36. The Descending Axe.

Some of the reluctant companions couldn't help but think about the fickleness of fortune. A couple of hours ago they readied himself for a cold and perilous night in the frozen forest, but now they rested in a warm burrow, their fur dry and their bellies full.

Many seasons ago Flicker found a mole den, a big one, which once housed a whole settlement of little diggers. But by the time the young, starving and ill squirrel stumbled upon it, only an old couple of moles remained. They nursed him back to health. Flicker did not have anywhere else to go, so he remained with them until the end of their days. And by that time he got so used to living underground that he never thought of leaving and seeking a home more appropriate to his kind. Or so the grey squirrel explained.

The burrow was built with care and cunning, with intersecting tunnels weaving among the mighty tree roots, many rooms big and small, and a hearth made of large, roughly-hewn stones. A mark of desolation was already upon it, as could be expected from dwelling that was too large for its sole inhabitant: dust everywhere, cobwebs in faraway corners, mold upon hangings that covered the wall of hard-packed earth, straw mats on the floor falling to pieces, wooden beds and long benches creaking with age. But it kept cold and snow outside, and what else could a tired traveler desire?

A good dinner, of course. Which Flicker did not fail to provide: there were plenty of nuts, honey, preserved fruits, berries and mushrooms and every product one could make from these simple ingredients in his house, as well as a plenty of hot herbal tea to wash them down.

"If you starved once, it's hard to break the habit of storing far more than you need, yes," the grey squirrel noted. "Maybe you'll help me to finally get rid of all those old hoards in my larder, if this weather keeps up."

Captain Aldwin laughed heartily. "Now that will be a task to my hares' likin', wot! Much thanks for your hospitality!"

Kethra, who was among the beasts who packed the sitting room of the burrow, was not in such a light mood. She would have liked to leave all the thinking and judgment to Aldwin and other woodlanders for a time and spare herself the mental exertion, except she couldn't. They were woodlanders after all, naive, foolish prey creatures. Well, the squirrel was too, but Kethra reasoned that he must be just as well-seasoned as his looks suggested, and having some tricks up his nonexistent sleeve, else how could he survive the wilderness?

"Let me thank you too, Flicker." Not that Kethra was any good in spinning words to trap others and make them spill their secrets, but she had to try drawing something out of him. "I must say, this is the first time a squirrel ever volunteered to help me."

"But it is not the first time I volunteered to help a ferret, yes," cheerfully answered Flicker. "Believe me or not, I had a ferret friend before. That's why I helped the lot of you, besides the foolish and outdated notion that any decent beast should extend a helping paw to suffering wanderers in winter, of course."

"I thought ferrets here hunt prey… I mean, your kind, for meat. By all the snow in the world, I nearly ended up as roasted meat myself after running into one of 'em."

"Oh, that's right. Though here in the North those who are roasted only after ending up as meat are the lucky ones, yes. But you see, sometimes beasts just get tired of this sort of fun, start to dream of a different life, believe me or not. I was raised among such beasts, who abhorred bloodshed and hoped that one day maybe a ferret and a squirrel could meet without trying to stab each other in the face."

"I can't imagine how they survived in these lands," answered Kethra. She immediately regretted thoughtlessness of her remark, as by that moment every beast in the room and a couple in the tunnel outside stopped their own talks to listen.

"Right, they didn't." Flicker's voice remained almost cheerful. "I just don't think this is a good enough reason for me to betray all their hopes and teachings. So yeah, I got very curious when I saw you travelling in a company of hares and other woodlanders, and not as a prisoner. I thought I'll never see such a sight in my life again, yes."

"Wait just a bally moment, chap," Aldwin broke in. "I think I might know from where you came from. Father told me about that strange company in the North. Fortunate Fleetpaws or something? Not wearing weapons, not spilling blood, accepting even ferrets and rats in their ranks. Sounds just like what you're sayin', wot? But they were gone before I grew old enough to go on a campaign, and what a pity that is."

Flicker looked at him. "I thought that a warrior like you would not approve of beasts who shunned fighting."

"Weeeell…" Aldwin rubbed his black ear. "To tell the truth, refusin' to fight is a complete bloomin' foolishness in this world, wot. Wherever you go, there will be villains who'll look at a beast who doesn't want to hurt them and see nothin' but an easy prey. But Northlands, back when I was just a young private, showed me somethin' important."

"And that would be?" Kethra interrupted gruffly, irritated by the stab at her and the rest of the vermin.

Aldwin smiled to her, a smile that could make flowers wilt. "I spent most of my life warrin' against the beasts who call us prey and whom we call vermin, from corsairs to Juska tribes. Northlands showed me what it takes, what it jolly well means to win this war for good. And I didn't like it. So you know what, while going around blinkin' defenseless was, is, and will be a boneheaded idea, I can appreciate what they tried to do, lettin' ferrets and others join, travellin' together as equals. And I suspect my Lady entrusted me with searchin' for your company in no small part because I'm one of the few hares who can appreciate that, wot."

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If any otter in the Axehound war party knew that Aldwin and the rest enjoyed the relative comforts of a warm and windproof burrow, they would have been livid in rage at the unfairness of the world. After hearing Spikepelt's tale, they quickly found Dornal's house. It did not take much convincing for Dornal to tell everything he seemed to know about his recent guests. A hint from Akkla that a family mouse cannot afford pointless stubbornness was enough. Heddin left two of the older otters to escort the mice back to the fort, and drove the rest of his beasts even harder to catch up with the hares and their charges.

The otters camped in a small hollow at the edge of the forest that offered pitifully inadequate protection against the ravages of nature. Had they not managed to gather enough firewood and get bonfires going, many of the crew would have not lived to see the morning. As Torbit looked at Groundswell, wracked by cough and huddling so close to fire that he could smell singed fur, he realized that she had a good chance to end up among those many. Being lean and tough could do only so much to stave off the march of time. He and Scrimmo already had to help her walk that evening.

Torbit gritted his teeth. The very idea of questioning Heddin's decisions created a sinking feeling in his stomach, but with one of his tribesbeasts reduced to this condition, even a tribesbeast he did not know too well or particularly liked, he had no other choice.

"Watch over her," he asked Scrimmo, removing his own cloak to cover the aging female. "I'll be back soon."

Heddin Wintersky was not hard to find. He and Akkla took shelter under an improvised shed made of spears and cloaks. While Akkla already curled up to sleep, Heddin sat upright, looking at the fire. His stare shifted to Torbit as the latter approached. "Is something wrong, friend? You look troubled. Please, sit down."

Somehow, even though the question he wanted to ask was completely reasonable, Torbit felt ashamed. The air of authority and confidence that Heddin had about him already made anything remotely resembling a challenge difficult enough, why did he also have to be so disarmingly amiable?

Then Torbit remembered the crack of bones and the crunching sound of snow under a fallen carcass, and Heddin being just as amiable as ever. That helped him to find his resolve. "Groundswell is ill, and she ain't the only otter in the camp who can barely walk. Some beasts are bound to keel over if we keep marchin' in this thrice-cursed weather! Can you tell me, why we're still pressin' onwards?"

Heddin's expression and voice did not change. "But I thought you wanted revenge on some of the beasts we pursue, Torbit."

"What good is revenge for, if it sends more of mine… friends to the ever-calm seas?"

"Well said. Shall I then tell you my reason to pursue those vermin and the beasts they surely deceived?"

"Go on," Torbit answered.

"As you wish. Make yourself comfortable, this might take a bit of time." Heddin sighed. "Do you know how and why I was adopted by dear Father?"

"No. Ye never told me, and it ain't right to sniff around."

"Well." Heddin shifted a bit, placing his paws on his hips. "The otter who sired me and the otter who birthed me had the wrong idea. They thought that you can make vermin into decent beasts by treating them decently. They lived in the wandering troupe called the Fortunate Freepaws made up of beasts who shared this wrong idea. The Fortunate Freepaws believed in peace, they believed that peace was possible even with vermin. They allowed ferrets to live and travel with them as equals. Until one night, when those ferrets finally led a small horde to the Freepaws' camp. I was not even a season old then. I couldn't yet walk, much less fight, and a gathering of weak, peaceful beasts, who wielded no weapons, was like a full larder for vermin murderers. My parents died that night, and I would have died too, if not for Aunt Akkla and her Axehound warriors. Aunt found me on the battlefield, and Father raised me as his own son."

Flames of the bonfire danced between the two otters, their glare painting Heddin's figure red as he spoke. "I am what I am because asking vermin not to bring ruin to goodbeasts is like asking rain not to fall, rivers not to flow. Not only because vermin are untrustworthy and treacherous, even if some of them can wait to stab you in the back for a long time, like a patient adder. Although they certainly are. Because visiting destruction and suffering upon our kind is their destiny, written into stars and carved into their black hearts. See for yourself: the vermin we pursue had no time to really betray your tribe, as they no doubt intended, yet their actions almost destroyed you. Do you understand what I'm talking about, Torbit?"

The smaller otter nodded reluctantly. "But how can ye be sure? It's not like we can touch or smell our destinies."

"Because vermin remain the blight on the land since times immemorial, never changing, never giving us a respite. Because I know the stories of old, and they tell us that the nature of vermin and woodlanders cannot be changed, a ferret raised by woodlanders still would not have even a shred of good in him, and an otter raised by vermin still would be a good and loving creature. Honestly, I can list reasons all night, but then you wouldn't be in good shape tomorrow, wouldn't you?"

"But still, why do ye want to catch these vermin, of them all? Methinks those fighting hares are warriors enough to deal with any treachery swiftly."

"I'm not sure about that. These are not your common vermin thugs, judging by how many woodlanders they've already fooled. I'm afraid that the hares might swallow their lies hook, line and sinker. You see, Torbit, I know the captain of those hares. Aldwin is a great beast, and I still think of him as of my friend, even if we didn't part on the best terms, but, how should I say it... he sees the world as he wants the world to be, not as it is. Beasts say that I know no fear. But now I'm afraid for Aldwin, no, for all of Salamandastron. Who knows what disaster these vermin could cause, by a preplanned treachery or just by being there? Now you see my reasons? Is my cause not worthy in your eyes?"

"But even if it is, we ain't goin' to catch up with 'em in this snowstorm, if we're three days of travel behind."

"Ah, but Aldwin doesn't know his group is being trailed and they have wounded with them. He might be a dreamer, but he's no fool – in this weather he will seek shelter to lie down and wait for the sky to clear. If we press onwards hard enough, we'll either catch them or pass by whatever lair they find, to wait for them on the banks of the River Moss. And don't worry about the ill. A shrew village must be in half a day's march down the coast. There we'll be able to rest, maybe leave those who are in no shape to walk."

While the quiet and rather one-sided conversation was going on, Akkla Axehound pretended to be sleeping, or at least trying to sleep. But in truth the graying otter was listening attentively and making mental notes for the future. She needed to watch that Torbit. His personality was not nearly strong enough to be a bad influence on Heddin, but who knew what surprise a naive brat like him could spring just when Heddin himself required careful guidance?

Oh Heddin, Heddin… Thanks to him Akkla had long since stopped cursing fates for none of her own cubs living long enough to grow out of their cribs. But he was still many seasons too young to accuse anybeast else of naivety or not seeing the world as it is. He remained convinced that their meeting with Aldwin's squad could be resolved with words, not swords! Akkla was far from sure that such an outcome was possible. She remembered the black-eared hare and his father, too. Aldwin was a perilous beast from a family of perilous beasts, not to be easily browbeaten or dissuaded. For that matter, Akkla was far from sure – although she largely kept such thoughts to herself – that a peaceful outcome would be desirable.