31. Far South: He, Who Defeats the Taggerung…
Ten seasons ago
Khaishan Gan was not especially big for a ferret, but swift like the wind, tough like old leather, and more ferocious than any creature he had ever faced in battle. It was no secret that he killed his own parents, for believing that they could control him, the beast of prophecy. So, all of the Juska in his growing horde were rightfully afraid to bother their master in his tent so late in the evening. But they were even more afraid of failing to bring important matters to his attention promptly – it was better to risk Khaishan Gan's wrath, than to incur it with certainly.
"Master Khaishan? Lord master Khaishan? It's m-me, Azhar, your faithful scout," the stoat "elected" for the unenviable duty stuttered a bit.
He thought that Khaishan Gan was sleeping already, but apparently being able to wake up instantly and spring into action was among the Taggerung's talents. The tent's flaps flew open and Azhar suddenly found himself staring at a needle-pointed dagger, aimed straight at his eye, while Khaishan's claws dug painfully into his chest fur. "Oh, I knew who you are by your voice alone. Now, what do you bloody want? Go to the point, before this point goes into you!"
"W-we have caught a vixen exile! And, and, she says that she has very important news, news for the Taggerung's ears!"
Khaishan suddenly let Azhar go, allowing the stoat to stumble a couple of steps back. As it happened more and more often recently, his mood had changed in an instant. "Oh. You did well, Azhar. Bring her to me right away."
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The camp of the Juskagan was big and disorderly. Tents of the prominent warriors, pieces of cloth stretched between stakes, sheltering less important Juska, campfires and waste pits formed a half-circle around the earthen enclosure, which served as the last refuge for inhabitants of the Appleblossom valley. A sleepy but pretty wide river completed the circle. However feeble fortifications of the prey creatures were, and however bold Khaishan Gan was, he did not relish the idea of wasting lives in an immediate assault. There were badgers and a couple of other real fighters among the defenders, enough to make Juskagan pay for the victory assured by their numbers. With so many skilled archers at his command, Khaishan felt that a few days of sniping and pelting the settlement with flaming arrows would exhaust the strength of his prey and sap their spirit just enough to overrun their rampart without much loss.
The vixen was exactly as curious about the camp as one could expect, trying to glance around without attracting too much suspicion from the two vermin who escorted her. Before recent seasons, nobeast had a chance to see so many Juska gathered in one place.
By the time she was brought to Khaishan's tent, the warlord waited for her, sitting before a burning brazier, toying with a dagger, and sipping from a heavy silver cup. Two Juska females, young and beautiful, which was easy to notice thanks to them wearing nothing besides their own fur, waited on him, ready to pour more wine, or to provide meat and eggs for their Taggerung.
The vixen, as she stepped into the tent, noted to herself, that however false this Taggerung was, he certainly looked the part, even when doing something as base, as drinking in his tent. Khaishan Gan cut an impressive figure, the very image of a barbarian conqueror. Dim fire cast red shadows all over his sinewy body, cords of iron muscle outlined even under long ferret fur. And savagery was stamped all over his face, painted with green swirls of the Juskagan and blue lighting of the Taggerung, with fangs so long, that they protruded over his lower lip. He felt no need for boastful adornments, like necklaces of fangs and claws, and he was right – a vixen any less experienced would have been intimidated enough.
"And who may you be, exile?" Khaishan snarled, after taking a good look at the vixen.
Olkuna indeed looked like a tribeless Juska fighter now. Instead of relatively elaborate tribal markings, a simple black stripe ran from her nose to the top of her head. She put on worn-out clothes that only careful patching kept from falling apart. And she made herself look worn-out as possible, disheveling her fur, even ripping out a few tufts, blackening some of her teeth, and even cutting a couple of claws on her fingers so that they appeared to be broken from digging with her bare paws. Over the seasons she got good at acting and though she still preferred the Seer disguise, which served her as a reliable shield, she was sure that this one was going to work. She got on her knees, and lowered her head nearly to the floor, before speaking:
"O mightly Khaishan Gan the Taggerung, whose glory is known far and wide, I'm Neyen, once Neyen of the Juskaren. I dared to show my face before you, because I have news, which you'd want to hear."
Khaishan looked her up and down for a few seconds. In normal times, exiles – criminals, cripples and old beasts, cowards who ran away rather than bear the risks of battle and proper surrender when their tribe was cornered – could not expect warm welcome among the rest of the Juska. But these times were not normal, with the war between the Taggerung claimants raging all across the southern forests. Numbers of the tribeless swelled, and it wasn't inconceivable for a beast of merit to end up among them. The ferret took another gulp from his cup, and decided:
"Go on, tell me. For your own sake, vixen, these news are better to be important!"
"I've followed the trail of the all-defeating Juskagan from the south, but I'm not the only one, who followed it. Gillem the badger and his insolent band of prey creatures are hot on your heels, seeking battle with you."
"Hah!" Khaishan's face lit up with vicious triumph. "Do you think the Taggerung for a fool, exile? Of course I know already that Gillem and his rabble are seeking death and that they are not far from finding it!"
"But do you know that he struck at your foragers straight south from here, to make a show, so that you, like any proper warlord, would expect an attack from that direction? I know for certain, than now he and his beasts are instead circling around, to come upon your camp from between the eastern hills, where forest would cover their approach until the very end, instead of charging across the fields, where your beasts found me."
Khaishan Gan's good mood evaporated in an instant. He looked Olkuna up and down again, and pointed at her with the dagger at his paw: "The badger may be a big oaf, leading prey creatures, but every Juska knows that his band is not short on eyes, ears and noses almost as keen as ours. How did you manage to trail them without getting caught?"
Olkuna licked her lips nervously. She did not need to pretend being afraid. This was the decisive moment in selling her story to the suspicious warlord, and she knew that a failure would likely earn her a slow death: "I always had a special talent for hiding. Ever since I managed to hide myself, as Gillem and his killers wiped out my tribe and slew my father! I was not a fighter then, barely more than a cub, and I never grew up big enough to battle a badger. But I swore to imperishable stars and to myself, that I'll have my revenge! I sneaked, scavenged, and starved, and I followed Gillem and his beasts wherever I could, all for the sake of finding a way to trap and kill them all one day! Now I finally got my chance!"
Such heartfelt rage permeated her snarling words, and the fierce stare, that Olkuna boldly directed right at Khaishan, as she spoke the final phrase, that even the ferret warlord seemed to be taken aback somewhat. As he considered Olkuna's words, she felt fury that just bubbled up from the depths of her soul being replaced by a fresh tide of fear. Gillem and the Vigilants took pains to conceal the fact that there is a vixen helping them. When she had to be present among their ranks during marches across Juska lands, she wore a heavy cloak with a cowl, to hide her appearance. But no secret known to so many beasts and birds could be really secure! And Khaishan Gan could only believe her far-fetched lies, if he could not think of any reason for her to be lying!
Had Khaishan kept thinking for perhaps another half a minute, Olkuna might have betrayed herself by word or motion. But he spoke: "I've scouted these hills. Just a couple of paths suitable for a good number of beasts there – a great place for an ambush. Now, Neyen, what reward do you want for your news?"
"The Taggerung allowing me to join his great horde as a Juskagan would be enough of a reward for nearly anybeast. But after all those seasons I spent imagining slow deaths for my enemies during my hungry days and sleepless nights… I still dare to ask a favor from great Khaisgan Gan, the conqueror and ruler of all he surveys – if any prisoners would be taken, give them to me!"
The ferret warlord grinned broadly. "Hah. Now this is an answer of a true Juska. Fine! From this moment, you're Neyen of the Juskagan, and fates willing, I'd be able to grant you your reward, so I can see for myself what tortures a vengeful vixen can invent!"
"If only you had strength and numbers to grant me that reward, things might have went differently", Olkuna thought as she bowed again.
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"Just as Sylva said. They fell for it."
Gillem was looking at the Juskagan camp from a hillock at the edge of the forest. Though it was on the other side of a wide field, the badger could clearly see that much of the camp was empty. At a glance, maybe five or six scores of vermin remained, out of at least twenty which Khaishan Gan was supposed to have at his command. Those who weren't busy with the usual camp work, watched the enclosure, from time to time adding another arrow to hundreds which already studded the earthen rampart. Nobeast was expecting the Vigilants to come straight from the south. There was a small patrol dispatched to the woods in this direction, just in case, but they were not going to warn the camp, or, in fact, to do anything else but feeding insects.
Gillem waved his spear over his head and sunrays glinted on the well-polished head as he sent a signal well-understood by nearly a hundred of beasts, who were watching their Commander. The time to advance was now.
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A hundred-strong force advancing over the recently-seeded wheat field, open to all eyes, could not remain unnoticed, of course. But the silent march without bugles and warcries still bough the Vigilants a couple of minutes, before a panicked scurry began in the camp, drums and shrill pipes informing every vermin for miles around that a new enemy had appeared.
As often, Gillem was a few steps ahead of his warriors. His huge figure in gleaming, polished armor attracted attention – and arrows, hastily fired from long distance. He put more attention to those that whistled past him to thud into the shields of Vigilants – there were a few weakpoints in his armor, where an arrow could possibly slip between iron plates, like his neck between the breastplate and the helmet, but even an exceptional archer could only hope to hit them at very short range, and they were still covered by thick chainmail. Gillem's measured pace did not change, and neither did that of the warriors behind him, who advanced in tight formation, a moving wall of wood and steel, behind which archers and scouts who lacked heavy armor and large shields hid. Gillem and the Vigilants knew well that such seemingly slow, silent, inexorable advance, was in itself often enough to unnerve and shake their vermin foes. And now too, just when Gillem could clearly see eyes of the nearest Juska, their disorderly throng began to waver, slightly at first.
Just then a wild yell was heard from their rear. Sylva did her job, warning the besieged woodlanders about coming help, and they have sallied out just at the right moment.
"Chaaaaarge!" Gillem roared, rushing forward. Contrary to the expectations of many foes, full armor did not really make him slower over short distances, and contrary to the expectations of many foes, his massive and stout figure belied his impressive swiftness. Juska, outnumbered, caught in a pincer, and lacking a proper leader started scattering in panic, but it was too late, for the great badger was already among them!
This time, there was no clash – only a rout.
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"Where is that wench?!" snarled Khaishan Gan as Juska all around listened with trepidation to the faint, distant sound of the warning drums.
Azhar was at a loss for words, looking around helplessly. Nobeast thought to keep watch for Neyen, and now the vixen disappeared like a wisp of smoke on the wind. Khaishan acted while Azhar was still thinking what to say – he drew his curved sword and struck with lightning speed, sending the ill-fated stoat's head flying.
"This traitor led the vixen into our camp to deceive me!" Khaishan Gan shouted, brandishing the bloody blade. He knew well enough that somebeast – somebeast other than him – had to bear responsibility for a failure. He also knew, that the only thing that could banish the looming ghost of panic when a horde finds itself outmaneuvered and struck by doubt was swift action. "Hear me, Juskagan! The prey cowards struck at our camp by treachery! They fear to face us head-on! Now move, move fast, and we'll take them from the side, while they're busy plundering our tents!"
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Rondel had killed foes before, in fact, as recently as yesterday, when he was exchanging arrows with the vermin besieging Camp Appleblossom. He was by no means a stranger to corpses and gore. But he still felt a bit nauseous, as he pulled a broad-headed arrow from a dead stoat. The arrow was his, the size and black-striped fletching left no doubt about that, and it was buried deep in the vermin's back. He shot a creature who was running for his life, and though he understood that this was the way of war, he did not like the feeling one bit.
"Come on, Rondel, your quiver is almost full anyway" Clovis sounded quite nervous. No wonder, Rondel thought. Though Clovis was wearing a broad white scarf to instantly stand apart from any Juska, and the goshhawk who ran messages between the defenders of the Appleblossom Valley and their unexpected saviors said that she would tell all the Vigilants about it, there was always a chance of some woodlander forgetting about that in the heat of battle. "Come on, do you hear, that big badger is calling all the fighters to him, the battle is not over yet!"
The battle was indeed not over, and so for now Rondel banished the unwanted thoughts to the back of his mind.
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Khaishan Gan was not entirely wrong in his assumption that any force would be eager to plunder a freshly-captured enemy camp. The Vigilants were quick to scour tents and bodies of defeated foes for the few things of value that Juska had, like weapons, or occasional jewelry of gold, silver and bone – but never before their Commander declaring another victory to be complete.
Gillem never doubted the discipline of his own fighters, but he was relieved to see woodlanders of the Appleblossom Valley responding to the call of the Vigilants' bugles as well. Some have scattered too far, in the pursuit of the escaping Juska, but the majority was going to be ready for the second, harder, part of the battle.
He saw a fellow badger approaching him. Gillem heard about Elder Philbert a few times before, but never felt like crossing Juska forests just to meet him. It was said that badgers' longevity and intelligence were counterweighted by the twin curses – propensity for bloodwrath and prideful stubbornness that made any two adult badgers of the same sex constantly quarrel and squabble if they tried to live under the same roof. Whether that was true or not in general, Gillem, personally, never sought company of his kin.
"Seasons, how glad I am to meet you here and now, Gillem the Undefeated," Philbert bowed his head. He was big and stout, as tall as Gillem, and though his rather portly figure suggested that he enjoyed food more than exercise, Gillem could tell that there was strength in his huge paws, enough strength to easily swing a massive wooden cudgel that he was carrying on his shoulder. Gillem would have advised him to use a smaller, faster bludgeon, which could still smash nearly any imaginable foe just as well, but otherwise Philbert, with his honest, open face, and affable manner, immediately made a favorable impression. "But I fear there is no time for proper thanks yet, isn't that right?"
"Pleasure to meet you, Philbert" Gillem bowed back as deeply, but more curtly. "You're right, we're short on time. Take your beasts and form them up there – the rest of the horde must be hurrying here right now, if I know anything about Juska, and that's the best path out of the forest!"
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Juska were well-known for their ability to move through even the densest of forests, but now, as Khaishan Gan drove his horde onwards hard, his warriors had no choice but to crowd the only trodden path that led from the hills towards the open fields of the Appleblossom Valley.
Khaisnan hissed in rage, when screams and warcries up ahead told him, that his hopes of getting his warriors to the edge of the wood, before the foes can re-group to meet them, have failed. "Spread out, Juskagan!" he shouted. "Usgul, take your fighters left! Mokash, go right with your beasts! We have numbers on our side! Spread out and surround them!"
Then arrows whistled around. Khaishan himself reacted before thinking, ducking just in time, other Juska were not so lucky.
"Death on the wind!" the thunderous warcries came from both left and right, as armored warriors appeared among the trees, to descend on the disorderly Juskagan column from both direction. "Death on the wind! 'tis the season of slaughter!"
"Stand your ground!" Khaishan roared, quickly getting a measure of the newly appearing foes. "They are few! Stand and fight! Kill them all! Kill!"
The Juskagan were exhausted from the long run, thrown into disarray by surprise, and disheartened by today's misfortunes. Many, especially the weaker beasts who lagged behind, turned tails and ran. But enough found some measure of courage in the presence of their invincible warlord to put up a fight, shooting arrows and slingstones, throwing spears and javelins, trying to gang up on individual foes, who spread themselves too thin for their enveloping ambush. In this disorderly forest fight, still-superior numbers of the Juskagan could carry the day yet!
A tremendous roar deafened friend and foe alike, as a giant badger smashed his way through the gaggle of the Juskagan towards their warlord, literally sending vermin flying with sweeping strikes of his mighty cudgel. "Khaaaaaaishan!"
Khaishan Gan instantly recognized Philbert, that big dumb creature whom he was besieging, just like Philbert saw and recognized him. As befitted the Taggerung, Khaishan felt no fear at the awesome sight, but rather a surge of elation and hope. If he could slay the leader of prey creatures, the monster whose mere sight emboldened them and struck fear into common Juska, the tide of battle would turn instantly!
Picking a spear dropped by a fallen fox, Khaishan waited coolly for three heartbeats, until the badger got close enough, and threw. Philbert tried to dodge at the last moment, but it was too late, and the thick, quilted robe he wore for armor failed to offer any protection – the spear got buried almost to half of its length in the badger's broad chest. Most beasts would have died instantly from this, and even Philbert was driven back momentarily – only to let out a gurgling roar, and charge Khaishan again. But his movements were already slowing down – and his wild overhead swing would not have hit someone as famed for quickness as the warlord of Juskagan, anyway. The ferret ducked and flitted past the badger, faster than the bigger creature's eyes' could follow, the curved sword slashing deeply into Philbert's right armpit.
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"And Uncle Aldwin said that badgers only acted like that in legends!" Rondel complained while pulling another arrow from his quiver.
"Just aim and shoot!" Clovis followed his own advice, instead of adding a few choice words about hares, who cannot stop bantering even in the middle of battle.
Philbert certainly had fought like a beast in bloodwrath, or maybe he actually was in bloodwrath, his normally patient and reserved demeanor disappearing like a reflection from water surface that got disturbed, and he battered his way through the very thick of Juska, ignoring their arrows and slingstones – but woodlanders of the Appleblossom Valley could not all suddenly turn into fierce fighters like he did and failed to follow his lead, before the vermin closed their ranks again. If only Rondel and Clovis were right behind the badger… but before the battle they decided to hang back and snipe, avoiding the chaos of melee if possible. Now the position at the rear that they took suddenly became the front, as inexperienced woodlanders, no longer bolstered by the presence of their mighty Elder, recoiled before seasoned Juska fighters.
Rondel shot a stoat almost point-blank, just barely dodged a thrown spear, and dropped his bow to unsheathe his saber, as a rat charged him, brandishing a spiked club. Steel flashed and the rat collapsed, clutching his paws to his slashed throat. There were more vermin behind him, and for a moment it seemed like the forest was full of foes, with no friend in sight.
"Eulalia!" the warcry of the Long Patrol came naturally to Rondel, the son and pupil of Salamandastron hares. Drawing the long dirk, gifted to him by his mother, with the left paw, he slashed, deflected and stabbed, undaunted by the number of foes. "Come, face proper warriors, if you dare, Juska! Eulalia!"
"Eulaaaalia!" echoed him Clovis, as he laid about with his bastard sword.
Maybe the shame of retreating while their guests still fought rekindled the spark of courage in the valley militia, maybe the Juskagan on this front of battle finally reached their breaking point, with all the slaughter wrought upon them by Philbert, Rondel and Clovis, or maybe both, but suddenly everything had changed again, with vermin falling back in disarray, and woodlanders pushing against them, cutting down those who were too slow.
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Philbert tried to turn and lunge at Khaishan again, but his footpaws failed him, and he fell on one knee, blood drenching his sides and bubbling from his lips. The ferret sucked in air to let out a cry of triumph – but the words froze on his lips, as he saw another badger coming. He never met Gillem the Slayer before, but that only could be him, as tall as Philbert, but covered in steel head to toe. The badger' fearsome spear got stuck in a fox' ribcage, so he released it, and reached for the sword on his belt. An especially brave weasel leapt on his back, trying to knife the giant in the neck, but her first stab glanced off the helmet. The badger spun with a roar, and as the weasel tried to hold on desperately, he grabbed her with his left paw, and smashed her against the nearest tree trunk with bone-shattering force.
Khaishan Gan was not about to miss the opportunity created by luck and effort of his underlings. He lunged forward, swift as a rushing mountain stream. Even the best of swords could not cut steel plates, and there was no time to seek another weapon on the battlefield, but he could see places on the badger's body that the armor did not protect – like the groin. Gillem only started turning to face the new foe, too late to react, for nobeast was quicker than Khaishan Gan! A vicious grin started forming on the ferret's face, and his heart drummed a triumphant cadence, as the world seemed to slow down around him.
The grin began to morph into an expression of disbelief and horror, as the badger reacted with quickness that seemed just unfair in a creature so huge. Khaishan slashed desperately upwards, as Gillem jumped back, but it was too late, the curved blade struck too shallow and got caught by the badger's chainmail skirt. By instinct, the ferret tried to dodge away, and again too late – Gillem's sword was already descending. Even with his fantastic reflexes, all Khaishan Gan managed to do was to look up, before the great blade cut him open from the shoulder to the thigh.
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Later Gillem felt more than a bit queasy when thinking how close this ferret came to fatally injuring or unmanning him. But for now his blood was up, and he paid no mind to such things. Lifting the still-quivering upper part of what just was Khaishan Gan, the warlord of the Juskagan, high in the air, the badger roared: "I've slain your "Taggerung", you Juska cowards! Is there anybeast else with enough guts to fight me?!"
Of course there weren't. All courage went out of the remaining vermin upon realization that the beast who was both their leader and lucky charm, whose will was holding the Juskagan together, had fallen. Some still fought out of sheer desperation, expecting no mercy, others fled in blind panic, rushing hither and thither mindlessly, as the woodlanders closed on them from every direction. The battle was won.
