81. At the War's End.

Ubel saw, with his remaining eye, that his magic worked – the possessed ermine recoiled, as if struck, and sank to his knees. It was the time to run, while the confusion of battle still persisted, but after making just two steps Ubel felt such dizziness that he barely managed to stay upright.

Sheska appeared besides him and prevented him from falling. Blood covered her and her breath was heavy and hoarse, but at the moment she had more strength left than Ubel.

"It worked, it worked!" Ubel lied feverishly. "Now I need just one quiet night, away from all the prey scum! To the lake, Sheska, let's escape by boat."

Sheska must have believed him again, for she did as she was told, supporting Ubel all the way. The fighting that was now dying down, concentrated on the other side of the camp. And judging by the triumphant cries, defenders of Southsward have won. But luck still was on Ubel's side, for when he and Sheska reached the shore, there was only one boat remaining, and the smallest one of all three. The two big longboats, which Ubel and Sheska wouldn't have been able to hole properly in time, given their injuries, were already gone, almost certainly because somebeast else already thought of using them for escaping, and they didn't bother to do anything with the smaller boat. Sheska almost had to haul Ubel into it. Her own strength was noticeably ebbing. She discarded her heavy chainmail before getting into the boat as well. As far as Ubel could see, she got stabbed right below her ribs in battle, and her own blood soaked her fur down to the knee. But she still had enough to push the boat with Ubel in it into water, climb inside, and push it farther away with a paddle.

No matter how terrible Ubel felt, he understood that he needed to put in more effort if he wanted to see the dawn. Using all of his willpower, he sat up, picked another paddle and started helped Sheska to row. When the shore disappeared from sight of his remaining eye, and Castle Floret was only visible as a dark mass, obscuring a part of the horizon, he almost started thinking about something besides the immediate need to escape.

But then, he heard a splash, louder than those produced by their paddles, and shuddered. Was there some creature in the water? Sheska thought so too. She stopped to look. And right then strong paws caught her paddle and yanked it hard. The boat wobbled, and the wounded weasel was unable to stay in it. She barely had time to cry out, before the creature in the water pulled her under the surface. Ubel first reached for his knife, but it was gone, dropped back at the camp. Holding his paddle as a club, he looked at the water, where Sheska was a second ago. The struggle disturbed the lake surface once again, as Sheska reemerged for a second, coughing and gasping. This time Ubel saw pretty clearly that the creature grappling her was an otter. He swung the paddle, not caring about the possibility of hitting Sheska, but with only one eye and his pitiful remaining strength, he did not hit anybeast, before Sheska got pulled back down. One of the foes spotted them as they tried to escape, after all, and that foe just happened to be a creature who only got more dangerous on water! Martin, or whomever pulled the stings of his fate, was laughing at him!

Ubel panicked, thrusting his paddle into the water feebly, hoping to strike the invisible attacker. After what seemed like an eternity, it hit something. Just as Ubel realized that what it hit was Sheska's lifeless carcass floating to the surface, the boat rocked, nearly throwing him overboard. Ubel clumsily tried to swung the paddle as he turned, but the otter who just climbed into the boat from the other side easily caught it, pulled it out of Ubel's weak paws and kicked him down.

"W-wait…" Ubel frantically tried thinking of anything that may have postponed death, but the otter wasn't listening in any case. Just as the paddle was about to descend on Ubel's skull, the huge dark shadow, darker than the clouded sky, fell upon the boat. The otter noticed that something is wrong, and started looking around, but he did not expect a threat from the above, until wicked claws sank into his back, and massive beak hit the back of his neck, slaying him instantly. The boat rocked again, nearly overturning as the great bird slammed the otter's body into its bottom.

Perhaps for the first time in his life Ubel was rendered speechless, as he gazed upon the great raven, now standing before him, wings unfurled. Before he could think of anything to say, the raven pecked, too fast for Ubel's remaining eye to follow.

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"Thanks for coming back… Thanks, mate." Blackear felt she had to say that before the end. The noise of battle was dying down all around, clearly meaning that their side got finished, so she did not have to shout.

Treestalker shrugged, doing his best to look and sound brave. He still had his bow, and held one of his remaining arrows on the bowstring, prepared to draw and make one last shot as soon as the southswarders charge. "A beast can die but once. Better next to you, methinks."

Even in these circumstances, his words made Blackear feel a bit better.

Before she thought of something else to say, a beast stepped forth from the crowd of enemies. This squirrel was clearly old, and moved with difficulty, as if he had some broken bones, his left paw hanging limply, his right holding a shaft of some broken weapon that served him as a walking stick, but his chainmail clearly marked him as somebeast important.

"Wait!" he cried out, addressing his fellow southswarders. "Let me speak to them!"

Assorted woodlanders were not in a hurry to sacrifice themselves in a battle that seemed to be already won, anyway. Their ranks got quieter.

Then, by accident or astute observation, the squirrel looked right at Blackear and spoke. "This battle is over. You've lost. There is no need for more bloodshed. Lay down your weapons, and your lives will be spared, as promised before."

Blackear heard no such promises. And though prey creatures were indeed known to have no stomach for slaying unarmed foes in cold blood, in her opinion a hard, costly victory could instill rage and bloodthirst in any creature. She thought to say that they weren't so easily fooled.

Then Treestalker, who must have guessed her thought or saw as she bristled, touched her lightly, and spoke right into her ear: "Dyin' next to you, at eighty seasons of age, and with a crowd of our children around, would be even better, if you ask me. We fight, they cut us down, we yield, they may cut us down anyway, or they may not. C'mon, Blackear what do we have to lose, a chance to take a few more of 'em with us?"

Blackear took a deep breath, inhaling odors of blood, and smoke, and sweat, and guts, the unforgettable aroma of a big battle. Then she slowly extended her paw and let her sword drop to the ground. "You heard the squirrel, soldiers. It's over."

Then she blinked as the first drops of heavy but warm rain fell upon her face.

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Seien was in a world of pain. His entire right side felt like the sword that pierced it was still slowly pushing deeper, every breath bringing more agony and yet unconsciousness was not coming. He hardly had strength to wipe rainwater from his eyes. The pain left so little place for thoughts that he did not notice immediately the beast standing over his prostrate body. Then he did, and terror made him forget even pain for a brief moment. But he steeled himself. There was only one thing he could still accomplish, and that was at least dying as a King, if he failed to live as one.

"Should have killed you when had the chance, mouse," speaking was painful too, but Seien persevered. "Do your worst. You won't hear me beg for mercy."

Ewalt the Ghost looked pretty horrible, and sounded like he too had a difficulty breathing, but now anybeast still capable of at least moving could do whatever he wanted with Seien. For a moment Ewalt looked like he's about to kick Seien right into the bloody wound, and the pine marten clenched his teeth, preparing to hold back the scream. With sickening certainty he realized that the part about not begging for mercy was a childish bluff.

But Ewalt spoke instead. "If I know anything about wounds, yours is mortal. Some beasts here, some of my friends even, may want to make your death shorter but harder. Should I cut your throat and end all this?"

Seien felt himself weeping. Even his death was not going to be glorious at all. "Wait… Wait… If you want to take pity on somebeast… my mother… she never did anything bad. Could not even fight at all. Spare her, let her live."

Ewalt nodded. "I will do what I can for her. Now, you…"

"I won't beg."

"I understand."

As Ewalt knelt next to Seien's head, an ugly-looking knife in his paw, Seien closed his eyes.