62. The Sword Hunt.

Silverbrush found her paws trembling as she was washing Captain Enjo's blood off them. A very sharp blade cut the Captain's thigh to the bone, and bit deep into the bone as well. She did her best to clean, stitch, and bandage the wound, but the loss of blood...

"Silverbrush." Enjo was back to his senses again.

"Yes, Cap'n?" Silverbrush turned to face her Captain.

With speed and energy, surprising for a nearly-dead beast, Enjo grabbed her wrist. "Tell me… Am I done for?"

Silverbrush wanted to know the answer herself. Enjo was her ticket for a life of safety and plenty – and as much dignity as a false Seer could hope for. Despite his moments of foolishness, she even liked him – too bad he wasn't a fox. But at this moment she was more worried about her own perspectives if Enjo was to kick the bucket. And about her wrist getting crushed.

"Only fates know!" she blurted out, being completely honest, for a change. Then she remembered to add a bit of usual honey to her words. "I won't lie, the wound is severe, but a beast of your strength and tenacity can survive it."

"Good." Enjo grip on her paw loosened. "Where's Crookpaw? Patches? Snaketail?"

Silverbrush realized that Enjo named the three beasts from his crew he considered the most trustworthy, after now-dead Barkface. "Patches is dead. Crookpaw is wounded as badly as you. Snaketail is standing on guard right outside."

"Blood an' thunder!" Enjo hissed, sucking in air. He took some time to speak again, in a lower voice. "Listen. Tell errybeast than I'm as good as dead, d'ye understand?"

Silverbrush understood. If Enjo was dying on his own, anybeast who would rather see him dead was unlikely to dirty his paws needlessly. "Yes. Yes, I'll do that."

Enjo was still not letting her go, so she had to ask. "Anything else, Captain?"

"Try suckin' up to your sister, as if ye're seekin' a place to go, understand?"

Silverbrush grimaced but nodded. "Yes, yes."

"And if I kick the bucket, take good care of Weitla. She'd be yers then."

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"You have barely eaten all morning, Seien. Maybe you want something else, should I get some fruits and berries, or bake…"

"Oh please, Mother." Marda kept bothering his son even after ascertaining he was not injured, replacing his clothes and helping him to clean himself. That was one of the things that hindered his attempts to think straight. He wanted to shout at her, but that would have been unwise. "I'll tell you if I want something. Maybe you should get some rest."

A piteous moan of pain from outside of the King's tent reached their ears and made Marda shudder. Yeah, there was another reason why Seien had hard time thinking straight, and for the same reason Marda wouldn't have been able to rest if she tried to. Two of the beasts placed as sentries for the second half of the night survived the assault. Now they were envying those who didn't. Ulakhai was not in a mood for mercy, and of course somebeast had to be blamed for allowing the enemy to break into the camp. Seien avoided showing any signs of queasiness while looking at their punishment, but thinking of it still bothered him – and he had no time for that, while his own hide was in danger.

Indeed, his hide might have been attached to him by something as insubstantial as a single lie. Seien has lied that Zerwik was cut down by foes. Whether he was going to see the next dawn depending on whether Ulakhai believed it. Seien had little doubt that Zerwik, the one beast who always was faithful to Ulakhai and trusted by Ulakhai, simply saw an unexpected opportune moment to fulfill his master's real designs for Seien. Well, there was the possibility of honest error in the confusion of night battle. But Seien never forgot another night, the night when he was named the King, the shouts and the mutilated body of his half-brother in torchlight, and fear of being the next in line for assassination lived in him since then. Also, the possibility of honest error meant the possibility that he killed Zerwik in error, therefore it was easy for Seien to brush it aside. So, if Ulakhai had always planned to dispose of him after he is no longer needed, preferably quietly and without arousing too much suspicion among soldiers, and if Ulakhai did not suspect that Zerwik had already tried and failed, then he was probably safe for a time. But what if Ulakhai suspected?

"You look troubled. I'm worried other beasts might notice."

"Don't worry." Seien turned to his mother. If anybeast looked troubled here that was she. Even her tail dragged across the ground limply. Why was she so weak and easily frightened, totally unable to protect him from anything? Why couldn't he ask her to, say, slit Ulakhai's throat while the captain sleeps?

Thinking of the devil… The tent flap was pushed to the sides and Ulakhai walked in. He wasn't wounded in the battle, and now looked scarier than ever. His bloodshot eyes, his expression kept from turning into a snarl only by an effort of will, his lashing tail – those sent a shiver down Seien's spine. Marda made a single step towards Ulakhai and froze in place.

"Come." Ulakhai was looking only at Seien. "Some good news have arrived. You need to see for yourself.

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Pain in Ubel's burned fingers pulsed in tact with pain within his skull. And the sun seemed to fry his eyes, and bake his head with redoubled cruelty, even in this evening hour. Just standing here, in the open, and pretending that there is nothing particularly wrong with him was a torture. And he also had to listen, and watch, and think.

For that matter, listening to Windflight's boasts was painful in itself. She was making a big deal from taking a dozen of heads of woodlanders and their allies who attacked the camp this night – these heads were now carried on spears and stakes by her corsairs – but Ubel had enough of his eyesight remaining to notice that about a third of her crew was gone.

And Eikeru was gone too, along with all of her remaining lackeys, killed in Windflight's previous battle. Not that the rat was much of an asset, military or otherwise, anymore but the news of her death threw Ubel's thought in greater disarray than all the other recent shocks. He believed that she still had a role to play in unfolding of his destiny. No, "believed" was a wrong world here, he thought that he knew so! Where else his predictions – or his interpretations – were wrong?

Pain and confusion made Ubel slower than usual. Only after a few phrases it dawned on him that Windflight is now talking about the most important thing.

"You say you chased the warrior with the magic sword away from the castle?!" The white ferret stepped forward, interrupting the vixen.

"Where else? Lightning strike me, we shot him full of…"

"That squirrel must be caught! His sword must be seized!" Ubel found himself screaming and immediately regretted that. His heart raced madly now, and the world drifted before his eyes. He fought to stand straight. All the vermin who gathered to meet Windflight's crew and listen to her story now were looking at him. Ubel felt himself like a wounded, bleeding beast surrounded by carrion crows on all sides. The jolt of fear gave his thoughts sudden clarity.

"I saw that sword, I saw it my dream tonight," Ubel limped into the empty space before Windflight and spoke urgently, raising his healthy left paw and curling it into fist for the emphasis. "I tried to warn you about the peril, the terror approaching us, and you all must have heard it!"

The vermin crowd fell silent, captured by the ferret's ominous speech, as he continued. "An evil enchantment lies on this sword, a foul magic crafted by prey creatures to vanquish those mightier than themselves. You, Windflight, and your corsairs, witnessed it, did you?"

Quite a few corsairs found themselves nodding, and Windflight spoke: "Yes…"

Ubel continued, raising his voice again, before she could say anything else. "This sword must be found, taken, and brought to me. Else it would cast ill luck on our whole army, curse this whole war. Is there any tracker in this camp who might be up to the task?"

Ubel's question was rhetorical, so he was surprised to get an answer: "Yes, there is!"

Lurthen Longneck stepped forwards from the crowd of grey foxes and ermines that formed his crew. "Rensk here is the finest tracker who ever set his paw on land. What do you say about tracking a squirrel through the trees, Rensk?"

"What a fish can say about swimming, a river about flowing, Chief? Unless that squirrel has wings, or more luck than Lord of Fate himself, I'll find his trail," a small and unremarkably-looking ermine answered.

"Then do it, unless you want us all to perish in this land!" Ubel declared. "Lurthen Longneck, you and your beasts from the lands of ice are great warriors. Find the sworbearer squirrel, slay him, bring his sword back, and King Seien will reward you most handsomely. Am I right, Your Majesty?"

When Ubel pointed at Seien, who reached the gathering a few minutes ago, the young marten froze unsure what to say, until he felt a slight nudge from Ulakhai. "Of course. That squirrel is the greatest warrior we've met in this country. Slay him, and any treasure or slaves you wish will be yours."

"But remember!" Ubel added. "The sword is magical. Cursed to be our bane. Take it for themselves, and the curse will fall upon your heads, and it will make you wish you were never born. I will send my apprentice with you, for she has enough magic to handle the sword safely for a time."

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"You want to say "But my Lord, I have no magic", do you?" said Ubel to Sheska later, when they were in his tent.

"Yes, my Lord." Sheska nodded.

The white ferret sighed weakly. Efforts before the crowd took the last of his strength, and now he sprawled on his blankets, unsure whether he could even walk without vertigo. He had no choice but to rely on Sheska in the hunt for the Sword of Martin now. Even if that was fated, Ubel still felt his bile rising from the very thought. But his life made him quite used to enduring unpleasant necessities.

"There is a curse on the sword, true. No prey creature can be slain with it, and those trying will only bring doom on themselves. You may experience nightmares, while carrying it. But that is all. Just bring it to me as fast as possible, and you will be safe. The northern simpletons have no need to know this, of course. If they ask you anything about magic, or about what I am supposedly teaching you, just hold your head high, and act like such mysteries are beyond their ken. Do you understand? Your desires are almost as close to coming true as mine. Just do not fail in this single task!"

"I won't, my Lord."

"Good to hear."

While Sheska was gathering things for the coming pursuit, Ubel returned to his thoughts, trying to concentrate in spite of headache and exhaustion. Was he missing something again? He saw, he could swear he saw Eikeru in his vision dreams among the beasts that were a part of his fate. He could swear that there, in the dream, was a savage female fighter – tall, long-tailed – jumping from a corsair ship to the ground to lead an indistinct swarm of her underlings into battles…

Then Ubel almost swore aloud. Of course! As if by a spell, the image before his closed eyes, the image that bore traits of Eikeru for seasons, shifted and changed to resemble Windflight! Once again he misinterpreted what he saw. But at least he could hope that this misinterpretation was spotted in time.

"Sheska. Tell the guards that I, Ubel, want to see Rugger, after you leave."

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"You're looking worse than some beasts I've seen in their graves."

Ubel turned his head to look at Rugger, who was sitting cross-legged next to him. The black fox seemed out of humor. Probably he has failed to find any opponents in the chaos of the night raid. "Thanks for caring about me. Now, I have a question for you."

"And that question is?"

Ubel motioned the black fox to lean closer, and spoke quietly when the fox did. "Think carefully about this one, before you answer. Do you, Rugger, want to be a King? To live in the castle up there, subject to no one, free to raid, slaughter, and make war all across the land as you see fit? If you wish, you may become a legend, work such carnage, that thousands of seasons from now prey creatures still would be using name of Rugger the Black to scare their cubs."

Ubel could hear a subdued growl, before Rugger poked his chest with a long index claw and answered. "Sounds nice, ferret, but who knows better than you that I am not the King material? Don't you dare to say that you suddenly saw makings of a warlord in me. I may be not very smart, but I don't like being lied to. And I don't like to waste my time making sure all the morons we call our soldiers aren't treading on each other's tails."

Ubel put his paw on Rugger's wrist. "That just means you need to find someone who would do that on your behalf. Say, a Queen to share the rule with you. I am quite certain that there is a certain corsair vixen, who will be interested in the idea. Not so long ago, she even tried to question me, Ubel, of all beasts, about you."

Rugger snarled louder, as he pulled his wrist from Ubel's grasp. But his words remained quiet. "You must be bloody joking."

"I never joke, Rugger. I just think allowing small issues to stand in the way of your big dream is not like you. Do you not still practice for hours every day to be the slayer you want to be? Surely, giving our dear Captain Windflight what she already wants, cannot be a heavier toll to pay for being able to slay wherever and whenever you please?"

"You don't know what you're talking about!"

"I believe I do. I may have advice, and even some potions to help you, if you need either of those. But of course, if you want to remain a little more than a common swordsbeast, and probably be stabbed in the back or poisoned before the dust settles down, because every warlord in the camp other than Windflight hates your guts, then I, Ubel, cannot do anything about your choice."

Rugger was all bristling by that point, yellow eyes gleaming angrily in the dark tent, and even as Ubel finished his last phrase, he wondered if this crossed the line. But the black fox did nothing, except growling: "This is something my father would do."

"Oh please. Both you and I know that to your father the vixen herself would be the goal and the prize – not advantages she can provide and followers she can bring. He was never practical about these things, otherwise he would not have ended up where he, as far as I know, is. And I do not ask you to throw her away afterwards, quite the opposite."

Rugger produced something between a cough and a chuckle. "You do joke sometimes, after all. But tell me, ferret, why do you suddenly care about my future so much?"

Ubel closed his eyes. The fox swallowed the bait after all. Hooking him properly was the easy part. A bit of lies, a bit of flattery… "I, Ubel, want to see Southsward burned and razed. And I am far from young. Even if my art would not kill me before my time, that time is not far away. Others may decide to spare too many woodlanders, because they want slaves and subjects. You are different, for you want blood above all. So I want to leave things in your paws. And if I am to survive for many seasons more, you may let me have a place at your side, because you are not afraid of me. Ulakhai or Seien, whomever of them may end up on the throne, would kill me after they conquer the castle and slay the prey King, just to feel themselves safer."

Rugger grumbled something unintelligible, before finally saying. "All right. Let's pretend I'm impressed enough by killing of some mangy rodents to let her talk with me. I promise nothing more for now."

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When Belk came to his senses, he immediately wished he hadn't. All muscles and tendons in his body felt as if they were tied in knots. He could not hold back a groan after the first attempt to move. Agony was everywhere, except, strangely, in his chest. Moving the right paw cautiously, Belk checked his ribs. His chainmail got lost somewhere, somehow, but the thick shirt he wore under it remained. There were holes in the shirt, and dried blood on it, but what he found under the holes felt to the touch much more like old scars, than fresh wounds.

With another groan Belk turned to his back, letting the light wind blow on his face. There was soft grass beneath him, and trees above, their boughs sprawling majestically in the golden evening light. Birds chirped here and there. Belk felt pain receding somewhat. On closer examination it felt like the worst case of overexerting and overstraining himself ever, rather than pain from wounds. Too bad he had no time to rest. The squirrel felt around and found the Sword of Martin right next to his paw. He could hear something that clearly was voice of a stream – that reminded Belk that he was also very thirsty.

Reaching the stream certainly was not a pleasant experience – but drinking icy-cold running water, and washing the undescribable mix of blood, apparently not his own, sweat, and dust from his headfur, certainly was. As Belk finally straightened his back, considering what all this meant, and what to do next, something in the faint, rippling, wavering reflection he could see on the stream's surface made him pause. He looked more carefully, then winced, pinching a few hairs' worth of fur from his cheek, and looked at them.

The hairs were not red, but grey.