79. Battle of Villains.

"Surround them! Fight, you worthless worms!" Sheska slapped a soldier of the royal guard who looked as if he was too shocked to move and pushed him towards the enemy. She gathered all of them this night to ensure safety of their true master, and kept them under arms, but arms and armor alone could not easily turn bullies and braggarts into real warriors.

At least they stiffened the spines of their wearers enough to prevent them from breaking immediately. Now Sheska saw that the bloody long-ears who appeared as if from nowhere numbered only five or six. Against these numbers the fight was winnable. If only she could stop her soldiers from scattering before the big hare with an equally big claymore, who led the rest, slashing and smiting left and right!

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Aldwin did not feel his wounds in the heat of battle, and only realized that his right footpaw is pinned to the ground when he tried to make another step. He turned to the right, but the sneaky weasel who stabbed him already escaped his reach – and the short spear she left lodged in his footpaw twisted, sending a jolt of pain that broke through the Captain's battle haze. For a moment he saw nothing and could do nothing, beyond holding back a scream. The next thing he saw was Bascinette attacking a fox who nearly beheaded him. Espadron stepped forward too, protecting his Captain from the other side.

"Bloody…" Aldwin gritted his teeth, again trying not to scream, as he pulled the spear out. Not the smartest move perhaps, as the speartip could have been barbed, but this time it wasn't. But that was the extent of the Captain's luck – as he tried to make a step, his right paw went from under him, and he fell heavily. Then he screamed.

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Sheska's heart raced faster in elation. She got the big hare, and the rest of them have lost their momentum, trying to protect their fallen warlord. Now the vermin guard s surrounded the small band of foes from all sides and their superior numbers were bound to tell.

It took several seconds for Sheska to notice the growing noises from the back, shouts cutting through the rest of battle noise, and then to realize what they were shouting:

"Southswaaard!"

And then, as she turned towards them, a whole wave of woodlanders – those strange rodents from Castle Floret, and a whole mix of others crashed upon her soldiers from the darkness. Too late Sheska realized that in the confusion very few if any soldiers must have been left to defend the palisade from the Castle's direction.

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Though the camp was not big, in darkness and chaos of the battle Treestalker briefly lost the direction to Ubel's tent. Now that was completely unfair! The young ferret had the feeling that even if this battle was going to be end for all of them, the thrice-cursed sorcerer would escape somehow, and was not going to let him. Yet it seemed fate itself kept protecting Ubel!

Treestalker rushed left and right, trying to understand where in the Hellgates he was, and fell, tripping over a body in his path he failed to spot. As he rose, he looked at the deadbeast. A female ferret, older than him, but definitely not Blackear. Judging by her wound, she had been pierced through by a javelin, and ran away from the thick of battle, trying in vain to find someone capable of fixing a mortal injury, then crawled, and then died.

Treestalker shook his head, trying to chase away unwanted thoughts. Blackear could take care of herself, she was a more experienced warrior than him, for Vulpuz' sake, and she had the rest of the score to protect her. She was going to be fine, unless the battle was going to be lost, and he alone could not turn around, could not do a thing to change her fate, even if he tried.

Or could he?

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Marda needed all of her scant courage to gather Ulakhai's armor and bring it to him when the battle was still only beginning. She tried to stay near Ulakhai in case he needed whatever other little help she could offer, she really did, she feared him too, of course, like she feared all creatures who kept her since she got abducted from her home so long ago, yet she did not want to see him dead. Maybe if Seien remained with her, his presence would have given her courage, as it often did, but he disappeared. And her resolve broke, after an arrow flew from the darkness and wounded a weasel just a few steps from her. She barely retained enough wits to retreated back to their tent, before collapsing into a shivering heap on the floor. Trying to plug her ears was of no use, cries and roars of battle were all-pervading. Her paw touched something on the floor. A flask, Ulakhai's flask, in fact, dropped there in haste.

A drink was just what she needed at the moment, really.

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Ulakhai knew that it is not the time and place to bandy words with the foe, but he just could not help himself. As much as he wanted to, killing Marroch again for wounding him, and delivering such a setback to his ambitions, that was not possible. But Marroch's sister was the next best thing. And while he was speaking, Kethra saw an opportunity. Her head lunged like that of a viper above their crossed weapons. Ulakhai saw the ferret's attempt to bite his nose off barely in time to jerk his head back, but her teeth still grazed the skin painfully. That threw Ulakhai out of balance, and, pushing her axe against his halberd as hard as she could, Kethra made him stagger back. Before she could use this opportunity for a deadly strike, Ulakhai hit her in the stomach with the butt end of his weapon, almost making her double over. Kethra tried to back away instinctively, but that only gave Ulakhai enough space to swing the halberd properly. She tried to block with her axe, despite shock and pain, and that saved her, but not entirely – the first heavy blow nearly knocked her off her paws, and the second sent her to the ground. Twirling the heavy halberd as easily as if it was a mere stick, Ulakhai stabbed down, intending to pierce Kethra's chest right through the chainmail. He snarled in frustration, when, by swift reaction or sheer luck, Kethra managed to block the downward trust by holding her axe in both paws, the axehaft getting right between the crescent blade of the halberd and its polished shaft, the sharp point stopping an inch from her chest.

Kethra's paws shook as Ulakhai pressed on the halberd with all his weight and strength. Ulakhai could see that. "Your bastard brother fought better!"

Then two terrible agonies struck him at once, like a double bolt of lightning, as Kethra dragged her claws along his unarmored footpaw, laying it open to the bone, or at least so it felt, and at the same time burning, twisting pain suddenly shot through his stomach. Ulakhai was no stranger to withstanding pain, but this was too much. As he recoiled and stumbled away, almost blacking out, he stabbed with the halberd again, mostly blindly, and missed. Then he found his balance completely gone, and only after he fell, another jolt of agony shot through his other footpaw, or, more accurately, its stump. Kethra slashed him without bothering to rise, and her axe must have been excellently honed.

Ulakhai lifted himself on his elbow, as Kethra stood over him, the bloody axe in her paws. Strangely, no weapon was protruding from his stomach, though the pulsating pain remained, eclipsing agonies from his terrible wounds.

"Were you the one who killed Marroch?"

Ulakhai just kept staring dumbly. Kethra hit him in the stomach with the back of her axe and got down on one knee, grabbing him by the fur on his neck. "Speak!"

She looked him in the eyes, perhaps thinking that he's in too much pain to do anything, but she should have looked at his other paw, with which he drew a small chisel-pointed dagger, he wore in a sheath attached to the back of his belt, and stabbed her, punching straight through the chainmail. The ferret's threatening snarl turned into a whine of pain, as she recoiled from him, the dagger still stuck in her side. Ulakhai tried to rise, to sit, at least. If he just got lucky, there still may have been time to stop the bleeding. But all the strength that he had left went into the last dagger strike, and he collapsed. It seemed as if standing and fighting against the odds was not a prudent idea after all. Even if he killed enough here to turn the battle, Marda and Seien were not going to survive the struggle for power without his protection… He tried to chase that thought from his mind. Wasn't a mortally wounded warrior supposed to say something pithy, in hopes that somebeast among the foes would hear and remember? All he could think about was:

"And that's why you should not talk with beasts you intend to kill…"

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When truly skilled fighters demonstrate their prowess, by putting a performance for other or fighting a mock duel, it is awesome. And when such fighters battle each other to death, it is awesome too, but in a different way, one that makes onlookers shudder with terror rather than excitement. Bright steel, catching red glints from the light of the nearby bonfire, against black clothes and dark metal, a straight longsword against a curving blade, Suran against Rugger – fighting with equal terrifying savagery, slashing, thrusting, parrying, taking hits as if they were nothing, snarling like madbeasts. Blackear could not help but watch, and so did others, vermin and woodlanders around stopping their fight to look at the duel of the two champions.

In weak and uneven light that almost did more to misguide the eyes than to reveal anything, Blackear was unable to discern every detail, but she could swear, that both foxes already would have been sorely wounded and bleeding out, if not for chainmails protecting them from glancing blows and cuts. Blackear saw Suran drawing his blade across Rugger's belly after the black fox opened himself with a mad lunge – an unarmored beast would have been left stumbling on his own guts, but Rugger just grunted and responded with a backhanded sweep of his paw that probably did more damage than the blade, given how Suran staggered back. Rugger was not giving him a moment of respite, sparks flew as their blades meet again, and Suran fell on his tail, footpaws sliding from under him. Rugger roared in triumph, raising his sword, but before he could swing it down, Suran kicked him right in the knee, and the black fox's roar ended in a yelp of pain, as he nearly fell in turn. By the time Rugger regained his balance, Suran jumped back up again. The two warrior foxes did not pause to catch their breaths before rushing each other. Suran dodged a wild slash and swung his sword very low, at Rugger's footpaws below the chainmail skirt. Blackear gasped, as Rugger jumped at the last moment, avoiding the scything steel. A moment later Rugger's sword clanged against Suran's helmet, sending the older fox reeling. Rugger howled in triumph as he raised his curved blade with both paws and swung down and Suran roared in pain and rage as he parried. Once again flying sparks illuminated the night for half a second, and once again Suran was unable to stand on his paws, falling to one knee, but Blackear thought that Rugger's sword seems to be deeply etched by these exchanges, probably about to snap in half.

Perhaps Rugger saw that as well. Instead of another swing, he pushed against Suran with the full mass of his body, and then suddenly caught him by the wrist with his left paw – and then the two foxes were grappling! With a deep, low growl that made even Blackear shudder, Suran found in himself the strength to push against Rugger once again, rising from the half-kneeling position despite the younger fox bearing down on him. Suran dropped the sword, useless in such close quarters, and drew a knife, he fought with fury and desperation, kicking, headbutting, trying to stab Rugger in the throat or in the jaw from below, where the chainmail and helmet did not protect his foe, or to rip the helmet off from his head and carve up his face worse than it was carved up already. But Suran's rush of energy was short-lived, while Rugger's only seemed to get stronger from all the blows he took. The black fox allowed his sword to fall on the ground as well, trying to crush the hated foe with bare paws. Suran yowled, as the knife was wrenched from his grasp. And then, with a mighty heave, Rugger lifted Suran off the ground by neck and belt and threw him down, so the very earth seemed to shake from the heavy and loud impact.

Suran still wasn't completely out, he tried to rise, but Rugger kicked him back down. Suran tried to reach for one of the blade lying on the ground with his right paw, but Rugger stomped on his fingers and kicked him again, right in the head this time. Rugger's helmet got knocked off near the end of the fight, so his hideous visage was clearly visible, when he suddenly stopped and turned to look, seemingly right at Blackear, and then Blackear realized that the sound behind her was:

"Southswaaaard! Castle Floret and Southsward!"

"To me, soldiers!" Blackear shouted. "Stand and fight!"

And before she could cry out something else, the battle resumed, woodlanders attacking from all sides.

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Sheska thought that they were done for. Preybeasts from the castle and freed slaves swarmed all around them. She could not even reach Ubel's tent, and the sorcerer was still alive – or so he hoped – only because none of the stinking southswarders knew there are anybeast in his tent. But then she heard a new battlecry, coming from half a hundred throats as if from one:

"Blood on the snow!"

And the woodlander throng about to swamp her remaining guards froze in confusion, as it was in turn taken in the back by snowlanders, pretty much their entire remaining band. Sheska laughed as she run a rodent, who chose a wrong time to be distracted, through with a spear. Fate always was on Ubel's side, after all, and this night was not going to be an exception.

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Aldwin picked up a fallen vermin spear to help himself stand, but in this state he was only half a fighter, swinging his claymore with little hope of doing more than keep the foes away. None of the Gallopers remained near him, except for Bascinette, still doing her best to cover his back, and he could not say who was winning the huge brawl that went on all around.

A poleaxe-wielding stoat with more boldness than experience came too close, perhaps aiming to take Aldwin's head, perhaps misjudging distance in the dark, got stabbed in the face for his trouble, and fell back, wailing in pain. Few warriors had strength of paw to thrust with a heavy blade as if it was rapier, and to be sure, Aldwin himself would have preferred not to try in less desperate circumstances.

Then he saw Sovna and Tesak. The pair was heading towards him, but in their path were vermin. As Aldwin turned towards the, he missed a fox with a long pike at his side, and only realized the foe was there after getting nearly thrown off his paws by a heavy strike. Had the pike's tip not slid off the armor plate covering his flank, Aldwin would have been in real trouble, but even as things were, he had to devote all of his attention to remaining upright for a moment. The fox grunted and hissed, aiming his next thrust at Aldwin's head.

Then he screamed and fell, as someone slashed at his footpaws from behind. His scream was cut off swiftly, as a wiry-looking mouse jumped on his back, grabbed his head and cut his throat with one savage motion. The mouse's fur was splattered and matted with blood, and his face distorted in such a snarl, that recognition took Aldwin a couple of seconds.

"Ewalt, you blinkin' bounder! Alive and kickin'!"

Then Sovna and Tesak were next to them, and old Espadron appeared as if nowhere, limping, but still full of fight. A small island of very relative calm had formed within the storm of the battle, as vermin tried to avoid this small knot of bloodied and fearsome-looking warriors.

Aldwin was not slow. If the foes were already hesitating, one more push could break them, and cause spreading panic.

"On my command, all of you! Charge! Eulalia!"

"Eulalia!" Bascinette and the rest echoed him, charging as he commanded. Except, of course, Aldwin himself could not charge, only limp. He hoped that the vermin would indeed panic, instead of trying to encircle the small group of hares again, otherwise his prospects looked quite bleak.

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Smalltooth failed to notice when he lost sight of Ewalt. One moment, right after some jerbilrat nearly speared him in the stomach and only barely stopped in time after seeing the wide headband of white cloth – he, Silvebrush and Belk's rats, all tied wide strips cut out from a bedsheet on their heads before the battle, to make themselves recognizable as friends – the mouse just happened to be nowhere near.

At first he froze, suddenly feeling himself terribly exposed and scared. Really, what he's been doing here, attacking in the first ranks, among strange creatures who could kill him as easily as the foes? Trying to be a hero? He barely even had proper weapons, Ewalt had to squabble with the castle squirrels just to have him provided with an unwieldy square shield and an axe that looked like it was more suited for chopping wood than heads. Smalltooth looked at the ugly weapon and smelled blood, before noticing that the blade was dark and wet. Did he kill a foe already? The grip of fear loosened enough to make Smalltooth feel a sting of shame. He was bigger than nearly all jerbilrats, and hardly any of them were armed better, yet the rodents were throwing themselves into the fray with abandon! Ewalt trusted him to fight! All the creatures alive who had shown him even a little bit of kindness and friendship, all the creatures alive about whom he cared in any way, probably were risking their lives this night, maybe some have lost their lives already! And here he was thinking about staying away from harm!

"Death on the wind!" Smalltooth shouted more to encourage himself than anything, as he rushed forward.

As if fate decided to play a cruel joke on him, Smalltooth found himself at the front immediately, for vermin were pushing jerbilrats back now, battle raging around some big tent. Thanks to darkness and his own recklessness, he did not even see a vicious sword slash aimed to part his head with his shoulders. The curved sword met his shield instead of his neck pretty much by sheer luck. Only then did Smalltooth realize that he was facing thrice-cursed snowlanders, of all creatures. Smalltooth pushed the sickle-like swordblade aside and struck with his axe, only for it to be blocked by the foebeast's shield.

"You!" snarled the ermine facing him.

And only then Smalltooth realized that he was fighting not just any snowlander, but Lurthen Longneck himself. The old ermine was just not easy to recognize in the dark of the night, with a helmet and chainmail veil dangling from it covering his face. How Silverbrush could possibly fail to cave his skull in?

There was no time for such thoughts. Lurthen feinted another strike at the head, but slashed low, when Smalltooth reflexively raised his shield to protect his face. Smalltooth remembered about this old trick, which Ewalt demonstrated him repeatedly, just in the nick of time, and leapt back. Thankfully, there was nobeast right behind him, else "just in the nick of time" would have turned into "too late".

"Die, old bastard!" Smalltooth shouted, swinging his axe with all the rage he could muster. Lurthen defended again, but the blow forced him back.

"Die!" Smalltooth struck once more, before Lurthen could recover, and splinters flew from the old ermine's shield.

"Die!" This time Lurthen was the one to step back, letting Smalltooth's heavy axe whoosh through the air, missing him. He slashed, catching Smalltooth's extended paw. Smalltooth screamed, as the axe fell from his grip. Or from what was left of it without his right thumb.

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Snowlanders were too busy driving jerbilrats and freed slaves before them, and they had no chance to form ranks, or even realize they might want to, before the Gallopers were in their midst. Yet there were only four hares in proper fighting shape remaining, with no great mass of lesser fighters ready to follow them this time.

A heavy spear got lodged in Sovna's shield and she dropped it, stepping forward quickly to slash the spearbeast's throat open, before he reached for his sword. Another foe tried to strike her from the right, but Tesak intercepted him and pushed him back. Sovna's blood boiled with the thirst for battle, and the world seemed to slow down around her. A snowlander ermine swung a sickle-like sword at her, she dodged, cut his paw deeply before he could raise his ugly weapon for another strike, and made a quick thrust at his head. The tip of her sword met hide and bone, but in the dark she did not see clearly what it gouged, and would have added a couple more strikes to finish the vermin off for sure, if not for another ermine already attacking from her left. Sovna moved just in time to deflect his corsair-style cutlass. The ermine tried to back away, hunching, hiding behind his big round shield. He was far too slow. Sovna slashed this time, hitting him right in the head. Her sword clanged against the iron skullcap and broke in half. Sovna screamed in rage and frustration. Why her blades kept breaking at the worst possible moment?!

Then she saw stars, as the first ermine hit her with his shield.

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Ewalt did not charge with the hares. He had no armor, and his only weapon at the moment was a long knife that looked as if it would be more in place in a kitchen than on a battlefield. So he had no intention to rushing any foe head-on. Besides, Smalltooth probably needed his help more. When the ermine even managed to slip out of his sight?

Ewalt thought he was able to use distraction of the attacking hares to disappear in the dark, and sneak around – right until a tall creature lunged at him as if from nowhere, and a sharp blade nicked his ear. Only Ewalt's speed of reaction kept his head from getting split.

"You said we will meet again, right?" Seien grinned and stabbed with his long sword, once, twice, thrice. Ewalt deflected or dodged the first few thrusts, but the realization that the pine marten brat is playing with him did not take long. By all the seasons, this match would not have been anywhere near fair even if Ewalt still had the sword and Salamandastron chainmail, which snowlanders took away. What's worse, Seien was not skilled enough at swordplay to waste a real lot of time on torturing his opponent. Ewalt's left shoulder felt a dull jab – there was no pain, at first, but it probably was not going to wait for more than a few seconds – after his fifth or sixth attack.

Then the second bolt of lightning split the world, striking seemingly right next to them.