel, who assisted the sorcerer during surgery, bowed. "It shall be done."
Ubel watched the young mustelid impassively. A beast that may be temporarily relied upon, like her, was truly a gift to him from the Lord of Fate, given right before one of the most crucial junctures of his life… but Ubel, by nature, was suspicious of any unexpected gifts.
As soon, as she hurried out of the dungeon, Ubel's shoulders slumped, and his eyes turned to his medicine locker in the corner, covered by a mouse hide. Staying awake for almost two days and two nights straight was difficult, and a lot of things still had to be done! Like many seers, he knew herbs and brews that helped to keep body fresh and mind sharp. He also knew the consequences of overusing them. But now he needed more energy, consequences or not!
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The next morning was bleak in the Seacrag Castle, miserable grey replacing dark of the night, with sun hidden behind another of wave of thick, low-hanging clouds, and intermittent drizzle thrown about by sudden gusts of lashing wind. Under the gloomy sky, a great funeral pyre was prepared for King Kunas in the courtyard. Carcasses of foes were unceremoniously thrown to the sea, minus their heads, which now decorated the walls, and many of the slain soldiers, who had no friends or relatives willing to bother with digging a grave, were disposed of in the same way. But the great King deserved better!
Kunas' remnants – shrouded from eartips to tail, to hide the unseemly bloody mess of countless wounds and the signs of decay – were placed on a massive pile of wood, as tall as a rat. Lavish offerings surrounded the King's carcass, usual sacrifices to a spirit of a mighty lord, who, as vermin believed, could return as a ghost to haunt his former underlings or curse them with ill fortune. There were carved wooden cups, fine weapons, precious silks – and six young woodlander slaves, three males and three females, bound and drugged so that they wouldn't spoil the rite by trashing and screaming. They were meant to serve their master beyond the grave, providing him with comfort and nourishment in the eternal ice of Hellgates.
Blackear the ferret, who was watching the final preparations of the ceremony from the first row of gathered soldiers, remnants of her depleted score standing around and behind her, was not too enthused by that last element.
"Bloody waste of good slaves." She rubbed her head, still fiercely aching from the blow received in the night battle, as she mumbled under her nose. "If only I had six slaves, I'd know better than to roast 'em."
Despite the ambient noise of the crowd, Blackear's words were heard. Treestalker, a tall and agile ferret from her score, young, but already adorned by poorly-healed battlescars across the chest and silver earrings, taken from a slain otter, who stood right to the left to her, commented:
"Eh, no small price for not bein' haunted."
"What do ye know, rattle-head? It's seers who can do more hurt dead than alive, seers. Not warlords, even ones so big and great."
"And who made ye a wisewoman, now? I reckon, the White One knows a thing or two more than ye about the dead and magic stuff."
Blackear gritted her teeth. The young wretch was getting above himself lately. The score commander was confident that she can spank this upstart, if need be, but now was not the time and place.
Before she managed to think of a suitable verbal rebuke, drums rattled, and every soldier turned to look, as their new rulers entered the ring of vermin around the pyre.
Eikeru Manybattles looked magnificent today, in dark crimson cloak and tunic, well-matching her black fur, gleaming chainmail and polished iron helmet, the King's standard, a square of the same crimson color with black battleaxe embroidered on it, in her paws. And although Blackear fancied herself an attractive mustelid in her prime, she felt a twinge of envy upon seeing the beauty of Marda. Even though everybeast knew that she was little more than a slave of Kunas, brought to the island by visiting corsairs, and bought for silver, that the sword she now wore over her glossy dress of green and gold was only for show, it was hard to deny that she looked every bit an imperious queen! And her son was with her too, holding the mother's paw, quiet and serious.
But one creature was drawing everybeast's attention above others. Ubel Fireeyes wore no luxurious clothes, in fact, nothing but his usual foxhide cloak, no finery or amulets either, except for a thick golden bracer on his right paw. His head was painted in a pattern of coal-black swirls, that made him look like some sort of a grinning, ghoulish monster, and a burning torch was held in his paw. As several rats hurried around, generously pouring oil on the pyre, logs, slaves, and all, as Eikeru and Marda spoke their speeches, reminding the soldiers how generous Kunas was to them, and how many battles he won, Blackear's eyes were on Ubel. She always was terrified of the sorcerer, all soldiers and score commanders who served under Kunas were, but the sinking feeling she had today was somehow different from the usual fear associated with meeting the cruel favorite of the cruel King.
Just as Blackear lowered her eyes, berating herself for imagining things, Ubel stepped forward.
"Warriors!" he cried, his high, piercing voice easily reaching every creature in the crowd. "For many season King Kunas led all who followed him to prosperity. With these two eyes of mine, I saw all of it, from the very beginning! What was a pawful of exiles and vagabonds, starving and freezing, now is the greatest army ever gathered on Ergaph! No longer you want for bread and ale, good clothing and warmth in the winter! Now, when Kunas passed to the land of the King of Kings, let his spirit be pleased by our sacrifice and show us the path to victory and spoils of war once more!"
The sorcerer moved closer to the prepared pyre, as he talked, and with the last words, he threw the torch. Flame whooshed and cracked, as oil, coating the logs, ignited instantly. In a few blinks of an eye, greedy red tongues of flame and streams of black greasy smoke enveloped the whole wood pile. Blackear, like all the common vermin around, stood at a respectable distance from the pyre, but even she felt a wave of heat on her face, and unconsciously backed away half a step. Ubel was right next to fire, but he didn't back away, even as hot air made his dreadful cloak flutter, and smoke whirled about his figure.
"O Great King Kunas!" The sorcerer's wild cry rose above the roar of fire. "O Mighty Ruler, Crusher of Enemies, Conqueror of Ergaph! Guide us from beyond death! Show me how to avenge you! Show me the path to conquest! Show me what we must do!"
A bone-chilling unearthly wail was the answer. One of the slaves, brought to his – or her, it was hard to say now – senses by terrible pain, bit through the gag. Blackear's eyes were drawn to a black, burning figure, hopelessly trying to roll away and out of the fire, driven by instinct to do what could only prolong the agony.
"What a stinkin' way to die," muttered a rat to the right of her, Squint, one of the older veterans.
"Aye," Blackear agreed, "but fast too. Now if ye flay 'em good and proper, they can live for half a day after."
One of the bigger logs burst with a loud crack and a huge cloud of sparks rose in the air. As if that was a signal to him, Ubel cried again, his voice taking on such a note, that Blackear felt her ears hurting:
"I see him! I hear him! The King!" His form, paws raised to the sky, cloak billowing, was half-obscured by smoke, half-outlined by flames which were practically brushing it. Few were beasts in the crowd who didn't shudder at that moment. Blackear nearly forgot to breathe. Then Ubel finally turned, and walked away from the pyre. The fur on his cloak was smoldering, the fur on his body singed in a few places. Tears streamed freely from his eyes, leaving black smears of paint and soot.
"Kunas had spoken to me!" Ubel proclaimed in a cracked voice, as the whole army stood, silent, trying their best to hear every word. "He had shown me a mighty vision! I saw, that from beyond the sea came the cowardly creature that plotted his demise, and beyond the sea his son's revenge and triumph will lie! Kunas had shown me a great land of plenty, the land of warm summers and mild winters, rich with fruit, fish, birds, and weak, soft beasts, the land where even a lowliest soldier will live like a warlord! Follow my vision, and it will lead us to victory!"
Eikeru, of course, knew what Ubel will say from the very beginning, although she was surprised at how convincingly the white ferret played his part. The tears, in particular, were a masterstroke – the soldiers were quite likely to think that those were the result of grief and shock, rather than heat and smoke. Now it was Eikeru's time to act:
"To victory!" She shouted, thumping the butt of the standard pole against the ground.
"To victory!" Echoed her henchbeasts standing guard around.
"To victory! To victory! To victory!" The whole castle shook with the united cry from four hundreds of throats.
Woodlander slaves shuddered in their miserable dwellings at this sound. But a couple of vermin were less than happy to hear it too. Ulakhai Stonestrength was far too weak to get off his bed and attend the funeral rite, but strong enough to think clearly, and he instantly figured out what the warlike cry meant:
"Sky above… looks like Ubel and Eikeru got the army twisted round their little fingers real quick."
"And what we'll do now?" The creature that asked the question was a young stoat, marked by symmetrical double scars on both cheeks.
"And now we'll be good little soldiers, play by rules of whomever gets on top and hope nobeast decides that our breathing makes him feel unsafe." Ulakhai answered. "As long as they indeed can lead this army to victory."
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It was past sunset when Yozash snuck into Ubel's underground lair, using the same once-secret tunnel, which the white ferret discovered many seasons ago with his exceptionally sharp senses, and finally used two nights before to send a party of fighters led by Rugger into the castle.
To no surprise of Yozash, Ubel was already waiting for him, lounging in a large chair, a mostly emptied cup of wine and a bottle before him, lamplight so dim, that Yozash wondered how Ubel can move around without knocking anything over. Was he able to navigate in the darkness using scent, hearing and touch of whiskers, like the small rat himself? Either way, even with near-absence of light Yosash could see that the white ferret looks terrible – teary eyes, blistered nose, a few scorch marks, obvious smell of smoke and burned fur.
"Do ye have my reward ready?" Now Yozash dropped his usual sniveling personality.
"Here." Ubel nodded in the direction of the small bag, waiting on the table near the wine bottle.
Now that was quite a relief. Lucrativity of double-dealing was always balanced by the risk of getting paid with a piece of cold steel. He still approached the table cautiously, wary that Ubel might be hiding a weapon under it. But nothing happened when he picked the bag. The weight, the metal ring, all was just right, but Yozash still took a peek inside – indeed, it was full of silver.
"As you see, I'm faithful to my word. Keep serving me well, and more rewards will follow. Silver, fine wine from the mainland," Ubel picked up the bottle and poured himself more damson wine, "and of course, more slaves for your… special needs."
Yozash inhaled deeply, drawing in the delicious aroma of wine. "Eikeru knows I set her up the last night. She won't forget. Mebbe I should try my luck in cap'n Greencloak's crew."
"Ah, that. True, a beast like him won't rob you of your silver and might see the value of your skills, but will he provide you with everything I am willing to provide?" Ubel delicately sipped some wine from his cup, awaiting the answer.
The rat was clearly conflicted, and Ubel prodded him further:
"Do not worry. I convinced Eikeru that for the time being we will need you to monitor the mood of the soldiers, and seek out malcontents. This will suffice for a time, and then... well, things may happen to her."
Yozash smiled maliciously. "Those would be good things to happen."
"No doubt. By the way, you may take the remaining wine if you wish, I see how you look at it. A sublime drink, from somewhere in Mossflower. Let it be your first taste of rewards to come."
For a second, Yozash's suspicions returned. Poisoning was an old and well-known craft of seers, after all. But… Ubel already drank the wine, from this very bottle, and he offered no cup, that could be smeared with poison in advance. And Yozash really liked good wine. He swiftly grabbed the bottle.
"As ye say, boss. Count me on board. I'll spy for ye and lie for ye, just tell where and to whom."
"Good. Then please leave for now, and return for your new orders the next night. I need rest too, after all."
As Yozash walked away, taking a deep draught from the bottle on the move, Ubel smiled slightly. This rat will not be returning to him for orders. Most likely he will not see the sky again – the poison contained in the wine was quite fast-acting, and while Ubel himself was drinking the bitter antidote to it throughout the evening, Yozash certainly wasn't. Truth to be told, Ubel felt a bit of regret disposing of this one. Such a great combination of manipulative mind and lack of ambition past indulging base vices! Even Yozash's very special vice, albeit difficult to satisfy, ensured that he will not willingly switch sides to another master, who might have at least some scruples. But Ubel was not a beast who left anything to chance. After all, Yozash played the key role in luring Marroch to the castle and knew too much about Ubel's biggest treachery, even if he didn't know everything. For that matter, he knew too much about Ubel in general. There was a risk of Eikeru, or some other beast, beating the truth out of him – sure, the rat captain already suspected that Ubel somehow arranged for Kunas to die, but there was a difference between suspecting and knowing. With Yozash gone, there will be no loose ends.
Ubel sank back in his chair, drifting slowly to sleep, as the last glimmers of lamplight died out. He'll pick the bag of silver from Yozash's body in the morning, but now he finally could afford himself some rest. The pattern was forming according to his design, with almost no unforeseen tangles…
Author's notes: I wonder if this chapter pushes the T rating. Then again, the original Redwall books contain a number of worse deaths.
One big or two small chapters more before the end of what I can tentatively call the Book 1.