22. The Private and the Captain.
A moon ago Sovna never imagined that it is actually possible to enjoy eating hardtacks and dried fruit, often with nothing but spring water to wash them down, as opposed to treating something this unappetizing solely as a source of necessary nourishment. Yet after the first few days of rapid march, any edible food started to seem a wondrous feast. Sovna thought that keeping up with the famous Gallopers will be the hardest trial, yet keeping herself from eating more than her daily ration was much harder.
Now said Gallopers – including Sovna, of course – were camping in a small hollow, well-protected from the wind that blew from the sea, and wet snow, carried by that wind. From her position, the haremaid could see all who were there: black-eared Captain Aldwin himself, gesturing energetically, as he discussed lay of the land with Greeves, the oldest and most experienced hare in the unit; Talwar and Mahaira, the married fighting pair, exchanging idle talk, as they were combing each other's fur; Lieutenant Bascinette, Aldwin's beautiful second-in-command, whistling a quiet tune, as she was brewing herbal tea at the small campfire; Sparth, the tallest and the burliest of the Gallopers, seemingly already asleep; young Kleves meticulously polishing his already-shining helmet; thin, horrifically scarred Espadron keeping watch.
One Galloper was away at the moment: Tesak, a hare small in stature but unrivalled in tracking skills, went to scout a bit ahead. The small group already crossed the River Moss, leaving what was considered relatively safe territory. As Aldwin himself filled Sovna in during their march, bare dunes, dismal scrublands, and, further inland, sparse forests, that stretched between the River Moss and the land controlled by Axehound otters and their shrew dependants, were a no beast's land, a place for foolish woodlanders and desperate vermin. A group of ten well-trained hares, of course, could hardly expect to meet a challenge here, but caution could never hurt.
As Sovna was busy recalling the captain's words, she missed the moment, when Tesak slipped back into the camp, quietly as falling snow. Only sudden silence, as one hare after another ceased their activities, turning to the scout, alerted her.
"I take, you found somethin'?" Aldwin asked.
"I did, sah." The short hare sounded like he strained himself, whenever he had to talk at the normal volume. "Foxes. Passed just right north of here no more than a couple hours ago. At least three of the rotters, maybe more, couldn't count tracks for sure, thanks the flippin' weather."
"Can you lead us to them?"
Tesak shrugged. "If snow keeps as it flippin' goes? I'll bet two to one, that I can, sah."
Aldwin's brow briefly furrowed, as he pondered the proper course of actions, before addressing his subordinates. "Break camp. There are foxes to hunt."
"Best blinkin' news all week," answered Bascinette, but as Sovna could see, the look on her face was rather less cheerful, than her words.
Aldwin was looking at Espadron, rather than at her, when he responded: "And I need as many of those foxes alive, as we can take. When we have search for seasons know whom, checking what sort of news those foxes might carry can't hurt, wot?"
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Weather refused to follow Tesak's assumption. Within an hour, wet snow started falling thick, and heavy clouds, which poured it, turned evening into near night. No tracker in the world could reliably follow a trail in such weather. Aldwin ordered the Gallopers to spread out in a line, more in hopes of finding another suitable shelter, than catching up with their quarry. Sovna ended up on the far left. Need to march again instead of resting, snow, that flew in her face, and stuck to her clothes, uncomfortable weight of armor, and, deep down, anxiety of a beast who tried to stalk an unseen foe through the gloom in the first time of her life, with only a silhouette of old Greeves to her right to remind her that she wasn't alone in the forbidding forest – all these things made her angry, itching for a fight, a foe to take her irritations and fears out on, as was her habit.
Meanwhile, the group of vermin they attempted to follow, suffered from the terrible weather as well. Much more, in fact – the hares had warm tunics and cloaks and ate enough to sustain their vigor. The vermin were ragged and underfed, so wind and snow tormented them worse. Tesak evaluated their numbers almost correctly, there were four of them, and the one whose tracks he missed was a wildcat kitten of unusual ginger coloration, following three foxes. Now they found refuge in a pit under roots of a big, broken tree. Moods were fouler than the weather, as their attempts to light a fire ended in nothing.
"By the fang!" The scarred old dogfox, who was the leader of the tiny band looked at the dry bread crust at his paw as if it was his sworn enemy. "I tell ye, I saw a vole trail the midday, yea, I did! And if ye all weren't a bunch of good-for-nothin lame ducks, we'd have somethin' juicer to eat today! Ever tasted a vole, did ye?"
His companions were not really comfortable with the idea. The kitten looked mortified, and tried to crawl behind the second dogfox in the group, just barely old enough to be considered a fighter. He smiled stiffly:
"Hey, chief, stop jokin' around, ye see, little Foxfur is…"
"Me? Jokin'?!" The older fox cuffed the young one soundly around the ears. "If ye all weren't too slow to hunt, ye'd see how I joke! And it's about time for tis little weed of a cat to learn eating proper food, too! How in Hellgates she can grow up big an' strong enough to be of use to us, if she can't look at meat, not even that of birds?"
The last vermin in the group, a scruffy, scraggly vixen, was not amused:
"Keep yer paws away from my son, moldy bones, or I… cough, argh, cough." A fit of coughing bent her in half mid-phrase.
"Or ye'll do what, ye lousy hag? I'm the one keeping tis sorry bunch alive, 'cause I'm the only real forager here! An' I'm doin' this outta of kindness of me old heart, or what, do ye think, frail, ye're such a treasure?! Bah!"
Sovna heard something. Some coarse voice on the wind, was it? She was supposed to signal the others. Instead, she drew her long rapier, and walked towards the source of the sound.
As it happened, she got close soon after the moment when the old fox ran out of breath. Then a sharp twig, hidden under the wet snow, pricked her footpaw, making the haremaid stumble and curse through her teeth – and that was heard. After all, nobeast lived to the old age in the Northlands by being completely oblivious. The old fox rose, and slowly drew his cutlass, worn-out and chippy, but still carefully cleaned and sharpened. All of the vermin pricked up their ears, listening.
So did Sovna, not entirely sure if she hadn't imagined what she heard. The remaining part of the half-uprooted tree trunk, and sprawling, broken roots, concealed the vermin's hideout from her eyes, half-blinded by snow that the wind was throwing right into her face. Unable to spot anything suspicious, after standing in the spot from which the voices seemingly issued for half a minute, she fearfully realized, that she cannot see any of her comrades anymore, and was about to turn away… and just then the vixen failed to control her illness-wracked body, and loud, hacking cough rent the air.
"Vulpuz' breath!" The cover clearly blown, the old fox sprang out of the small hollow just as Sovna circled around the tilted tree stump to face him. Neither had the time or inclination to think. Blades flashed.
Unknown to Sovna at the moment, she had a host of advantages in the fight even before taking into account any differences in strength and skill. She was less tired, not weakened by hunger, armored, and her fine steel rapier was a far cry from the fox' crude weapon. However, one thing impeded her – the slopping ground, covered in wet snow and slippery fallen leaves, was a far cry from training arenas of Salamandastron. Instinctively she backed away, trying mostly to avoid the slashing cutlass, until she can be sure of her footing. Yet…
"Help me," the old fox cried, as the rapier's sharp blade nicked his paw in a fast counterattack. "Kill her!"
But the rest of the vermin were too busy running away. They might have had more of a chance, if the young fox did not drag the wildcat kitten along.
Seeing that he is left to his own fate, the fox swung his weapon wildly in rage. Sovna evaded deftly, and lunged, just as she was taught. Two thirds of her long rapier went into the fox's chest, the bloodied point protruding far from the back. For a second the haremaid froze, surprised by what just happened even more than her victim. For this mistake she nearly paid with her life, for the fox was only mortally wounded, not dead. Before Sovna remembered to move, he screamed and struck. The haremaid's first fight did not became her last thanks to the two facts: she wore a well-made Salamandastron helmet with cheek guards; and the fox's blade was not nearly as well-made, so it bent, upon meeting the better steel, and only sent Sovna reeling, not half of her head flying.
Before the fox could raise his paw for another strike, a grey-feathered arrow appeared in his neck as if by magic. He wobbled back, and yet another arrow buried itself in his chest, finally felling the old fighter.
Greeves came running, a bow in his paw. "Stop gawking," he shouted, "move, after them!"
The blow stunned Sovna only for a moment. She did just as she was commanded, and her voice joined Greeves' shouts, calling the rest of the unit to them.
Those shouts were also heard by the three creatures trying to escape. The vixen realized that the pursuers, now hidden for a moment by darkness and falling snow, will catch up with them in no time. In a flash of cunning created by desperation, she pushed her son towards a small gullet running alongside the direction of their escape:
"Take Foxfur, hide there, lay low! I'll distract them!"
The plan might have worked had the vixen been strong enough to give a good chase, and had she been dealing with less experienced beasts. Even on the run, Greeves noticed the place, where somebeast jumped aside.
"They split! You go there!" he caught Sovna's shoulder and pushed her towards the gullet.
The young fox clutched his weapon, a mere flint-tipped spear, when the tall haremaid with her bloodied rapier nearly landed on him, his attempt at a threatening growl sounding whiney, the kitten hiding behind him.
"Drop that frogsticker vermin! Or you'll envy the dead!" Sovna suddenly remembered that the idea was to take prisoners, and picked words that, in her opinion, sounded appropriately threatening and badass.
"No! Get away! I'll kill you!" The fox's eyes were white with mind-numbing terror.
"Kill me? Hah! I'll cut you to pieces where you stand, bit by bit!" The haremaid was far too pumped up to watch her tongue or her opponent's reaction – and entirely unprepared to what happened next.
The young fox showed the diminutive wildcat away so hard, that she fell, and swung his spear, clearly aiming to run her through. And he would have succeeded, before Sovna' mind even truly registering what is going on, if not for Captain Aldwin, who fell from above like a lightning bolt, tackling the fox bodily.
"Catch the little one!" Aldwin roared, as he and the fox rolled in wet snow and cold water. Now, that was not hard to do – she had no will or strength for much more than shaking in terror. And that was for the better, for Sovna found her own paws unsteady, shocked by the incomprehensible thing he just witnessed.
"You bloody, addle-brained, nit-witted leveret!" The captain was sitting on the young fox, the latter's head firmly in a lock, jaws kept shut by a strong paw, almost before Sovna managed to point his rapier at the kitten's throat. "Couldn't find a better thing to say, wot?!"
"B-b-but, Captain…"
"This little tod thought we're goin' to kill them both long and slow, because that's just what beasts do up here, emptyhead!" Aldwin applied a little more pressure, to quell the fox's furious struggle, while addressing him:
"Well, didn't you? Calm down already, before I knock your lights flippin' out!" The captain spat. "Real smart move, tryin' to intimidate him even more, Private!"
Sovna looked as if she was about to gag. The emaciated little wildcat was about the most piteous, defenseless creature she had ever met, at least among those who could walk on their own paws. "To torture... t-this kit?"
"Ha! Was there wax in your ears, or in place of your blinkin' brain, when I was tellin' you, what it is like in this country? Welcome to the Northlands!"
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That the Gallopers managed to find a relatively dry nook and light a bonfire in such weather was, perhaps, a better testament to their skills than any victory against improbable odds.
Now Captain Aldwin was sitting on one side of that bonfire, and his three prisoners huddled on the other. Watched by an enormously big and powerful hare on one side, and by a thin, scarred, vicious-looking one on another, they took little comfort in not being hurt, or even bound, so far. That could change in a blink.
"Clear your ears and listen here, you sorry bunch. I am a captain of the Long Patrol, and you are my prisoners. But being a jolly nice chap I am, I want our little talk to be nice as well."
Aldwin took a large bite out of a scone he held in his paw, and washed it down with wine from his flask. The prisoners followed this gesture with hungry eyes, their stomachs even making them briefly forget their fears.
"Some beasts," he cast a meaningful glance, that didn't go unnoticed, at Sparth and Espadron, "some beasts believe that pain and fear are mightily helpful at loosenin' tongues. I prefer carrots to sticks. So how about this, my scrawnies: you tell me honestly all the news from the north you know, and we'll feed you? Take this as an advance, wet your throats, if they're dry."
He closed the wine flask and threw it to the vixen. She barely managed to catch it, as if fearing that the mundane object will burn her.
"No poison, old one, you saw me bally well drinking this very wine just now, didn't you?" Guessing the vixen's thoughts took no genius. The two foxes looked at each other, suspicion struggling with hunger. Their overwhelming exhaustion, sapping their wills, swiftly tipped the scales.
"We'll tell ye everythin' ye want to hear." The vixen lowered her head. "Just… just…"
"Don't worry." Aldwin smiled. No one told him, but whenever he forced an insincere smile, it was quite evil-looking. "I swear on the name of my Lady, if you tell me truth and nothing but truth, you'll leave alive, unharmed and fed. If. You, perhaps, should know, that we, officers of the Long Patrol, are trained to smell vermin lies, and of us all, I'm the best in that."
The prisoners cringed. The captain smiled again, and if his previous smile was evil, this one could have made many warlords envious. "Now, now, you just have to tell the truth. Oh, and I almost forgot, silly me. What are your names?"
The young fox was the first to gather enough courage for an answer:
"I'm Scorr. My mother is Reyce."
"And the cat?"
The fox shook his head. "She's mute, ever since the day we found her, ye see. We call her Foxfur, 'cause..."
"…of her fur." Aldwin finished the phrase for him. "Imaginative naming as usual, wot? Was the old fox your father?"
Scorr shook his head. "We just stuck with that brute, 'cause there was nobeast else to stick with."
Aldwin looked at him skeptically, but the answer came too fast and too naturally to be a lie, in his opinion. "Then tell me first…"
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Sovna never felt so miserable in her whole short life. Maybe it would have been easier for her, had the captain, or any of the more experienced hares, chewed her tail immediately, but they did not. After the fight ended, Aldwin just ordered her to dig a good, deep grave for the old fox, then wait until he has time. And digging a grave was not exactly an easy task with only a short spade the Gallopers had. And even though snow no longer fell as thickly now, by the time the work was done, Sovna was bone-tired, soaked, dirty and frozen. And the sight of the slain foe did not lift her spirit – now she saw clearly, how old and thin he was, certainly not a creature a hare could be proud to vanquish.
After all the shoveling of earth and mud was complete, Sovna just sat with her back against a pine tree, nursing her knees, with no desire to even clean herself.
"Drink this, chapess. Will make you feel better." Greeves walked next to her, a small brass flask in his hand.
"I'm fine, I'm bally well fine!" the haremaid snapped at him.
Greeves sighed and shook his grey head, then opened the flask and took a deep swig, before continuing. "Lemme give you a slice of advice, Private. The Captain is not nearly as nice as good old me. Sayin' to him that you're fine, when you obviously aren't, will land you in even hotter water, than is already your due. So, you sure you don't want a drink, wot? That's capital stuff here!"
Sovna nodded, and extended her paw. She tried to swig from the flask just as Greeves did, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head, when she realized that the flask contained not wine, but really strong brandy. Then again, it probably was for the better now...
"Don't blame yourself too much. The first time is hard for most hares."
"Most?"
"Well, chapess…" Greeves leaned against the tree, "I know hares who swear that the only thing they felt when splittin' their first vermin was shock… in their weapon paws. Who knows if they bluster. I know a hare who once, when very drunk, said that the feel of triumph when you see your enemy bleed, see confidence in his eyes turn to despair, is one of the two best things to feel in life. Not a very happy life that hare has."
Sovna shuddered. "And you? I mean, Sergeant Greeves, sah. What did you feel?"
Greeves gazed up, where, above the dark pine canopy, was the even darker sky. "A pretty bold question, wot? After my first time I broke down, and after my second I didn't want to live."
Sovna looked at him in amazement. Of all the Gallopers, Greeves seemed the very essence of old soldier who devoted his entire life to service and enjoyed every minute of it. It was impossible to imagine him crushed by guilt. The veteran either noticed her reaction, or guessed it.
"Hard to believe, wot?"
"Yea… And you're still in the Long Patrol?"
"Well... I'd hate to see young, lively hares, who have hard time raising their weapons in anger, like you are now, getting' hanged from a tree by a rope passed through their shins, and then, if they're really blinkin' lucky, used for target practice. And the Long Patrol – here I can do a thing or two about that."
With the sudden sick feeling, Sovna realized that Greeves walked with a very slight limp, and both of his footpaws bore symmetrical old scars.
"So," concluded the sergeant, "unless Captain uses your sorry hide for leggings tomorrow morning, you better get over it, before somethin' even worse happens to you, because you hesitated at the wrong moment. And go, clean yourself, take your place at the fire, before you turn into a block of frozen mud!"
As Greeves walked away, Sovna looked at his back glumly. "Hard time, eh?.. As if." she whispered almost inaudibly, before getting up and following him.
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Aldwin questioned Reyce and Scorr well into the night, past the time when most of his hares were long asleep. As far as he could see, they were too numbed by everything – and too drunk, after emptying his flask of wine on empty stomachs – for crafting elaborate lies. But none of what they could say was good. They were just one of the great many groups of vermin refugees, who fled the Northlands, escaping an assault by Axehound otters, and highland squirrels, now allied to them. The refugees were desperate – and some of their groups were bound to be much larger and more dangerous. In fact, the three foxes ran away from one such small horde. Aldwin knew that winter will kill most of the vermin before they can get deep into Mossflower or Salamandastron lands – and that was probably the idea behind the otters' autumn campaign – but not before they can cause much chaos in the already-wild territory, where the mysterious travelers had to be found!
He sighed, looking at his prisoners, who fell asleep where they sat. The kitten was still hugging the young fox, as if he was her parent. What he was going to do with them? For a long time the laws of Salamandastron and the regulations of the Long Patrol demanded to treat unarmed prisoners with mercy, until they can be escorted to an acting badger ruler for judgment. Something that was flatly impossible now, as often happened in the Gallopers' line of duty.
The morning of the next day was barely different from night, the cheerless forest sinking in murky grey. Looks on the foxes' faces were a mix of resignation, telling that they didn't really expect Aldwin to honor his promises, and relief at seeing no implements of torture. The captain looked at them, stern and imperious.
"Your kind is unwelcome on the lands that hold Salamandastron's paw down to the south. So head south only until you find the River Moss, it's sorta hard to miss. Then follow it inland to Mossflower, until you find a big, wide, rocky ford. Cross it and follow the path to the south, so you'll find the Redwall Abbey. One of their confoundin' rules, I recon, demands offerin' shelter to all creatures alike. If you manage to meet one of their brothers or sisters, beasts who wear green habits, before you're killed by other Mossflower beasts, you will be safe."
The all three prisoners stared at the big hare in utter disbelief. He continued:
"It is a hard path, but it is a chance, and the only one you three will ever have. But if I learn that you went another way, or that you've harmed any innocent woodlanders – and seasons forbid you to doubt that I will learn that, sooner or later…" Aldwin smiled sinisterly. "Well, chums, do you know why if you end up on the rack, it is better to be on the rack of a cruel, bloodthirsty beast? Because such types like to see others squirm too much! They always brag how they'll make you scream for a season, and then get carried away and rip you apart in half a day. I, on the other paw, am not a cruel beast, so if I say that when I find you, you'll scream for a season, that's exactly what will happen!"
The hare paused, letting his words sink in, and threw the young fox a half-filled travel bag. "Just to prove that I'm not a cruel beast. We can't spare much food, but that should keep you goin' for a while."
A wordless sob escaped the vixen's breast. She fell on her knees, trying to hug and kiss Aldwin's footpaws, but the hare avoided her just in time.
"Hey, hey, if you're grateful to me, you better show it by heedin' my bloomin' words and goin' right to Redwall, till this thrice-cursed land is far behind!"