31. Out of the Eye of the Storm.
Ewalt the Ghost moved lightly across settled snow in the forest, barely leaving tracks, as befitted his by-name. Blade drawn, he time and again repeated a few simple sword moves he learned from his father – killing slashes aimed at the neck level and below the ribs of an imaginary opponent, sweeps at the footpaws, below the supposed shield, straight stabs. Despite all the harm the mouse warrior had suffered over the last few moons, his body seemed to obey him perfectly, moving with the same speed, grace and coordination, as it did before. That was a relief. Ewalt was the last to recover from his illness, a fact that unsettled him, a beast who was used to getting on his feet after any injury with uncanny swiftness.
The mouse took a deep breath, his exhalation turning into a puff of steam in the cold air, and sheathed the dagger blade that Suran gave him. It was a very fine blade, but relying on it would be foolish for him. For a mouse he was exceptionally tall, his wiry build belying his savage strength, but that just meant that he was an equal of your average rat or weasel. Ewalt never fancied his chances in a fair and square melee with any fighting fox, or even ferret. That's why the chief weapons in his lonely war against Kunas were stealth, surprise and intimidation. And when those failed or ran their course, he preferred weapons that could kill at range. Speaking of which – he wasn't here in the forest just for a walk...
Some time later, Ewalt was walking back towards Dornal's house with a sizeable bundle of straight sticks, found or cut from trees. After peeling the bark off them, sharpening their ends and hardening them in a fire, these would make improvised javelins. Pretty poor ones, liable to being stopped by even the flimsiest shield or armor, but perhaps adequate against random vermin brigands or predatory birds in desperate search of prey.
A strange noise attracted his attention. Ewalt's steps became even lighter and quieter before his mind fully registered the new information. Sounds came from a depression between dunes, a bit aside from the direction he was going in. Some muffled words, giggling… The voices seemed familiar, but Ewalt never ignored even the smallest suspicions, so he decided to check just in case.
Silently, he crept to the top of the dune, to see Trugg and Lynne, Dornal's eldest daughter, standing below in embrace. Well, Ewalt noticed before that they seemed to like each other and let that information slip out of his mind as irrelevant. Judging by what his eyes and ears registered now, they liked each other indeed.
"So I'm glad to be alive too." Ewalt remembered Trugg's words and felt a hot prickle of envy. Then there was a flash of anger. Was Trugg already forgetting their common goal because of the first pretty mousemaid they met? The former slave was brave and strong enough, and Ewalt hoped that he could be useful in the battles to come. Before thinking, he rose to his full height and did a quiet whistle to draw the attention of the two mice below.
Trugg and Lynne jumped in unison, and backed away as they raised their heads in his direction, all in a fuss.
"Ummm, we…"
"Trugg." Ewalt raised his paw, cutting short the young mouse's words. The problem was, now Ewalt himself had to say something – and he didn't really know what. "Are you two serious here?"
The two mice looked at each other. Then Trugg turned to Ewalt and answered with a hint of challenge in his voice. "Yes. Or what do you mean "serious"?"
"I mean, do you want to drag her to our battlefield?"
"Hey," Lynne protested, "I can think on my own! And I..."
Her words trailed off as Ewalt fixed her with a stare that could freeze a boiling cauldron solid. "Girl. You're brave, but even that runt Smatooth is bigger, stronger, and more skilled than you. An untrained mousemaid turning out a warrior the second she takes up a weapon – well, I might've believed that, were you two heads taller, half again as wide in the shoulders and built like an oak tree."
"Hey, what do you want us to do, then?" Trugg did not like where Ewalt seemed to be going.
"To do?" Cold confidence was suddenly gone from Ewalt's voice. "Well... you may decide to stay here. I won't hold that against you. And I'm sure Dornal will be glad to have another pair of strong paws around the house."
"Yea, that's what I was saying too!" Lynne was swift to support the idea.
Trugg, however, found Ewalt's words odd to say the least:
"Wait!" He cried out, as the older mouse started turning away. "Wait. Are you, of all beasts, telling me to abandon revenge? I have a debt of blood to settle too! Do you think me a coward?"
Ewalt stopped, already regretting both his words and starting the whole conversation. Now he had to speak carefully, lest the young idiot be driven to something irreversible. To think of it, Lynne also looked at him quite fiercely, so pointing out more reasons why they could not take her on their journey threatened to make things worse.
"No, I don't. You were very brave on that night in the castle, and probably saved my life. Now look, Trugg." The warrior mouse hesitated briefly, trying to pick the proper words.
"I'm not a beast who tells others how to live. I'm just saying, to have a chance of living through our war, you need to be like me. But you might not want that. I mean, being like me, deep down in your heart. I'll never have a mate and babes, by fur and fang, I should not even have friends, not until my revenge is over. If it can be over. I cannot afford to care about them." The irony of speaking these words because he found himself caring about another creature was not lost on Ewalt, and he only hoped it would be lost on Trugg. The warrior mouse hated, how clumsy his words felt. Certainly, he was more eloquent when luring Ilmo into the ill-fated alliance, or convincing Selvathy to turn on her kin. Why did his tongue turn from silver to lead now, when he tried to do the right thing for a change?
"I already have enough beasts to avenge." He continued. "I cannot afford to get myself killed protecting them. Even the Ghost might not return from the dead again, Trugg."
The younger mouse was horrorstruck by the realization. Of course, Trugg knew the legend of Ewalt the Ghost, many of the slaves who saw everything firstpaw were still alive, and among those not completely cowed his name was a symbol of defiance and vengeance, just as it was a symbol of terror for vermin soldiers. Of course, he remembered how Ewalt supposedly died, when King Kunas broke the promise to spare prisoners from Ewalt's tribe, mostly mothers, babes and old ones, if surviving warriors surrender.
"I… understand." Trugg lowered his eyes. Suddenly he felt beyond stupid for agreeing with Lynne that going with their company would be a good way for her to finally leave all the gall and wormwood of isolated life in the wilderness behind and see the world.
"Good. So I'm saying that I'd understand if you won't want to follow in my steps. That it won't make you a coward. Think about it."
Trugg nodded, looking unsure.
"Good." Ewalt said hastily. "Then I'll be going. Just don't ruminate for too long, you two."
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"I believe we've burdened out host long enough," said Ewalt to Kethra later that day. "I'm in top shape, and you look all right too."
The ferretmaid curled and uncurled her claws, checking how her right paw worked. The self-inflicted wound didn't heal completely yet, even though Rowanbloom stitched it with great skill, but at least her fingers could move properly. "One more day. Tomorrow we all will go out hunting, fishing, and logging, to gather as much food and firewood for Dornal as we can. To keep my promise. The morning after tomorrow we leave."
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"I'm tired and sick of this!" Spikepelt threw the small woodsman's axe, borrowed from Dornal, into the nearest tree. "Real fighters cutting wood for weak-pawed preybeasts, who of me old mates could believe that!"
Kethra straightened and turned to him. The two ferrets were in the forest, filling a sizeable sled with wood again as the sun had already started to descend from the bright sky.
"By blizzard! A ferret complaining about his warlady's orders and still drawing breath, now that's a harder thing to believe in! Are you forgetting who's the chieftain here?"
Spikepelt glared at her hatefully, as if she were personally responsible for everything that went wrong with his life over the last two moons – humiliations, injuries, deprivation, deaths of beasts he perhaps might have called friends. Half a day of hard work, something that Spikepelt utterly hated, made his resentment boil hot enough to cloud his common sense:
"What ye're going to do, kill me, like yer fox did to poor Farool?"
"Yes," answered Kethra matter-of-factly. Her left paw caressed the dark haft of the battleaxe that once belonged to Kunas. "That was my promise to you, after all."
Her words were like a cold shower on Spikepelt's head. He bowed hastily. "I, I'll serve ye, as I swore! Please! Forgive foolish old me. I didn't know what I was sayin'!"
Kethra's face and voice radiated contempt. "What a bloody brave fighter you are. I bet even that mouse slave, Trugg, has more iron in his spine!"
"What mouse ye're talkin' about, lass?"
It dawned on both ferrets at the same moment that they were too consumed by their work, and then by their squabble, to pay real attention to their surroundings – all the while making enough noise to attract any sorts of unwanted strangers.
And one look at the direction of the voice confirmed that they really should have thought of that earlier.
A whole band of vermin was half-encircling them, more and more beasts appearing from behind the trees and snow banks, over three dozens, as far as Kethra was able to count with a quick glance. Mostly stoats and weasels, with a few ferrets and foxes among them. Even by the standards of the two Ergaph vermin they seemed barbaric, a few females among them looking just as ferocious as males. Thin and lean, but far from feeble, their bodies were decorated with self-inflicted scars, bone piercings, necklaces of teeth and blue warpaint, now worn-out to irregular stains. Many of their kilts and cloaks were clearly made of fur. Every beast in the crowd was armed for battle – most wielded spears and blue-daubed shields, with a few archers and slingers in the mix. The one who just spoke, a tall, rough ferret in a feathered iron helmet, made a step forward:
"By yer bearin', ye seem to be a chieftain, lass, but what a chieftain does here, cuttin' wood with her own paws? Name yerself!"
Kethra seethed, her fur rising. To be caught like a daft cub! She saw eyes of archers and spearbeasts fixed on the two of them – and of course, her chainmail was left in the house, so her chances of living past one wrong step were slim indeed.
"I'm Kethra of Whiteweir, sister of Marroch! My ship got wrecked on this coast in the last autumn storm. And what is your name?"
"I'm called Sargiss of Green Ravine, and I've never heard of Whiteweir." Sargiss expression made Kethra's heart sink – it was hungry, and judging by a skirt of femurs dangling from his belt, quite possibly not in the figurative sense. "Now, lassie," he continued, "surrender yer axe, if ye want to live."
Not so long ago, Kethra probably would have charged him, odds be damned. But since losing Marroch she had to use her wit more than she liked, and perhaps that was why a better idea appeared in her head just in time. She bended her knee, and offered her battleaxe to Sargiss, holding it by the business end. "I want to live. My kindred will pay a big ransom for me, if they learn where I am."
Of course, her words still sounded angry, rather than meek, but who could expect anything else in such a situation? Kethra noticed, out of the corners of her eyes, that Sargiss' beasts started to relax, lowering their weapons, as the chieftain walked up to her. Maybe he was simply overconfident, or maybe he noticed how precious her axe was and wanted to lay his paws on it before somebeast else did, but either way, Kethra's simple plan worked.
Just as Sargiss extended a paw to take the weapon, the ferretmaid lunged forward, thrusting the axehaft straight into his belly. The barbaric ferret gasped and doubled over in pain.
"Spikepelt! Run!" Shouting those words, Kethra herself ran, abandoning her weapon to drop on all fours. Only a couple of arrows whistled around her, before she crossed the top of a large snowdrift, leaving the line of sight – the archers were taken by surprise, and also didn't want to hit their chieftain accidentally.
Spikepelt might have had a decent chance of escaping too, but he didn't even try – instead, he dropped on the belly, prostrating himself before the savages:
"I yield! I yield! Don't kill me!"
"After her, you idiots!" Sargiss croaked, hopelessly trying to straighten himself. "Catch her! Shargs! Tie up that coward!"
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Tezza the weasel whistled tunelessly to herself, as she hauled a dead seagull up the snow-covered dune. In Kethra's small company she was the only bowbeast, and this day her archery did not fail. Though dragging a bird over half of her own size across uneven ground was not a pleasant task, the thoughts of tasting red meat again were too tantalizing to abandon her trophy. Eating talking creatures was one taboo that even the most wicked beasts on Ergaph usually upheld. Good thing that seagulls, woodpidgeons and many of the smaller birds did not talk.
Getting to the top of the last dune before Dornal's house, Tezza stopped to catch her breath. She was no longer young, and such efforts tired her quicker than before. The fates of many beasts went as they did because Tezza was the sort of weasel who preferred to rest after surmounting a difficult obstacle, not before trying it. Because from her position on dunetop she saw Kethra and her pursuers just in time.
Kethra was gasping for air, blood pounding like a bell in her ears with every heartbeat. Her big, muscular body was less than ideally suited for running long distances. For a time she almost broke away because the foes, with their bows and spears, had to move on two paws, while Kethra, having no weapon to carry anymore, shifted between two- and four-pawed stances as necessary, easily running across softer snow banks where her pursuers slumped to their knees. Then a few of the foebeasts got wiser. The ferretmaid allowed herself a backwards glance. The fastest of them – a lean, agile fox, who discarded his spear and shield, but still had a long cutlass on his belt, was almost upon her!
Kethra could already see Dornal's house, but there was no breath in her lungs to shout for help. There barely was enough to make another step or to rise into a fighting stance. The fox, tongue lolling, breath loud and hoarse, found energy for the final, furious effort upon seeing fear in the eyes of his prey – then his footpaws suddenly gave way, as a grey-feathered arrow transfixed his thigh.
"Run, chieftain!" Tezza shouted after letting another arrow fly. This time she missed, but while Kethra seemingly found the second wind upon hearing her, the fox had enough already – he dropped back, down the dune slope, as fast as three paws carried him. A few of the pursuers, who were not too far behind, slowed down at once, not keen on being shot.
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Ewalt still had not asked Trugg, what he decided. The day was turning to evening, and while all of the woodlanders had already returned, most of the vermin crew had not – only Smalltooth, who helped Ewalt and Selvathy fish today, was here. Was Trugg waiting until everybeast gathered to announce that he's not going with them? Now he worked on carving a small wooden toy that probably was intended to represent a warrior mouse for Dornal's twin younger daughters – as far as Ewalt cared to notice, the tykes adored Trugg. Well, that was another difference between them; Ewalt was not sure why, but mouselings in this house gave him a wider berth than any of the vermin.
Ewalt himself was busy scaling a small fish, bound to be roasted for the small farewell feast that Wincey offered to prepare for the guests, when he heard Tezza shouting. Being an experienced warrior, he reacted before going through the possible reasons for the shout. "To arms, everybeast!"
And he was quick to follow his own advice, grabbing his sword and rushing to the exit. Just as Ewalt looked out, Kethra rolled down the dune slope.
"Foes!" exhaled she. "Raiders!"
"How many?!" Ewalt wasted no time helping her to get on her paws and inside the house.
The ferretmaid slumped against the nearest wall in exhaustion. "Twoscore. Maybe more."
"Hellgates." Smalltooth did an admirable job of putting a complex phrase, like "I told you our luck won't last, now look how screwed we are" in a single word.
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This day was unlucky for Suran Longspear. The fox wanted to catch a seagull, or some other bird, for a parting dinner worthy of a warrior like him. He borrowed a couple of wooden javelins from Ewalt for that purpose. Maybe the missiles were too small and light for Suran, maybe he lost more of his edge than he thought, or maybe it was indeed just bad fortune, but he had no success throughout the day. The only result of much sneaking and a few powerful throws was losing one of his javelins and breaking another.
There was not much point in lingering along the coast further, but Suran was not eager to return and face the not-too-gentle mockery that was his likely due. He felt blood rushing to his ears and nose at the mere thought of what Kethra might say to him. So the fox wandered almost aimlessly through the dunes, in the hope of finding he was not sure what. So far, the only thing discovered was a hefty, smooth pebble – but no birds careless enough to be brained with it.
Then Suran saw it: a drifting line of smoke rising from not so far away – thin, but noticeable in the clear air. Now, this was interesting. Fire meant other beasts. A danger – or an opportunity. The fox crouched, and moved cautiously forward, intending to see what exactly it was.