29. Different Ways.

Whether due to Ubel's healing skills or his own vitality, Rugger the Black was back on his paws in little more than a single moon. Now he sat before Ubel in the king's chamber, which the white ferret used as his audience room.

"I have prepared for you this mask." Ubel demonstrated the piece of cloth in question, made of black velvet to match Rugger's fur.

"Shove it. Who do you think I am?"

The ferret had no doubt, that Rugger still suffered sharp pain whenever he opened his mauled mouth, whenever regrowing skin on his ruined face stretched a bit, but if the black fox did, he bore it stoically.

"I am sure you do not mind your new looks. However, I think that snow, flying right inside one's mouth in winter, and dust in summer, can be inconvenient."

"Is that all the reason you called me here?"

"No, of course not." Ubel looked towards the door. "The principal reason I have called you here should arrive any moment now."

Indeed, as if on cue, the door opened, and a vole slave walked in, carrying a long, cloth-wrapped object.

"Your old sword got broken, Rugger, so I, Ubel, thought about providing you with a new one. Thankfully, there was a piece worthy of you left in Kunas' treasury, it merely required some repair and honing. You, slave, give the sword to the captain."

Rugger jumped to his paws, and grabbed the sword from the vole's paws, before the latter walked halfway across the room towards him, then tore away the wrappings in a single impatient move. The blade that was inside gleamed in the sunlight that streamed through narrow mica-paned windows of the tower. The black fox paused, admiring the beauty of this fine weapon. The fishhide-bound hilt was clearly recently made by the castle's blacksmiths – the gently curved blade was just as clearly beyond their skills.

The vole dared not retreat without an explicit dismissal, but instincts told him to back away from Rugger. Told too late. Despite expecting it, Ubel barely saw the moment when the black fox struck. The vole tried to scream, but with his body bisected from shoulder to thigh, he managed only a terrible gurgle as he fell.

Rugger stepped back, to avoid getting blood on his paws, and ran his claw alongside the reddened flat of the blade, gently touching the edge:

"Not the smallest dent." The black fox looked happy like a kit who just returned after a day of playing and saw a delicious feast on his mother's table. "Now tell me, Ubel, why in Hellgates I shouldn't try it on you next?"

"Did I lie to you?" The sorcerer pretended to be insulted. "You will get to fight the most awesome war of our generation soon enough, and if Suran Longspear still lives, that is certainly not my fault."

The black fox huffed, and swung the sword so hard, that tiny droplets of blood flew from it in an arc, his good mood instantly gone. "Not your fault? You promised I'll settle my score with him for sure, you white piece of mold, that's the only reason I've dropped my guard! Seer, hah!"

"The fate of you two is clear." Ubel shrugged. "Follow my path of war, and one day you will meet again. Then the doom of Suran Longspear, his defeat at your paws, will come true."

"Fate! Doom!" Ubel had to muster all of his willpower to not back away, when Rugger moved to him in a few swift steps, and placed the swordpoint right against his chest, pricking the skin.

"What a load of gibberish! You seers and sorcerers trade in nothing but smoke and dust in others' eyes! This one –" He used the sword to point at Ubel's foxhide garb. "– thought herself a seer too, yet did not see ending up a cloak! Well, can you see your own end?"

Ubel sighed exaggeratedly, although his aggravation was quite real. Things were not going as expected. "What must I, Ubel, do to make you stop doubting the obvious? Will telling your secret, which you never relayed to anybeast on Ergaph, be sufficient to quell your disbelief?"

Rugger's paws suddenly turned wooden. "What… what do you mean?"

Ubel delicately moved the sword blade, still hovering dangerously close to his neck, aside. "Rugger the Black, do you want me to say the real reason behind your burning hate of Suran Longspear? Aloud, or in a whisper to your ear, however you choose."

Rugger backed away. "There is no such thing! He was in the way of my glory and promotion, he thought himself better than me, that's all!"

"If this is true, why such anger?"

"You scrawny maggot! You just guessed we might have a history!"

"Shall we verify that?"

The black fox slashed the air again, breathing heavily, trying to calm down. "Go on, say your whispers. My ear is right here. But if you get it wrong…"

"But if I get it right, remember, that by striking me down you will cast away any chance to leave Ergaph and meet Suran ever again."

Then Ubel stepped forward. Rugger, being a fox, and a tall one for his species, had to lower his head, so that his ear would be on the same level with the white ferret's mouth. Ubel felt him shuddering briefly from loathing, when their whiskers touched. Then a short phrase was whispered.

Then the sorcerer felt himself shoved away roughly.

"Vulpuz' ice heart, I still don't know if you're the real deal, or if I raved too much, when in fever." Rugger pointed at his healing wound and smiled, a pretty horrific sight, considering that the left half of his face was no longer capable of such expression. "I'll give you the benefit of doubt. Your plans are pretty entertaining, anyway. But let me tell you one thing – if you think you can control me with what you know, think again!"

"I would not dare to presume that."

Rugger contemplated the ferret's words for a moment. "Well, perhaps you wouldn't. You're smart enough to know that I know that you really need me for some reason, need me enough to go through all this pain, instead of stabbing me in my sleep, right?"

Ubel remained silent, and Rugger smiled again. "Good. Back on that day, when we talked on the wall, you said it'll be better for both of us to become allies. And that's what we will be. Right, ally?"

When Rugger walked out, taking the sword and the velvet mask with him, Ubel fell into his chair, too exhausted to even immediately call other slaves so that they could remove the vole's corpse. Dealing with a madbeast was bad enough – the sorcerer felt his nerve pushed to the limit, despite all the confidence he had in his own destiny. Dealing with a madbeast who had some wits about him was worse. Unfortunately he indeed still needed Rugger, a situation that the black fox was sure to abuse.

Or did he really need Rugger that much? Maybe the reckless black fox was the source of that thing Ubel was afraid of overlooking, an unforeseen complication? The white ferret wiped his eyes, which were blearing again. Even if Rugger was, he still remained an instrumental part of the pattern that Ubel saw so long ago. Appeasing yet another ill-tempered waste of life for a few seasons more was not going to be so bad, compared to what the sorcerer had to endure while serving under Kunas, and before that too. And compared to what an attempt of defying fate could bring, of course.

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The foul mixture that Ezri prepared for Zarfayn did what it was supposed to do. When Shlacht walked into the Ruler's cave again, hours later, he was surprised to see Zarfayn sitting upright, mixing something in a small mortar. The old beast's paws and neck did not shook, his good eye was sharp, he looked just as energetic, as he was maybe ten seasons ago – and just as stern too. A single glare, and Shlacht dropped to one knee, head bowed, as he used to do before his father became practically helpless and was forced to rely on him for the most mundane needs.

"May I ask you a question, Father?"

"Ask."

"These two squirrels. They are only two squirrels. Why not just let me kill them?" There was a hint of bloodlust in Shlacht's voice, his long claws scratched against the stone floor, as he said that. "No need for you to risk and strain yourself."

Zarfayn looked at the top of his son's head, a spiteful retort ready to fly off his lips, but held back by cunning. However strongly he suspected that Shlacht liked him more weak and infirm, it was the wrong time to bring that up. Instead, Zarfayn said:

"Fool. Do not underestimate them. The male must be very skilled. Warriors of Redwall always are. And fate itself is shielding them."

Zarfayn saw his son shivering for a moment. Was Shlacht smart enough, did he soak up enough knowledge to understand what that meant?

"Look at me, son," he said.

When Shlacht raised his big, ugly head, there was indeed fear in his eyes, though Zarfayn was unable to say for whom.

"For forty seasons." The ancient creature shuffled, preparing to put all of his power of persuasion into the words that were to follow. "For more than forty seasons you served me loyally. You were as good of a son to me as fate allowed you to be. Do you think I feel nothing at all for you? Do you think I, Zarfayn, can throw you first at danger this great to spare myself? And when my own life is a burden to me?"

Shlacht's eyes glistened with sudden tears, as he shook his head vigorously. Never before had his father praised him like that.

"Then go. Do not mind me anymore. My days are running out, either way. If you are still loyal to me… put all of your heart. All of your strength. Into doing my last bidding. Be ready, in case my poison fails, and I summon you to do battle."

Zarfayn had an easy time reading his son's emotions, even now, when his eyesight left much to be desired. And before Shlacht even said anything, the Ruler of the Abyss knew that his words worked. His son would fight to the limits of his strength, and beyond them. If anything could defy fate, it was such self-sacrifice. He played on Shlacht's simple emotions well. Why, then, had he such a lump in his throat?