55. Hidden Goals and Ulterior Motives.

Seien found the carved wooden chair taken from the Squirrelking's tent to be beautifully made but quite uncomfortable. The back was far too low, in fact, all the proportions seemed off. But he had to play his role, and a part of it was sitting on the vanquished ruler's throne, thus demonstrating to everybeast their triumph. Seien did not feel very triumphant. Maybe because the only thing he contributed to the war was his inherited good luck. Maybe because he knew that the limits of that good luck soon will be tested even more sorely, now that his usefulness in winning the war was coming to an end. So the sight of the looted treasure – bloodstained armor and cloaks, precious weapons, glittering jewelry, silver cups and dishes, all topped by the crown of Squirrelkings taken from the same tent as the throne, a golden circlet with a beautifully clear diamond set in it – piled high to the right of Seien did not elate him. Neither did the sight of a much bigger pile, made of severed woodlander heads, to the left of him.

And when two stoats dragged forward the woodlander leader, one of the few prisoners taken this day, Seien felt nothing too. Maybe there simply was something wrong with him. After all, this was an enemy, the one who directed the army that was so terrifying in the morning.

"Kneel before the new King of Southsward!" Eikeru Manybattles commanded imperiously. Alongside with her, all of the captains and nearly all of the army's lesser notables gathered to watch the spectacle.

The squirrel glared hatefully at her, then turned to Seien. He looked pretty pitiful – small, old, and grey, stripped to the fur, the left side of head and neck covered in dried blood – but he tried his best to stand straight and proud.

"The only King of Southsward is Gwynfren Squirrelking, and as long…"

Before the phrase could be finished, Eikeru gestured to the stoats who held the squirrel. In an instant they kicked his legs from under him, and seized him by the shoulders, keeping the smaller beast on his knees, with a dagger against his throat.

Seien looked around, as was expected from him. "I ask you: what shall be done with the beast who defies his conquerors?"

"Let him swim with the fishes," Enjo Greencloak was the first to speak.

"Too fast. Troops always love a good old flayin'," Eikeru chimed in.

"Nailing him to a tree would be slower still, if we only keep birds away." This proposition belonged to Lurthen Longneck, the tall ermine, agile and sinous despite his age, who commanded the band from the Land of Ice and Snow which distinguished itself above the rest of the corsairs today.

Ulakhai Stonestrength snorted, looking as if those ideas sounded distasteful to him. "This Elmsfort or whatever his name was no great warlord so why he should be given a great death? Just strangle him."

"Please do not be too hasty, Your Majesty, and you, brave captains." Ubel Fireeyes, who, until that point, kept to the background, stepped forward, moved close to the throne and bowed politely, before continuing. "It's only natural to slay prey creatures who defy their betters, but a dead beast is only good for ants and flies, while a living one may yet be of use to us. I have a premonition…"

Seien only half-listened to Ubel's words. What really caught his attention was the sudden change in Elmsfort's expression. The old squirrel stared at Ubel in wide-eyed, flat-eared shock, much different to his previous expression of stubborn defiance.

Seien was not the only one to notice that. So did Eikeru. "Hey, Ubel. Since when this squirrel knows ye?"

"Ah." Ubel turned to study Elmsfort for several seconds then looked back at Eikeru with a smirk.

"I assure you, he cannot possibly know me. But he looks old enough to know my parents. You see," Ubel spread his bone-white paws wide, "all ferrets in my family had the same paint as myself."

"And what yer parents have to do with this country?"

By now nearly all beasts gathered around had their ears perked up. Ubel, like all of the surviving captains, always was tight-lipped about his past before joining Kunas' band.

"They were wandering rogues who lived by guile, and whose wanderings took them to Southsward one season. The squirrels of the Castle Floret suspected that they are up to no good, of course, and detained them. But feeble-minded prey creatures were not suspicious enough. My parents quickly outwitted their jailors and would have escaped easily if not for the desire to steal something that mere squirrels had no right to own."

While speaking, Ubel moved towards the pile of treasure, and now he picked the crown from the top of it, pointing his index claw at the diamond at its center. "This thing, to be specific. Unfortunately – or, given to where that led us all, fortunately – luck was not on their side. My father had perished, and my mother barely got away with her life. And mine as well, but I was not yet born at the time. She was forced to escape into the barren and dangerous lands north of this lush country, so she and I faced much deprivation and misfortune when I was but a cub. Hearing her stories, I, Ubel, dreamed of visiting Southsward one season – visiting with an army of real fighters. And as it appears, my old dream had finally came true. Sometimes fate can take improbable turns, do you not think so, little squirrel?"

His last words were addressed to Elmsfort, but the old woodlander could not answer thanks to blade pressing dangerously against the fur over his windpipe. Eikeru noticed a questioning glance in her direction by the stoat who held the dagger and nodded in response. The stoat lowered his blade, letting Elmsfort speak. And Elmsfort used that chance. "So that's what you are, you miserable spawn of a viper and a thieving magpie. I should have ripped you from your mother's belly with my own claws back then!"

"Yes, you should have done that," Ubel nodded, before turning towards the King and the captains, who stood near the improvised throne. "As you see, I, Ubel have no personal reason to keep this squirrel alive. He and the rest of the captured woodlanders might be needed for a purpose, even though I cannot yet foresee the nature of that purpose with any degree of certainty."

Eikeru sighed and waved to the vermin guards. "Take him away. And make sure none of our prisoners is missin' anythin' by the time I check on 'em, or I'll carve the same bits out of ye, eye for an eye, and tail for a tail!"

Ubel still had the crown in his paws, and now he bowed to Seien. "Your Majesty. It is the time to start dividing the loot, and I, Ubel, wish this diamond, which my parents desired but failed to obtain, to be my share."

Seien was unsure what to say. The diamond decorating the crown was large and pretty, easily the most precious thing among the trophies. He turned his head slightly to look at Ulakhai, who was standing at his right side, paw in paw with Marda. The big mustelid noticed Seien's hesitation and nodded slightly.

"Your wish is granted, my faithful advisor."

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Ubel still was sitting before the dim red coals in a large bronze brazier when Sheska peeked into his tent in the dark hour right before morning. He held the diamond, removed from the crown, in his paws, staring into it as if he could see something fascinating in the depths of the small gem, gleaming deep crimson in the dying firelight.

"Ye said to wake ye before dawn, my Lord."

"Yes." Ubel eyes remained fixated on the gem. "Come in, Sheska."

The weasel felt her heart beating faster as she stepped into the tent. This was rather unusual. For as long as she knew him, Ubel was fond of solitude and not fond of calling her by name.

"I sense something unusual in you since the last evening." Ubel's voice was soft like steps of a stalking cat. "Is it… disappointment?"

Sheska found her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. What could she say? What Ubel wanted to hear? Could he really see through her so well? She gulped and bowed. "My Lord, I scarcely thought ye're doing it all for revenge."

"Revenge?" Ubel finally looked straight at her, and Sheska shuddered. Despite Ubel Fireeyes' self-given by-name, his eyes rather resembled pink coral in color. Yet now Sheska could swear that for a fleeting moment they indeed flashed with red fire, like two glowing coals. "Sit down."

Sheska hastily obeyed – looking down on her master was awkward.

"You once said that you decided to serve me because you felt that nobeast in the whole army can rival my power and wickedness." Ubel leaned forward, over the brazier, and spoke quietly, so his words could not be heard outside of the tent. "I do not blame you for being disappointed at the thought that I may be striving for mere revenge. Certainly, I did not forget spending my first seasons on the run, starving in the barren desert, and seeing Southsward burn brings me a degree of satisfaction. But that never was the reason I engineered this whole war."

Ubel lifted his paw, holding the diamond over the coals so that Sheska could see it clearly. "You must have heard legends of cursed treasures that bring doom to whomever owns them. These legends hold a kernel of truth. Wise beasts know that sometimes an unliving thing, be it a gem or a weapon, becomes akin to a spindle of fate – twisting and pulling the surrounding threads. Sometimes when too many living things kill each other for the sake of possessing it. Sometimes when it becomes a pebble that starts an avalanche of destruction. This diamond – I believe preybeasts of Southsward call it the Gem of Squirrelkings – and my parents' desire to steal it, were the reason I became who I am, and thus the reason this country is now being laid to waste. But in all likelihood their desire burned so strongly because the diamond was already ill-fated. Plenty of blood must have been spilled because of it, as it traveled the world before ending up in the crown of Southsward. If only the squirrel kings were wise, they would have buried it in a secret place or threw it into the sea."

Sheska saw Ubel smiling. Probably the struggle of fascination and fear was visible on her face. Then he continued. "Worry not. As long as the diamond is in my paws, its power is in my control. And when I fully master it, I would be able to work magic. A sorcery the likes of which this decaying world had not seen for thousands upon thousands of seasons. A miracle that will turn my dream into reality and make me mightier than you can possibly imagine. And then I will be able to realize your dreams as well. You hate a lot of beasts in the army, do you?"

This question stumped Sheska, if not for long. Not that she had any doubt about her feelings, but hiding them, pretending to be broken and subservient before she was old enough to fight, concerned only with survival and moving up in ranks after, became ingrained many seasons ago. "Yea. By the fang, may all of 'em freeze in the coldest place in Hellgates!"

"That would be assured." Ubel whispered almost right in Sheska's ear, words as quiet as a crawling snake. "But first, I need to obtain one more item, the final piece of the puzzle. Thank fates, it is already in Southsward, as I have foreseen. With a faithful servant like you at my side, it is as good as mine."

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Score commander Lubrok bent down to sniff the patch of moss between roots of the big ash tree where the runaways clearly stopped for a rest just a few hours before. There he picked from the ground the blood-crusted piece of cloth that not so long ago served as a bandage and smelled it too. Yes, he was not mistaken. The stomach-churning stench of rot and pus was clearly there. Some hair that were torn away with the bandage indicated clearly that the little Squirrelking was the one suffering from a sordid wound.

"Our prey can't be far." Lubrok threw the disgusting rag back to the ground and stood to his full height. "C'mon, ye bullies, we can still cover some bloody ground today. Think of the reward for bringin' that squirrel twerp to Eikeru – or bringin' his head at least!"

The vermin of his score – by that time all have caught up with their commander, gathering in a gaggle behind his back – grumbled and mumbled, but nobeast protested aloud.

Everything went wrong at the moment Lubrok made the first step away. As one of the best scouts in the army, he was a pretty perceptive stoat, and he grew to trust what he called his instincts. So when those instincts suddenly screamed danger, Lubrok did not waste any time trying to pinpoint the reason. He threw himself to all fours – and an arrow meant for him found only air.

But other arrows found their marks. Beasts screamed and fell. The ash tree was standing in the middle of a clearing, with thick undergrowth on three sides, and the archers hidden there could see the small vermin troop as if it was right in their palms. The vermin, caught completely by surprise, shot at from two sides could have panicked and scattered blindly in every direction, if not for Lubrok, who was back on his footpaws in an instant. "Follow me! Chaaaarge!"

Lubrok's reflexive decision was not wrong. He knew without any conscious consideration that trying to retreat could only have resulted in his beasts succumbing to terror and becoming easy prey. But sometimes even making a right decision cannot save you in war. Lubrok realized this when several big figures – strange beasts whose species he did not immediately recognize – burst out of the tall grass to meet his depleted score, all brandishing weapons and clad in gleaming armor. Of course, even those of his vermin who had any sort of protective gear did not don it for a long chase on a hot summer day, and armor stuffed in one's backpack hardly could save its owner in battle. Lubrok had no time to turn and check how many of his fourteen soldiers were still standing. Somebeast behind him squealed and fell with a thud – arrows still flew from the other side of the clearing. Perhaps Lubrok would have lost his nerve, if only he had a second to think.

He didn't. The first foe was almost upon him, a great hulk of steel and fur with a fearsome claymore in one paw and a shield in another. Lubrok threw his spear from the distance of less than ten steps aiming at the throat. The foe jerked his shield upward to defend. In that moment Lubrok dropped to a low stance and lunged forward with all his natural mustelid speed, like an uncoiling spring. His opponent's footpaws were not covered by armor. If he could land a good slash there with his cutlass…

…When Lubrok recovered enough to move even a finger, the battle was already over. And for some reason he was not yet dead, even if breathing was quite painful. He could not help but think that his warrior's career and life ended quite pathetically. Laid low with a mere kick.

"Hey, this one doesn't seem to be dyin', Captain!" Lubrok felt a sharp point pressing against his throat. Looking up he saw the face of the strange beast that held the pointy weapon. The beast removed her helmet, and the big ears finally told Lubrok who he was dealing with – he never saw a hare before, but heard enough descriptions.

"I must be losin' shape." Another hare stepped close. "Do you yield, stoat?"

The answer was a no-brainer. At least until half a minute later.

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Approximately at the same time, in a small woodlander village not far away from the place of the fight another dejected answer was given.

Rowanbloom looked at the young squirrel lying on the table. He did not look very kingly now, hot with fever and wet with sweat, thin, visibly exhausted. However, he uttered no sound as she unbandaged, cleaned, and examined his swollen wounded footpaw, even though she was sure that at this stage even a light touch must have been painful.

"So, how it is?" Eskil asked. After three days on the run, injured and carrying another creature, the big otter looked worse than many beasts on their burial day, even though by some miracle none of his own wounds went bad. If not for another miracle – meeting Rowanbloom and the whole band of unlikely companions in the village where they hoped to learn the recent news and Eskil hoped to find some food and help – he woudn't have been able to keep moving for long. But the stalwart otter still refused to rest.

"I am sorry, Eskil, Gwynfren." Rowanbloom spoke quietly. "The wound is rotting. That vermin blade must have been dirty. There is no cure. The paw has to be cut off."

"You can't!" Eskil clenched his fists, his words coming out swiftly and furiously even though his voice was barely above a whisper. "You don't understand! King must be sound in mind and body! Not a cripple!"

Rowanbloom crossed her paws on her chest, looking at Eskil with severe disapproval. "A cripple or a corpse. There is no other choice. Do not make it harder for the... for Gwynfren."

"Stop it," Gwynfren rasped, interrupting Eskil before the otter could answer. He sucked in a deep breath before turning to Rowanbloom. "Is there really no other choice?"

"None." The squirrel healer lowered her head, harshness gone from her voice. "I swear by the old stones of Redwall and all four seasons, there is none. I cannot work magic."

"Then do it," Gwynfren answered as firmly as he could. "I have no right to let myself die."

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Out of Lubrok's score four vermin, including their commander, survived the fight. Now they were not too jubilant about being alive.

"Do ye know who I am?" Tezza's curved knife was pricking Lubrok's chin, forcing the stoat – who, alongside with his soldiers, was tied to a tree – to look right at her eyes, as she asked the question.

Lubrok did know, to no comfort of his. He could not even start guessing how survivors of Marroch's band reached this country, but he could recognize them clearly – Suran Longspear first of all, then Kethra, even if she was maimed now… And this weasel. Even if he did not know her face, he saw her handiwork and heard the stories. "Ye're from Marroch's beasts, the one they called the Skinner."

"Good." Tezza applied more pressure to the knife. Lubrok could not jerk his head back, so he tried to stretch his neck as far as possible, fearing that any second the blade might pierce right to the inside of his mouth. "Ye scum have one chance to keep yer mangy hides attached to ye. Answer every question with no lyin' or wheedlin'. Ye do that and I'll let hares deal with ye, I swear," she waved towards Captain Aldwin, who was standing nearby among the other listeners, including Kethra, Suran and Ewalt, with her free paw.

"But anybeast who tries to play tricks…" She nicked Lubrok's chin a bit deeper, before retracting the knife and lickin off the small drop of blood staining its point. The stoat was the only one to even pretend resolve at this point, his underings shrinking and shivering in fear. They still remembered fighting Marroch's band and finding what was left of their comrades who had a misfortune to be taken alive. "Is goin' to scream 'till he loses his voice."

Of course the captives, first soldiers then Lubrok as well, sang like larks. Soon enough they relayed nearly everything that happened after the battle in the Seacrag Castle, or at least everything they knew.

"Good." Tezza nodded when beasts around had no more ideas about what to ask. Then, with no warning, she seized Lubrok by the ear. Through her paws were all bone and fur, her grasp was viciously strong.

"Owch!" Lubrok tried to wriggle out of her claws. "We told the truth, ye weasel! Ye swore! Ye swore that… Owch!"

"Shut up." Tezza only twisted harder. "Yer captain, Eikeru also swore an oath to my mate. And broke it. Ye all are lucky that a soft-hearted lump of a woodlander," there was a slight growl in her throat as she looked at Aldwin with one eye, "is the beast in charge."

She hesitated, as if pondering whether she should say anything else, before finally letting Lubrok's eat go, spitting on the moss, and walking away.

"Well, I'm not exactly sure about "lucky". Sure, I'm goin' to let you go. With all your body part still attached, even." A collective sigh of relief was audible as Aldwin stepped closer, towering over the four vermin captives. "But not thanks to softness of my heart. I need you you to carry a message to your King, and captains, and other soldiers. Tell them this: the rightful King of Soutsward still lives. Now he is protected by us, the invincible fightin' hares of Salamandastron. With warriors like us on their side, King Gwynfren and woodlanders of Southsward will crush your horde of robbers in the end, you better be blinkin' sure of that. I trust the wallopin' we gave your sorry troop is etched in your memories firmly enough? That was just the first flippin' taste of things to come. Tell your fellow vermin: all of you are going to be wiped out, down to the last beast. Except for those who lay down their arms…"

Thud! Suddenly, Aldwin punched the tree trunk a hair's breadth away from Lubrok's cheek and the stoat shuddered involuntarily, as he realized that his head could have been smashed like a rotten apple by this blow. The hare's smile made him shudder again.

"Of course," Aldwin continued, "that offer goes only for honest fighters. If any of the scum who have blood of defenseless creatures on their paws, those who slay old ones, mothers and babes or torture captives for fun, fall into our paws, they are going to beg for Tezza the Skinner's gentle mercies before I and my hares are done with them."