80. Hour of Doom.
In different places across the battlefield, many things happened in a few seconds.
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None of the beasts fighting around Ubel's tent could avoid getting stunned, blinded and deafened by the white-hot blazing lightning, smiting the earth right in their middle, not even Aldwin. But Aldwin was the first to recover. He saw Sovna's desperate situation even before the lightning struck, and the lightning gave him time to react. He could not run, he could not leap, and he could not reach the vermin next to her with his claymore, so he dropped it and drew the dirk from his belt. Aldwin never practiced throwing anything lighter than a javelin, believing throwing knives and such to be rather impractical in a real battle, and the dirk was not a knife balanced for throwing, so it hit the sword-wielding ermine standing over prone Sovna handle first. But with Aldwin's strength that was enough to knock the ermine out cold.
A second later, Tesak ran through the other ermine, one who was trying to bludgeon Sovna with his shield. But that left Tesak's own back wide open. A powerful blow that would have killed him if not for the armor, threw him to his knees. A snarled, maddened weasel, who dealt the blow, raised her saber again. Aldwin had no other weapons anymore, so he tried to throw the spear he was using as a crutch. Throwing while falling was no easy feat, and the spear went wide, just as the weasel struck Tesak's helmet, knocking him to the ground.
For a moment Aldwin saw nothing, pain clouding his sight, and his face in the dirt. When he looked again, he saw Tesak, clutching his head, but obviously alive, Sovna, holding the very dirk that Aldwin threw, and the weasel, stumbling away uncertainly, her saber lost, and her right paw clasped to her side.
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Ewalt had his back to the bolt of lightning, while Seien faced it. Even while still half-stunned by thunder, Ewalt managed to duck beneath the pine marten's blindly slashing sword and stabbed him in the first place he could reach, the side, right above the hip. The knife only clanged uselessly against the chainmail. With this shoddy weapon, he needed to slash at the footpaws, below the mail skirt! But just as the thought came to his head, Seien kicked him savagely. Ewalt felt himself flying through the air, and the sharp pain suggested broken ribs. But despite the pain and dizziness, he rolled, trying to rise.
In front himself, at the distance of eight steps or so, amidst smoke and embers scorched by the lightning, he saw a gleaming sword, protruding from among a circle of blackened rocks, but somehow untouched, not even covered in soot. If any weapon could help him now, that was it. Ewalt leapt and rushed towards the blade.
But before he made a second step, Seien kicked him again, and sent him sprawling to the ground.
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The second bolt of lightning struck close enough to singe Smalltooth's whiskers, or at least it seemed so. Certainly for a moment flash and thunder knocked everything but the desire of a small, frightened beast to find some sort of crevice or cranny and hide out of him, even the thought of the foe, ready to slay him, or the pain in his paw. But as some seconds later Smalltooth found himself still alive, Lurthen must have been stunned even worse.
As Smalltooth staggered around dumbly, half on his footpaws, half on all four, trying to put some distance between himself and Lurthen more by instinct, something burned his pawpad. Acrid smoke made him choke and cough and filled his eyes with tears. His vision returned as he wiped them, and he saw a gleaming sword, stuck point first in the ground right before him. And a few steps further, amid dissipating smoke, he saw Ewalt curled on the ground, a tall mustelid in polished chainmail and helmet pointing a blade at him. Right at this moment he heard Lurthen's cry of rage, very close behind. Smalltooth's shield was gone, so he grabbed the sword with his left, uninjured paw.
The world froze. Suddenly Smalltooth could see everything very clearly, as if night turned to bright day. Instead of grasping the sword, his fingers were caught in armored paw of the creature in shining plate, who looked like a mouse, except the size of a fox, easily dwarfing Smalltooth himself. Smalltooth felt his paw being squeezed almost to the point of bones cracking, but he could not jerk it back. Neither he could open his mouth to yell or even to move a single whisker.
"Even with my sword, you won't have strength, and speed and skill to save Ewalt or yourself. But I can give those to a beast of great courage." The mouse's mouth was the only thing that moved in this realm of stillness, and his words reverberated painfully in every single bone of Smalltooth's body. Smalltooth tried to cry out that courage or no courage, he needed all that strength, his lips did not move, but it was as if the mouse heard him.
"Merely by speaking to you this clearly, I bring you suffering. If I give you my power, it will get many times worse. Beasts have died or went mad from much less."
Smalltooth found that despite the pain and strangeness of his condition, he could think quite clearly. It didn't seem like he was hallucinating in his last moment before death. Indeed, the whole situation was like something right out of Rowanbloom's fancy stories about Redwall and its guardian spirit. Though Rowanbloom apparently omitted the parts about pain and gut-wrenching terror, which was all the worse now, when Smalltooth could not occupy himself with frantic attempts to survive. Then again, fate never pretended to be fair, and expecting a deal as good as those given to woodlander heroes, beasts like Mattimeo and Samkim, would have been stupid to begin with. Smalltooth wanted to say… or to think, for that matter, that he doesn't mind, because he's unlikely to survive anyway, but fear froze his mind. There was dying and there was dying slowly and painfully, he learned that much before he was half-grown. In the midst of battle Lurthen was not going to do anything worse than chopping his head off, wasn't he? And Ewalt, well, the mouse was tough as nails, he was… No, in this frozen world Smalltooth could see that Ewalt was not going to be all right. He was wounded, in pain and a couple of seconds away from getting eviscerated by the beast Smalltooth now clearly recognized as Seien. And who knew, maybe Kethra too was cornered by foes and wounded? And what was going to happen to Rowanbloom, if woodlanders were to lose?
Smalltooth still could not speak, but Martin, or whomever this frightening mouse was, recognized his newfound determination. "Then prepare yourself."
Everything went silent and dark. Smalltooth could not even feel earth and ash beneath his paws anymore. And the iron grip holding his left paw turned into skeletal claws made of coldest ice he ever touched.
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The colossal peal of thunder shook Suran back to his senses. Sure, he still was dizzy, his mouth was full of blood, and he could not easily count all the hurts in his body, but he could think, he could see, and he could understand what he saw.
Attack by the woodlanders, the brave fools, saved his life by distracting Rugger. The black fox did not seem to be pleased by that. Half-roaring, half-howling, fighting madly like a beast in the grip of legendary bloodwrath, he paid no attention to number of foes or his own wounds. Voles, squirrels and hedgehogs scattered like dry leaves before him. A squirrel braver and better armed than others, clad in chainmail and wielding a broad-bladed spear tried to stab Rugger in the throat, but missed. The black fox caught the spear, yanked it so hard that the squirrel flew off his paws, and swung it around like a club, catching a couple more woodlanders. Though some of the blood covering Rugger's fur must have been his own, and a broken javelin was protruding from his back, his strength did not seem to be diminished at all.
When Suran talked to Kethra earlier this night, he thought that he wouldn't mind dying here. There was nothing to look forward anyway. He was too old to start anew, whether that meant finding another warlord to serve, or learning how to live peacefully. And Kethra… well, she was using him as much as he was using her, in the fashion common among corsairs and hordebeasts. If he died, she was not going to mourn for long, and if he lived, one day soon she was going to conclude that she's better off without a fox, who no longer could hold back advance of age anyway.
But now Suran realized that all these thoughts were nothing more than lying to himself. He wanted to live, to live no matter what! He tried moving, on all fours, almost crawling. His right paw was a big mass of burning pain, but the rest of his limbs obeyed him. There was a good chance of escaping, while Rugger was still busy smacking woodlanders around.
Then Suran saw something that shook his mind harder than the thunderbolt.
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Ubel had no idea what incinerated pretty much the entirety of his tent, and threw him outside of the place where it stood. Or by what magic he was still alive after that. But he knew that he was not going to stay alive for much longer, if he tarried. Every muscle in his body was hurting, and his hide felt like somebeasts burned off stripes of fur with red-hot iron, but he forced himself to move, while prey creatures and soldiers were still occupied by fighting each other. On the lakeside of the camp, there were three boats. They could offer him a chance of escape. All other thoughts and concerns had to be left for later.
Even in this state of mind, a terrible screaming howl made him look back. For all his experience with brutal executions and torture, he never heard a living creature produce a sound like this, one that lasted, and lasted, and lasted, drilling into his ears. No creature that small had any right to produce a sound so loud and bone-chilling.
There was something strange with his vision now. He shouldn't have been able to see this far and this clearly. But he did. He saw clearly the young ermine, the one who was caught and escaped together with Ewalt, the Sword of Martin in his paw, and his body wracked and bent like a bow by shaking convulsions, as terrible as his howl.
Ubel wasted no more than a second or two, but before he resumed his escape, Seien stepped towards the hapless ermine, raising the longsword to split him in two. Howling and convulsions stopped. With a movement that Ubel barely saw, the ermine knocked Seien's sword aside, and stabbed the pine marten in the chest, piercing his heavy chainmail as if it was mere cloth. Lurthen Longneck tried to strike the ermine in the back, but it was like trying to attack a creature with eyes at the back of his head. The ermine turned with incredible speed, Sword of Martin flashed through the air, sparks flew, and Lurthen did not even have a chance to cry out as both his curved blade and neck which gave him his nickname were neatly bisected, the snowlander chieftain's headless body making one more step before falling.
As several more snowlanders, who were following Lurthen, stopped in their tracks, upon seeing this impossible feat, great hatred filled Ubel, but even greater was his fear. He knew what was going on. Possession. He knew that Martin had the ability to puppet wielders of his sword around in desperate circumstances, but until today he never thought that an ermine may be used like that. He clearly knew too little. Now Martin managed to pursue him into the world of the living, and escaping a creature capable of such movements was simply not possible, even with him, Ubel, at peak physical shape, never mind in his current state. He was going to die, unless he somehow managed an exorcism on the spot. Thankfully, the magic for banishing spirits of the dead was exceedingly simple in itself. Even without practice, he could make it work. But against a ghost of such caliber, with no preparation whatsoever, the sacrifice needed for that had to be great and terrible.
Overwhelming fear gave the sorcerer resolve. Accursed Martin thankfully paused, shouting something to snowlanders, instead of just cutting his way through them. Something like "are you really raising your swords against the son of Skamkel and Jofryd?" Words barely registered to Ubel, as he drew the small knife, he usually wore on his belt. With this blade, cutting off even a single finger would be a slow and messy affair, and a single finger was very unlikely to suffice. He couldn't sacrifice his tongue, and that would be risking death by blood loss. There was only one rational choice. Ubel pointed the sharp point at his left eye, as he started the simple formula: "O spirit, standing in the flesh before me, this is not your time and place!"
And as he cried out "Begone!" he pressed upon the knife.
Pain was bad, but not bad enough to prevent him from repeating the command two more times, as was proper: "Begone! Begone!"
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Blackear was pretty sure that she and the rest of vermin soldiers around her were only still alive because woodlanders could not stand against maddened Rugger, so she tried her best to keep foes off his back. But she missed the vixen, because in the whole mess she did not recognize her as one of the foes. Hellgates, she remembered that Silverbrush turned traitor, there was just too little time to think in the heat of battle, so Blackear only recognized her when she slashed Rugger.
Silverbrush had a broad cutlass, not a weapon suitable for going through the chainmail, and for some reason she did not aim for Rugger's now-helmetless head. The black fox still felt the blow, for he turned and knocked Silverbrush to the ground with a single backswipe of his paw. He started swinging the broken spear he held to cave her skull in… but then, from the angle that was covered from Blackear and her arrows by Rugger's own body, Suran leapt at him. The two foxes fell to the ground, snarling, striking and clawing each other, trying to rip and shred anything that was not covered in steel. Suran managed to sink his fangs into Rugger's left footpaw, and Rugger, now screaming instead of roaring, was kicking him with the right. A mole aimed at Rugger's head with a large mallet, and Blackear shot him – the arrow went through the burly creature's shoulder, making him drop his weapon and fall back. After that Blackear had only two arrows remaining.
"To me!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, as she shot one in the general direction of the enemy. "To me, soldiers!"
Some soldiers around were still alive and heard her call. It even seemed as if southswarders now tried to stay away from them, no longer having stomach for battle. Blackear thought that she needs to finish off Silverbrush, but the vixen must have managed to scurry away. When she looked back to Rugger, he just managed to kick Suran away and rise. Suran tried to stand as well, but couldn't, collapsing back to one knee. The older fox' face was a mask of blood, fur on his neck above the chainmail was torn to shreds, but he still stared at Rugger defiantly, snarling though broken teeth. And instead of leaping at him, Rugger backed away. He was limping now, and his unstoppable rage was gone.
His eyes, though, were still full of madness, as he turned to Blackear. "Shoot him! Shoot the old bastard Suran! Finish him off!"
Blackear felt rage rising inside her. She was not sure if she was angry at Rugger for demanding this after killing Squint more than for failing to be an invincible monster, who could win this battle. And she was not sure if she wouldn't have done as commanded, in the end. But she hesitated, and that was enough for Rugger.
"You stupid wench!" Blackear realized too late, that she was within Rugger's reach. He grabbed her by the neck, and even now, there was unbelievable strength in his paw. Blackear dropped the bow and grasped his wrist. Again too late, she realized that she should have used the seconds she had to draw her short sword or knife instead. Black spots floated before her eyes, and it felt as if her windpipe is about to be crushed completely. "Disobedience? Mutiny?! I'll show what…"
Thunk! Rugger's words were cut off, and his death grip suddenly slackened. He just stared at Blackear dumbly. And she stared at the grey-feathered arrow, that hit Rugger below the left ear, and which barbed point was protruding from his right cheek.
Thunk! The second arrow went into Rugger's nape, and his claws unclasped completely, as he sunk to the ground. Blackear fell to her paws and knees as well, gasping for air.
Then Treestalker was before her, helping her to her footpaws. "Hold on! We're not through this yet!"
Blackear looked around, her breath still ragged. From about a score of soldiers, who now formed a knot around them, none seemed to mind what Treestalker just did. Of course, Rugger always was hated. But around this knot of tired beasts were more southswarders that she could count. Both because she had tenuous grasp on counting beyond twenty, and because more and more of them kept appearing from the dark. Mice, moles, voles, squirrels, a few hedgehogs and otters. At least Suran was now lying prone and unmoving on the ground. None of the foes who could still fight looked eager to actually fight, but with these numbers it was only a matter of time before some bolder creature takes his chances, and then the surviving soldiers would be swamped by the crowd's numbers in moments. If not for the fact that the southswarders seemed to surround them on all sides, they probably would have been running and scattering already.
Blackear drew her sword, a puny defense against these odds. It looked like Treestalker erred. They were through.
To Waycaster: Thanks for your compliments. I'm particularly glad that characters' backstories and motivations are understandable, given how many of them like to be tight-lipped even in their thoughts.
I'm far from the only author even in the Redwall section who sticks with his story for years. In fact, looking at, say, Highwing, I feel rather ashamed for my inconsistent output. Given my plans, I think I need to be able to write at least chapter a week to finish them in any reasonable amount of time.