66. Battle in the Rain.
Downpour began suddenly, as if floodgates in the sky were opened by some invisible paw. And so strong it was, soaking beast to the bone in an instant, that perhaps if the battle was not already joined, both sides may have paused to seek cover.
The grey fox dodged back, out of Belk's reach, to wipe water from his eyes and headfur. Belk was grateful for a chance to do the same and catch a breath. He didn't know by what miracle he was still alive. The fox was not very tall, but broad-shouldered and hideously strong, not very skilled, but fast. Even at Belk's peak shape, dozens of seasons ago, he would not have been enthusiastic about fighting a beast like this paw to paw. Now, the former Abbey warrior had no time to think about this or to look at what was happening to other woodlanders. He did not even the time what Rowanbloom was doing after he pushed her behind his back. Could she escape by swimming? Before he even started turning his head to look, the fox attacked again, swinging his strange blade, far too broad for its length, and slightly curved on the end, with both paws.
Metal clanged and rasped as Belk parried and deflected, backing away to avoid taking full might of the enemy's strikes, his forepaws feeling heavy like lead, footpaws clumsy like wooden stilts. Despite the torrential rain, blood was visible, seeping from the fox left forepaw, where the first blow of the Sword of Martin cleft his shield. If Belk could hold for a bit more, maybe this bleeding…
Belk's footpaw slipped on wet grass and loam, leaving him off balance, unable to evade. The next strike very nearly drove the Sword of Martin into Belk's own face. The fox raised his sword to finish the battle with a mighty overhead chop, and Belk, no breath for a proper battlecry anymore, yelled wordlessly, as he put all of his remaining strength in a counterstrike. This time there was no clang, but a screech of metal, and a shower of sparks flew, as the Sword of Martin cut the fox' blade in half. Pain shot through both of Belk's paws, the normal numbing pain of a strong shock through the right one, a terrible burning sensation through the maimed left, and he was not able to slash the disarmed fox before the bigger creature jumped out of range again. Raindrops sizzled as they fell on the diagonal cut with which the remnant of the fox's sword now ended.
The fox was understandably reluctant to come near Belk again. Just as Belk got this opportunity to look around, he heard sounds of a scuffle right behind him. What he saw made his heart sink even lower.
"Hey, you, old brushtail!" As far as Belk could see through the rain and thick mist rising from the river, there were no more living woodlanders on the riverbank, except for Rowanbloom. Two ermines were holding her by the paws, with the third one pressing a curved sword against her throat. "Drop your sword, yield or I'll carve this one up!"
Belk made his answer sound as cold and menacing as he could. "Do it, and you're a deadbeast, that I swear."
"Hmph." This time it was the fox who spoke. "You talk big and angry, old brushtail, but I was not born blind. I bet in your youth you were a fighter I wouldn't like to face, but now you barely can stand. Spare yourself and your what, daughter, the pain, before we take this wondrous sword from your carcass anyway."
Belk knew that was both true and difficult to deny. "I'd sooner throw this sword in the river than let you have it."
The fox looked at the ermines, and for a moment Belk froze, dreading that he would order them to kill Rowanbloom. But the fox merely pointed at her with the broken sword and said. "You may welcome a splendid death, but Vulpuz take my liver if that goes for her. Hey, how about this, squirrel – I swear by dark of the winter, by coming of daylight, by my own pride as a warrior, to make sure that this girl goes unharmed, free to run away wherever she wills, if you give your sword to me. I'm Grotgard from Ice's End, and if you ever heard of me, you should know that I'm a fox of my word."
Belk wiped rainwater from his face again, as he considered the offer. Considerations were pretty simple. The vermin could not be trusted. They likely were going to kill both of them as soon as he drops the Sword of Martin. Even Rowanbloom herself looked as if she was preparing to enter the Dark Forest, staring blankly ahead, not at him. Then words came to the forefront of Belk's mind. The words that came from his mind… no were channeled through his mind.
To pay for what is yours, use what is mine.
Belk clenched his teeth. Hopefully, Martin or whomever sent him that dream, knew what he was doing. Hopefully there was no misinterpretation of the jumbled vision. But then again, hopes for that were better than nothing. Belk spoke.
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From the first moment Kethra knew they were doomed. A single armed beast, and armed with merely a sword, stood next to no chance against seven tough-looking fighters. The cripple king and herself, bone-tired and unarmed as she was, did not count.
"Help me! They took me prisoner!" Kethra cried out as she threw herself on her knees before the leading female ermine.
Lurthen's scouts knew, in principle, that there are a few vermin creatures among the foe, but the idea of vermin and woodlanders fighting on the same side was just too alien to remember in a heated moment. So the group paused for a moment, and Kethra got no spears lodged in her even as she lunged as if to hug the ermine's knees – and then yanked her paws from under her!
"Southswaaard!" Eskil used the momentary confusion of the foes to shout the battlecry and charge them, holding his sword in both paws, and slashing left and right with no regard for defense. That was the last part where things went as Kethra hoped when she attempted her desperate gamble. From the beginning she was aiming for the dirk she saw on the ermine's belt. But while the ermine dropped her spear as she fell, she was not stunned, and she understood Kethra's intent just in time. She kicked Kethra in the stomach savagely just as the ferret reached for the blade, and drew the weapon herself. Kethra barely managed to catch her wrist before getting stabbed. The two mustelids rolled in the moss, snarling and spitting, struggling for the weapon.
Eskil cracked the shield of another ermine and sent him to the ground with a mighty strike, but there were five more vermin around. The big, fierce otter was a fearsome opponent, but not fearsome enough to make them run. The fox directly in Eskil's path backed away, cowering behind his shield, and even before the first splinters flying from that shield fell – coincidentally, at the same moment as the first drops of the beginning rain – two more vermin were already aiming spears at Eskil's back.
Before they could throw, one was transfixed by a spear thrown from the bushes through which their own company had appeared less than a minute ago. The second turned just in time to see two more beasts bursting into the clearing. "Eulalia!" Sovna yelled, while Suran let out a wild howl. Taken by surprise, facing multiple fearsome warriors, the remaining vermin suddenly found themselves outmatched and cornered.
Kethra heard what was happening, even recognized Suran's voice, and sudden hope gave her vigor. Which was direly needed. The ermine she struggled against was a sinewy, tough one, she kicked, and clawed, and bit, as the two mustelids rolled in the moss, struggling for the dirk. All Kethra could do with her weary muscles was preventing that dirk from ending up in her throat. She almost lost her grip as the ermine managed to slam a knee into her already hurting belly. Before Kethra could recover, the ermine was sitting on top of her, trying to bring the blade down. She clawed at the foe's eyes, but the ermine managed to catch her free paw. Time slowed just enough for Kethra to feel terror. She could not suck another breath in, rainwater suddenly pouring from the heavens half-blinded her, her stomach felt like all her guts tied themselves into one huge horribly painful knot, her paws were about to fail her.
Then out of the corner of her remaining eye she saw Suran. The fox just finished tearing his spear from the body of a fallen vermin. The fact that the ermine grappling with Kethra now was firmly on top gave him a decent shot, one that even a green youngster was not very likely to miss, much less the feared Suran Longspear. But instead of throwing his spear, the fox stepped towards Kethra and her opponent, raising it like a club. Or tried to step, anyway. From her position Kethra could not see if one of the foes lying on the ground stabbed Suran or just caught his paw, but the fox stumbled and fell.
Kethra did not even have time or strength to scream in rage and terror when the ermine drove the dirk down.
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Aldwin saw stars, as he stumbled and backed away. A few seconds later, after his senses returned to him he found that his helmet was no longer on his head. He must have donned it poorly in haste. At least the head itself still seemed whole.
Quite a number of southswarders could envy him for that. The heavy rain and the rising mist prevented Aldwin from seeing the whole battlefield, but he could see that woodlanders are doing poorly. This peculiar band of vermin was small, perhaps one fifth or even one tenth of the numbers that now assailed them, but they fought in a proper fashion, locking their red-and-white painted shields around a bundle of raven's feathers on a pole, which served as their banner, and meeting attack from any direction with spear thrusts. Southswarders battled bravely, for simple woodlanders they were, but Aldwin had only started organizing their training. So they threw themselves against the enemy like a mob, each beast fighting on his own, without any order, and their assaults chocked on their own blood. Bodies now littered the earth before the vermin's circle. Their blood mixed with rainwater, and Aldwin's footpaws were soaked in it. A mole stumbled aimlessly, clutching the wound in his belly and fell heavily like a sack of grain not three steps from the captain. Spears, javelins and stones flew at the vermin, mostly bouncing harmlessly off their shields. Aldwin knew that something had to be done. But as everybeast rushed out of the camp, in response to the warning call, he had no time to gather the Gallopers. He looked around, and saw Bascinette to the left of him shouting something that Aldwin could not discern over the ringing in his own ears and din of battle to a bunch of squirrels and voles entrusted to her just a couple of days ago. If she was trying to make them into a formation, that was a doomed effort. But if Aldwin could gather some of his hares, maybe they could break through the wall of shields, and let the southswarders follow…
"Eulaliaaaa!" This Aldwin heard clearly enough, and before looking he could tell that such a mighty roar definitely belonged to Sparth. The big hare, as Aldwin saw when he did look, also knew that the wall of shields had to be broken through. But Sparth was not about to lose time gathering his comrades in the chaos of battle. He threw his own shield away, holding the long-hafted axe with both paws, and rushed forward.
"Chaaaarge!" Aldwin shouted, as he rushed towards Sparth and the enemy, hoping that southswarders would follow him. Sparth was not far away, but everything still happened too swiftly.
A spearheard glanced powerlessly off Sparth's armored side, as he brought down his axe, cleaving through a shield and its owner. But the axeblade got stuck in the meat and bone, and as Sparth lost a second trying to pull it out, vermin to the sides of the slain one and from their second rank struck with their spears. Not all managed to find a weak point in the hare's armor – only two did and that was enough. Aldwin, still ten steps away, saw one spearhead got lodged in Sparth's armpit, and other in his throat. But even mortally wounded, Sparth was not yet done for. Letting his axe fall with the fox slain by it, he seized both spears piercing him and jerked back with all his strength. One of the spearvermin just lost his weapon and his balance, the other was too slow to let go, and got pulled out of the ranks right into the path of Aldwin and Aldwin's claymore.
Aldwin's "eulalia" more resembled a howl than a battlecry as he beheaded the hapless foe with a single stroke and rushed into the small breach that Sparth just made in the vermin ranks.
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At the last moment, Kethra managed to twist her long neck just enough to avoid having a pointed blade driven through her remaining eye. A blaze of pain in her cheek and fear of imminent death gave her a burst of strength for a few seconds. She managed to catch the ermine's weapon paw again and almost managed to push the foe off her. But this strength could not last. The fear became numbing horror, as her paws shook and faltered again under the enemy's press. Then the ermine suddenly swayed, strength quickly flowing out of the wiry limbs, just as and blood started flowing out of the fanged mouth. When Kethra pushed the body away and sat, she saw the spear transfixing the ermine's torso, and empty-pawed Suran on one knee a few steps aside. The fox tried to stand, but fell on his butt with a groan, his left footpaw clearly hurt. There were no enemies before Kethra's eyes who weren't dying, and it seemed that the small battle was won.
"What took you so long? Ash and bones, I thought by your age you have seen enough females wrestling already." Pain in Kethra's wounded cheek that immediately followed the words was stinging but tolerable, so it seemed she at least still had that cheek.
"Had my reason." Kethra expected a verbal barb in response, but Suran sounded grim and somber. Not a tone Kethra ever associated with him. He looked as grim as a beast during one's own funeral too, though this may have been the effect of weariness and rain-soaked fur, clinging tightly to his frame. "I guess now I can tell you, once we get into the camp and have our wounds bound."
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Sovna did not hear that, she had no time to check what was happening with others. The opponent she ran into was a grey-furred fox, not nearly as big as Suran, but still formidable. With only a sword against a sickle-like blade and shield, she found herself hard pressed, retreating before the foe. But there was still no fear, only the elation she felt every time she had to fight for her life, starting from her very first duel, against another fox in the snow-covered and wet Northlands forest. She backed away and parried, dodged wild swings at the last moment and counterattacked, moving with lightness of a dancer even on the rain-soaked moss – all the practice was not in vain. Then a waft of wind threw flying rainwater into the fox' face, he blinked, and Sovna struck, stabbing his shoulder. He backed away, trying to cover behind his round shield, but Sovna slashed low, steel bit into his footpaw, and he fell, losing the shield.
"Wait!" The fox dropped his curved sword as well. "Mercy!"
Sovna stabbed again, piercing the fox's paw as he tried to shield his head. "Meeercy!" he screamed, as the blade got lodged between his forepaw bones momentarily.
This time Sovna heard. She stood, panting, the sword tip pointed at the fox. The excitement of battle was disappearing faster than blood, washed from the blade by veritable streams of rain. And as always, self-loathing flooded in its place. Killing the vermin was pretty much a Long Patroller's job, of course, but a job that was supposed to be done with a sense of grim necessity, not enjoyment! Fighting the familiar thoughts back, Sovna growled. "And what you would've said, had I asked you for mercy, vermin?"
The fox looked at her in clear desperation. "I'd say: "Rise up, you'll make a fine slave.""
Despite all the seriousness of the moment, Sovna suddenly felt an urge to laugh. "All right. Rise blinking up. Can you walk?"
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Belk looked at the tip of the Sword of Martin nearly touching at his chest. Rowanbloom disappeared in the rain already. Grotgard did not lie, and the dream was not wrong. So at least Belk could die with the dubious comfort provided by knowledge that his death and loss of the Sword were all parts of Martin's plan.
Grotgard started raising the Sword of Martin for a deathblow… and lowered it. "Go. Run."
Belk blinked, looking at him uncomprehendingly. Grotgard sighed. "What sort of stories would they tell about me, if I kill an old beast with the sword he surrendered with his own paws because I threatened a female? Just go. Find some other place to die."
Belk did not need to be asked thrice.