47. The Fateful Duel, Part 2.
Kethra's world shrank to the pounding of drums in her head, and the bitter taste in her mouth, and throbbing pain everywhere. Then something strange happened to her consciousness, agony and fear fading away to a strange, dreamlike state. Was that how dying felt? Wasn't your entire life supposed to flash before your eyes when you stood on the steps of Hellgates?
The vole was doomed from the moment Kethra barred the only way out of the small gully where he was hiding. They both knew it. This one clearly was more of a peasant than a warrior, the axe he tightly grasped in his paws meant to cut wood, not bone. He did not even have a shield. And no vole Kethra met could match her size and strength even then, in the days of her youth.
"Drop the axe. Yield. And live." Kethra bared her fangs threateningly. She did not lie. A sturdy-looking slave brought alive, now that would have been an achievement worth boasting about. And she needed something for Marroch to boast about. The raid he planned was not going well.
The vole seemed to be considering the offer, as he backed away. Then, as his back touched the gully's side, he looked around, raised his eyes to the tree canopies above, took a deep breath and spat in Kethra's general direction.
The fight was short. Kethra stepped back, avoiding a wild axe slash from left to right, her sword swept across the vole ribs, he closed in and slashed again, aiming very low, Kethra jumped to avoid parting with her footpaws, as she was taught, but her claws slid upon touching the wet earth again and she landed on her butt. The vole, heedless of his wound, raised his axe for a wild diagonal swing, and it met the ferret's shield with a crack, just as Kethra stabbed forward, impaling him right through. Only a few seconds later she felt sharp pain in her left paw. The vole might have only been skilled in cutting wood, but he was skilled enough in that to get through her shield.
Marroch found her a bit later, and helped to bandage her paw. The wound was not dangerous, merely annoying.
"Was this vole exceptionally strong?" he asked.
"Strong? Brave." Kethra grumbled.
"Prey creatures are not brave, otherwise they would not be let themselves be slaves." Marroch reprimanded her sternly. "Some of them merely get desperate when cornered. I hope you have at least enough wit to remember that when talking with Father and our siblings."
"But you were wrong, big brother…" Kethra whispered, or merely imagined whispering, as she slipped into another vision of the past.
"Oh in the name of Vulpuz!" Kethra swore as an arrow thudded into her shield and another brushed against her ear. "Do you want to die, brush-tailed fool? Run!"
Rowanbloom only grunted. Of course, she could reach the cover of thick bushes with a few jumps – but not when hauling an injured, nearly unconscious rat on her back. As if one rat grunt's life was as important as that of the Marroch's band only healer!
Late in the night, after wounds of the day were treated, Kethra told the squirrel just that. "He croaked anyway! What were you thinking?"
Rowanbloom did not even raise her head and her voice was flat and weary. "That I became a healer to save lives. That I would rather die than be a worthless creature who can only talk the talk."
"I would rather die than…" Kethra was swimming through the world of jumbled memories, rising closer and closer to the surface.
"Amazing." Kethra said quietly. In the lamplight, she almost could see her muddled reflection on the polished surface of the wondrous plate armor. "But why did you bother to dig this out for me?"
"What do you mean?" The question confused the woodlanders present – Ewalt, Rowanbloom, Aldwin.
"I'm not smart, like big brother was, but don't take me for a complete fool." Kethra's word streamed out rapidly, as her voice slowly rose "Ever since meeting you, Aldwin, and your hares, I, we four, were nothing but trouble, a thorn in your paw. The best thing I can do to help your quest, your woodlander cause, is to die. Maybe that would get the Axehound crew out of the Badger Lady's fur and she would lend enough warriors to crush Kunas' army before it leaves Ergaph! Who I am to you? A tool to help you survive the journey? An old enemy of your tribe and kind, and your Long Patrol, and your Abbey? A good-for-nothing villain? Why don't you just let me die?"
Aldwin snorted. Rowanbloom stared at Kethra indignantly, paws on her hips. "Seasons of famine, do you seriously think that any of us would be so, so... ignoble? Ungrateful? After all we lived through together? Could it be you think I planned to..."
Ewalt put his paw on her shoulder. "Rowanbloom, please. Let me tell."
When she complied, the mouse shook his head. "I'm not such a great-hearted beast as Rowanbloom here. I think you're quite right, Kethra. Letting you die would be the smartest thing to do. For me and for my vengeance quest. Had been since the moment we ran into Heddin. A woodlander is a woodlander, and a vermin is a vermin. We were merely allies of convenience, and now you're no longer convenient. Except... to Hellgates with it."
Ewalt did not seem to be able to look straight at Kethra's eyes anymore, as he clasped his paws behind his back. "It's funny. The vengeance was my only reason for sleeping under the same roof as you, without trying to stab you dead, to begin with. But now… betraying you for a better shot at vengeance, I won't be able to sleep at all after that."
"Hmph." Aldwin sounded slightly amused. "Ain't you poetic? I just thought, warriors don't grow on trees, would be a shame for one to die without a fightin' chance at all, wot. They sang about me for taking on a score all by myself, but I'd jolly well take battlin' a score of corsairs over Heddin any day. I'm not sure if you have a heart of steel or a skull of rock, Kethra. But maybe, just maybe, an armor this good would let you live long enough for Heddin to get reckless and slip big before he bleedin' dices you into fishfood."
The hare's black ears twitched. "Tomorrow most beasts would come to see a bally bleedin' execution of a cowardly vermin, not a fight. Maybe you can prove them wrong."
Kethra snapped back to full wakefulness – to the pain, and the sight of a knife aimed right at her face and the iron grip on her neck.
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When Heddin pinned Kethra's limp form to the rocks with his knee and leaned forward to rip away her now-misshapen helmet, Smalltooth tried to rush to the field, but Tezza caught him just in time. "Ye fool! If he won't kill ye the rest of woodlanders will!"
Above and behind them Ranseur shook her head. "What a bone-headed blinkin' ferret. Who even heard of a vermin beating a real woodlander warrior fair and square? She'll die for nothin'. Hey, what's Heddin doin' there?"
Heddin's heart drummed swiftly and loudly, as if it wanted to burst out of its chest, when he threw away Kethra's helmet and grabbed the insensible ferret by the neck. The pain at the back of his head pulsated with each heatbeat, the not-so-old injury reminding about itself.
"Wake up, you coward." Heddin hissed, his voice full of desperation, as he shook Kethra's head furiously. "Wake up! It is not over! Wake up and yield! It can't end like this!"
His knife flashed, shaving off several whiskers and leaving a nasty, thin slash across Kethra's nose and muzzle. The ferret twitched but still seemed to be on leave of her senses. Heddin leaned closer to see if her skull was broken – and it was this exact moment when Kethra's eyes suddenly focused.
Both creatures acted reflexively, Kethra striking with her mailed paw, Heddin stabbing down. Kethra felt sharp, cold blow to the left side of the face and a part of her field of vision went dark. Heddin's world exploded with blinding agony, when Kethra's paw connected with his head, as if some evil spell poured molten lead into his skull and down his spine. For a few second he could think of nothing – in fact, he could not think at all, trying to get away from his opponent, whom he couldn't even see, entirely on instinct.
The crowd fell almost silent, gaping in disbelief. Only Akkla knew enough to understand what happened. Others could not make head or tail out of it. Did Kethra somehow gain strength of three ferrets, to almost lay Heddin Wintersky low with a single slap to the head, or did she manage to pick a hefty rock right on time? What sort of miracle or trickery was this?
Both fighters struggled to their paws simultaneously. Heddin laid his shield aside when he went to remove Kethra's helmet, and now Kethra stood blocking the way to it, but he still had his sword in the sheath. So did Kethra, who had no time to look for her battleaxe. She drew it, an ugly straight strip of metal without any sort of pawguard. Heddin's blade was already unsheathed – but now he backed away from her, moving unsteadily.
The otter knew that if only he could get some respite, just half a minute to clear his burning head, he would dominate his opponent easily. But dodging and weaving and backing away was not an easy task when his nerves screamed to him to curl in a ball and cry out like a babe. An impossible task, had Kethra been in her best shape. But the ferret was groggy too, her chopping strikes still powerful, but imprecise. A couple grazed Heddin – first thigh, then flank, dark blood clearly visible on his light chestnut fur. Most went wide or met his sword. Sparkles flew as the blades clashed again and again.
In desperation, Heddin struck back savagely, catching Kethra's shoulder, failing to cleave through the armor, but forcing her whole body to spin. The otter wasted no time retreating. Every heartbeat still drove a hot needle into the back of his head, but now he already was almost able to focus...
Then Heddin's rudder-like tail found only empty air. Somehow he reached the end of the terrace without noticing it! Kethra was already coming at him again, leaving no time to rush aside, her face a bloodied mask of battle frenzy. She saw that the otter did not have space to retreat anymore and grabbed her sword with both paws to put every ounce of her strength behind the final blow. Heddin did the only thing he could – he dug his claws into small cracks in the stone underpaw and raised his sword to parry. Clang! The blades met each other – and Ketha's sword snapped in two against Heddin's superior steel. The otter bent like a reed under a brief wind gust but kept his footing.
And then the stone on which he stood gave way. Driven solely by instinct, Heddin jumped forward, heedless of everything but the need to avoid falling.
Kethra stabbed desperately with the remaining part of her sword just in time to meet him. And the crowd, even those who were shouting at the top of their lungs to encourage Heddin or Kethra, fell momentarily silent as the otter's figure disappeared below the crumbling edge. So most beasts could clearly hear thuds from deep below – most sharp, from falling stones, one heavy and wet.
Kethra barely heard the bedlam that followed. Everything sounded distant and muffled, as if her ears were full of water. For that matter, her head and neck were all wet for some reason too. She felt as if Heddin ripped all the strength out of her limbs when trying to grab them as he fell, so she sank on all fours. The ferret really wanted to lie down and rest, but she could not. Not before seeing what happened to her foe.
Down under the terrace, a jumble of rocks and unthawed ice piled over the tideline, lashed by waves. On it, Heddin sprawled unmoving, half in the water. His spine was bent at an angle that could make even a mustelid sick.
Kethra pulled herself away from the edge and laid down on her side, heedless of the beasts that now were milling around for some reason. She smiled, remembering what Marroch liked to say about great and brave deeds living on in legends and songs. Now he wasn't going to find anything he could reproach her for, was he?