68. After the Rain, Part 2.

If Lurthen's beasts were miserable, what could be said about their prisoners? Smalltooth was not sure what was worse – cold, aching bruises, tight bounds cutting into his paws, hunger, or the terror that sucked his spirit and strength. They had to be captured for some purpose, but he had no idea what that was, or whether it was void now. And to conjure stomach-churning images of what a prisoner could expect from an embittered defeated band he did not even his imagination, only memory. Maybe freezing to death this night was not such a bad fate in comparison…

Smalltooth felt Ewalt nudging him, as war as the mouse's own bonds allowed, and heard a faint whisper. "Don't give up. We're alive and whole. Fate hasn't forsaken us yet."

Smalltooth was grateful for the thought, but mere words offered little consolation. Or did Ewalt have an actual plan of escape in mind? Weren't he the famous Ghost, the most elusive of mice, after all? Before Smalltooth could think of a safe way to ask, one of their captors walked straight towards them. It was a hour of darkness already, but the sky cleared after the rainstorm has passed, and Smalltooth instantly recognized his creature as the warlord of the band – a tall, sinewy ermine with brush-like whiskers, unusually long neck and slightly faded fur.

He stopped before them and examined Smalltooth very carefully, even bending down to take a few sniffs. Smalltooth tried to ignore his presence, but that was hard to do when grabbed by the scruff with cruel strength and forced to look straight into the older ermine's face.

"By eternal ice…" murmured the warlord, before yanking Smallooth to his footpaws. "Let's have a little chat face to face, cub."

Five minutes later Smalltooth, ropes, except those tying his paws behind his back, undone, was sitting opposite of Lurthen on the forest moss, outside of the hearing distance from the camp. He briefly considered bolting, but his footpaws were still half-numb from the tight bonds, and the older ermine had a spear in his paw. Also, now that it did not seem that the warlord was going to kill him right away, Smalltooth felt a tingle of curiosity. After all, he never met fellow ermine stoats from far north before, except for his parents and uncle. If they ever told him where they lived before ending up on Ergaph and what made them leave, he was too young to remember.

"Cub. You're definitely an ermine proper. My eyes and nose do not lie. How one of our breed ended up this far south, and fighting for foul prey creatures, no less? Tell me, and do not lie, if you want to see the sun again."

"My mother and father lived on Ergaph Island since before I was born, and then…"

Lurthen listened attentively as Smalltooth explained what little he could. "And who were your mother and father? Tell me their names. Maybe they'd be familiar."

"My father was Skamkel and my mother was Jofryd, and my uncle was ."

It seemed to Smalltooth that the warlord tensed, nearly bristling, but a second later he asked another question in a quite amiable tone. "Is that so? And what they called you? I remember you called yourself Smalltooth, but you also should have a real, proper name, shouldn't you?"

Smalltooth stared at Lurthen for a few seconds, desperately thinking whether to make up some lie. Mayhap some instinct told him no, or mayhap he was just fortunate in his guess, but he told him the truth. "They just called me "Snowpaw" or "Lil' Snowpaw", I remember no other name. "Smalltooth" is what others called me, after Marroch and Kethra found me starving in the forest and decided to give me shelter."

"It is little wonder that you don't, for in the Land of Ice and Snow cubs are not given proper names until they are old enough to wield weapons and do heavy work. To do otherwise is to draw ire of the one who rules ice, darkness, and fate, by presuming that your cub will live. And were your parents warriors? What weapons they wielded?"

"I remember that my father had a sword, and hunted with a bow, and my mother had a big glaive."

"You seem to be telling the truth." Lurthen put his spear aside, moved forward and placed his left paw on Smalltooth's shoulder, looking the smaller ermine straight in the eyes. "Son of Skamkel. What a fate, to meet you here. Truth be told, I knew your father pretty well."

At that moment Smalltooth allowed his hopes to soar. At the next moment, a horrible pain exploded in his stomach, making him double over. It took him a couple of seconds to realize that the warlord has punched him. Another harsh blow threw Smalltooth to the ground and filled his mouth with blood. "Yea, I knew him pretty well. He was a traitor, a thief, and a coward! Infamous in the entire Land of Ice and Snow! I guess you truly took after your father, betraying your own kind to our natural prey. I wonder what to do with you. Maybe just tell everybeast whose spawn you are?"

Smalltooth did not believe that saying anything about his parents could have hurt him. Doubly so when he was gasping in pain, and excruciating death seemed more imminent than ever. Did he not hate them himself? Yet somehow Lurthen found just the right words.

"My father was a fool, but he was no coward! You…"

"Shut your filthy gob!" Before Smalltooth could continue, Lurthen kicked him in the mouth, knocking out a tooth. A snarl of rage twisted his face, his fur was bristling, and such hatred was in his voice that Smalltooth froze, afraid of being beaten to death then and there. For some time Lurthen just stood over him, breathing heavily, before finally speaking. "I have neither time nor patience right now. I'll decide what to do with you once we're back at the camp."

After Smalltooth got hauled back, bloodied and bound tighter than before, Ewalt did not dare to speak for some time. Only after Lurthen walked away, and the nearest snowlanders were clearly asleep, he whispered to the ermine. "How are you?"

"Not dead yet. Don't think anything's broken."

"Good. Then don't give up. I have an idea."

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Captain Aldwin looked horrible. Armor saved him from most of the blows in battle, but his head was pretty much a mass of bandages and poultices, and his left ear resembled a torn rag. King Gwynfren wondered if speaking is painful for him now, but the redoubtable hare seemed to ignore his wounds.

"How many beasts in fighting shape we can expect to join the army before the next moon, Majesty? Within ten days?"

Gwynfren thought a bit. "Couple more hundreds, half of them within ten days, Captain. Give or take a score."

"All of those simple farmers and foresters?"

"Yes, Captain. Who knows if tribes from the southern border even learned about this camp yet. Eskil have sent some of our bird friends and three messengers on foot down south, but getting more borderlanders before autumn would be luck."

"Then our best chances would be to march towards Castle Floret and give battle as soon as we can break camp."

Those words surprised Gwynfren. "But our numbers keep growing day by day, even if not by that much."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, our numbers are of not much use. I've counted vermin dead, before ordering to throw them all into the river, so others wouldn't count them. A bit more than threescore. I dare say, Eskil, myself, and my beasts accounted for over a blinkin' half of those. And we have nearly two, two bloomin' hundreds beasts dead or too badly wounded to fight!"

"But shouldn't that be the reason for us to spend more time training the army?"

"Your Majesty, Squrrelking Gwynfren." Old Belk spoke this time instead of Aldwin. Gwynfren was not yet sure what to think of this beast, who certainly seemed to be rather decrepit for a supposedly great warrior, but Aldwin was lavish in his praise for Belk, the Warrior of Redwall, as soon as he recognized him, and so Gwynfren allowed Belk to be here, at the small council around the glowing brazier in the newly built hut than now served as the King's house. Still, despite his emaciated look of age and exhaustion, Belk spoke firmly. "Beasts in command of this vermin army seem to know a thing or two about war, they surely do. In all likelihood more than me, truth to be told. But even I know that if you are besieging a stronghold, you don't ever want to be caught under its walls by an oncoming relief force. You will find yourself between a rock and a hard place, or your camp besieged in turn, that you will. A skilled warlord who knows that his foes still have a big army in the field, would break the siege and either retreat from the country entirely or seek a battle with that army."

"So we don't have fighters who can stand against the flippin' vermin army in open battle right now, and probably we don't have time to train 'em either," added Aldwin. "Remember, from what Belk and that fox prisoner said, they had twelve hundreds vermin when they defeated you, now they have about eight, if seasons are merciful to us, closer to nine if not. But right at the moment, a good part of those vermin still may be scattered across the country, pillagin' and huntin' for slaves. If we march fast, we may descend on their siege camp before all of those can return."

Every new argument only made Gwynfren more tense. Once again he was asked to command the army into battle without waiting for reinforcements, and the very thought of that made his mouth dry. He turned to his bodyguard-advisor, the last of the beasts presents. "Eskil, what are your thoughts?"

"Your Majesty. I'm a simple otter who won no battles. Aldwin and Belk did. I can only say that your loyal Southswarders will fight – if you, yes, you, command them to battle wholeheartedly."

Gwynfren tried to calm himself and think clearly, going through the list of facts about their situation in his head, item by item. Aldwin and Belk may have been better at war, but as a King he had to see the big picture. He had to reach a decision himself. But how could he? His head was spinning. Others waited patiently, until he spoke. "I will consider your words over the night, and tell you my decision at dawn."

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Rowanbloom had experienced a number of very miserable days since she left Redwall. So she couldn't certainly say this was the worst day – and night – of her life. But it was truly among the worst. And it probably was about to get worse. With an effort of will she forced herself not to think about Ewalt and what might be happening to him right now. Or about Belk and his reaction to seeing her. Or about Belk, herself and the Sword of Martin. Paw-wringing was of no help to anybeast. She had to concentrate on the tasks before her.

Besides her and Espadron, there were some local healers in the camp, but none with much experience in battlefield surgery. It was nearly morning when the last stitch of the last suture was placed. For all the thoughts tormenting her, Rowanbloom was tired enough to fall asleep where she stood, but that she did not allow herself. First she had to wash away all sweat, drops of blood, and less identifiable dirt. And just of course, in the camp where the most beasts not yet asleep were groaning from their injuries, she could not find hot water for that purpose.

Even in the summer river water was quite cold at that time of the night, and Rowanbloom's entire body was shivering by the time she hauled herself out of water, dried her fur, and put on her plain spare dress. At least now she had one, and it did not resemble a worn-out bag. Cold refreshed her mind for a few minutes, made thoughts flow faster. About Ewalt nothing could be done for now, but she had to find her father, if not now, then in the morning…

"Rowanbloom."

At the sound of this voice Rowanbloom nearly jumped out of her hide, before turning to where it came from. "Father?"

In the weak light of moon and stairs Belk's now-gray face looked ghostly. And his voice sounded grim. "Of all my children, no, of all goodbeasts in my life none gave me half the pain and trouble you did, Rowanbloom."

Rowanbloom could not look at him. Her head suddenly swam, and she barely could keep herself upright. "I'm… I'm sorry, Father… I was…"

"Let me finish. This evening I had a thought that maybe I really should have cursed you and thrown you out of my heart back then, when you defied me and left Redwall." Belk sighed. "But what I could not do that I did not do. I loved you, and I still love you. And…"

Belk was nearly knocked down, when Rowanbloom, suddenly forgetting her exhaustion, rushed him, and flung her arms round his neck. She wanted to say something, but couldn't, words chocked by tears. She did not cry for dozens of seasons and thought that the life beat the capacity from her, but now she found herself wrong.

Belk embraced her gently in return, as she sobbed into his chest. "And looking at you now, I don't think that is wrong."

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"Lord Ubel?"

Ubel was a light sleeper, and however quietly and timidly the guard who was peeking into his tent spoke, the words woke him instantly. He could see little in the darkness, so it was still a hour of deep night. "What's happened?"

"Um… The King is here to see ye."

Ubel stared at the silhouette of the guard. His brain was not working at its top speed, so it took him a couple of seconds to add the time of the night to the whispering tone in which those words were spoken and come to the obvious conclusion. "Let him in and make sure nobeast disturbs us."

Seien slunk into the tent quietly. Ubel tapped a place on the ground. "Please, Your Young Majesty, come, sit down. I think lighting a fire to inform the camp that something is happening in my tent would not be the best idea, am I, Ubel, right?"

"Yes, yes", Seien moved towards the sound as cautiously, as if he expected a pack of assassins to leap on him at any moment. "I hope you can trust your guards to keep their mouths shut?"

"Without me they probably would be dead or on the run," Ubel decided to avoid pointing out that vermin who now formed his small retinue were supposed to be King's guards, and theoretically owed their loyalty to Seien. "Still, it is better to talk quietly. You would not come here in secret without a business of great importance, Your Majesty, and one that should remain secret from the captains of the army. So, would you please explain it right away, without testing the waters first?"

Before Seien got halfway through his story, Ubel's mind was working frantically as he kept listening. He quickly brushed aside the suspicion that Seien was here on Ulakhai orders to test the extent of his disloyalty. Ulakhai had nothing to gain from disposing of him right now. In fact, for the same reason Ubel was inclined to think that supposed attempt on Seien's life was a mere accident of night battle. He briefly considered trying to convince Seien about that. But the young King sounded too scared for that to work. And what Ubel had to gain from mending the relationship between the nominal and the actual ruler of half the vermin army? Well, that half of the army having a competent commander and therefore not falling apart. That was still an important consideration for now, if, hopefully, not for long.

"I hear and understand, Your Majesty. And I would do my utmost to help," Ubel whispered, as Seien finished explaining. For a few more seconds Ubel kept thinking things over. Yes, for now the threads woven through his care and whims of fate still had to be kept from fraying and fallen apart. But when his plans were to reach fruition, as was foretold? For all he cared, Ubel would have preferred to leave Rugger and Windflight in the position of power. There was a certain purity in the black fox' murderlust, which Ubel respected, as far as he had capacity for respect. Ulakhai, on the other hand, that conniving slimeball managed to evoke visceral disgust that surprised Ubel himself, every time the white ferret saw the big mustelid in the company of Marda and Seien. And Seien himself was a spawn of Kunas, whom Ubel grew to hate many seasons before the marten King drowned most of his reason in wine. The decision was not hard to reach.

"I believe, I can… brew something to relieve your woes. But that will take time and help of my assistant. For now, please be patient, Your Majesty. I will inform you when it is done."