Moonglade C6: One Stormy Night
Chapter Six
One Stormy Night
A HUNCHED FIGURE DUCKED in through the door, bringing a violent squall of wind and rain with them; flicking back the hood of their long, sodden wool cloak and straightening up they looked around; a shrew acknowledged them with a nod from a table at the back; they headed for the counter, beckoning.
"Good to see you again," Ben greeted as Mayla joined him. "I hope your 'friends' haven't given you any trouble."
Mayla chuckled dryly. "Haven't seen 'em. They're prob'ly holed up in the Nighthouse, lickin' their wounds an' hopin' no-one comes for 'em."
"You don't seem worried." Ben noted, exchanging nods with the lean fox barkeep.
The shrew laughed dryly, and swigged from her mug of strong ale. "I really don't think the Hunters are gonna waste bodies on us. We ain't worth it. Garman and Teagan least of all."
"For what little I know of hunters, that sounds about right." Ben took two of the flagons the barkeep doled out. "We've taken a room in the inn upstairs, for privacy."
"We?" Mayla asked, grabbing the last mug and following him.
"My mother and sister are with me," Ben told her, shouldering past the door. "They wanted to meet you, and I trust their judgement."
"Th' more th' merrier." As the shrew stepped outside she fell under assault by lashing rain and turbulent wind, low thunder grumbling in the background, ominously; grimacing, she glared up at the gathering storm clouds. "Lovely weather yer 'avin'."
"Tell me about it." Ben shuddered, hastening up stone steps flanking the tavern. "We're in for it tonight."
Mayla nodded, following him through the door at the top. It opened into a small area furnished only by a table to their left, behind which a stocky male beaver in grey leggings sat whittling a stick. He gave Ben a taciturn nod, the fox replying with a livelier one; his acknowledgement of the shrew was warier, but she kept her response polite.
Benjamin led her around a corner to the far right of the room, down a very short passage and opened a door on the right. Stepping in, she found the new chamber to be so small the nest filled it entirely; three alcoves were set into the other walls, a spell glowed in the middle of the ceiling, and two white vixens lay amongst the cushions.
"You must be Mayla," the older, imposing fox greeted. "I'm Kyra."
"Jenna," supplied the younger, slightly plump fox.
"Pleasure." The shrew bobbed her head. "Who's is the light ale?"
"Mine, thanks." Jen reached out to take it.
As Mayla took her place in the nest, Ben handed Kyra a medium ale then got in himself. He took his cloak off and put it in an alcove, and after a moment the shrew sloughed her clothes and put them aside.
"Cosy little place ya got here." Mayla observed, with half a smirk. "Ya sure no-one can listen in?"
"It's secure," Kyra affirmed. "Whatever prying ears might be lingering will hear precisely nothing. You'd need to be adept in magic indeed to break my privacy spells."
"Good; if Garman 'n' Teagan had any clue I was comin' 'ere, they'd've followed and tried ta pry, hunters be damned."
"Do you believe," Kyra asked, supping her drink, "those two will make another attempt on Lia's life?"
Mayla nodded, expression sobering. "Once they ken no-one's comin' to end 'em, definitely. They'll be after Ben's blood and that of yer wolf friend, too, and they likely won't stop tryin' till they succeed or die. I doubt they'll care who else gets hurt, either."
"Vengeful people rarely do," the older vixen noted. "Would you care to explain how you came to be in such unsavoury company?"
The shrew crooked an eye ridge. "Sure ya wanna know? My past's a long damn way from pretty."
Kyra stared levelly at them over the rim of her mug. "We're sure."
"All right." Mayla took a moment to collect her thoughts, then began in an even tone. "To start at th' start, I was born in the very south o' Hackleridge in 969, to a pair o' spell-sellers. Life was pretty good 'til, the day afore I turned ten, Short got 'is stumpy tail kicked off the Chair after less than two years an' Sutton sat 'is bony bum on it."
"A difficult time for the Domain, from all I've heard," Kyra observed.
The shrew laughed, darkly. "You ain't kiddin'. Sutton was a tyrant an' a bastard, an' he especially hated us Smalls. Did his level best to wipe us out, so my folks an' I hadta go on the run with a load of others, just scurryin' from place to place. You could never rest for long; the damn hunters always picked up th' trail an' came for ya.
"We spent ten years runnin', right around th' Isles, livin' on scraps an' favours, dodgin' the hunters by the tips o' our tails. Sutton gettin' his sorry head lopped off should'a changed all o' that, but...it actually jus' made things worse, since everyone was fightin' over th' bloody Chair an' not botherin' about the hunters. Most of 'em jes' moved on, but a few groups decided ta stay put, takin' over remote villages."
"Why'd they do that?" Jenna asked, ears askew in her confusion.
"From what I understand, they were the ones with no safe way off of the islands," Kyra explained, "so they dug in claws and tried to tough it out, hoping they'd be ignored."
Mayla nodded. "That's 'bout the sum of it, yeah. We got trapped in a village a rabble o' hunters seized; called themselves the White-Ears, on account o' their painted lugs, an' they were harsh. We were slaves ta them, an' they'd punish ya for the tiniest little miss-step. If ya really angered them they all took turns hittin' ya 'til ya stopped moving, then threw ya in a cage ta rot for a few hours.
"We were pinned under their paws fer most o' a year, 'til someone half-competent sat their bum down on th' Chair and started wrenchin' things back into somethin' like decent shape." Her expression faltered slightly, and her voice softened. "I remember th' day the Guard came ta our village like it jes' happened; like th' blood's still fresh..."
Ben stretched out a hand to softly squeeze her shoulder. "Scars like that never stop smarting, do they?"
Mayla regarded him silently for a moment, then reached up to press his paw, nodding and almost smiling. "No." She took a breath. "On the day the Guard came, th' White-Ears took everyone hostage an' holed up in the Sira Hall, barricadin' it tight. I was the only one not in there, on account o' bein' forgotten in a cage. I thought th' Guard would get everyone out an' safe, but instead...instead they set fires all aroun' the Hall, built a wall o' flame, and left them all ta die."
A heavy silence fell over the others, Jenna looking quite distressed.
"They found me as th' Hall was burnin'; the Captain slashed me down then left me ta bleed out. Th' next thing I knew, I was wakin' up in the Abbey o' Dama ten miles away, wrapped up an' hurtin' like I'd been hit by Scruffe himself. Took me th' best part o' a year to recover enough to leave, an' all I wanted ta do was nail th' Guard an' make 'em pay.
"I quickly discovered they'd been loyal ta Sutton, an' wanted revenge for his killin'. Seems th' White-Ears had been th' ones ta slice him up, then decided ta lay low 'till everything cleared. Guess they didn't ever reckon on any o' his people survivin' all o' the chaos that followed his death, let alone comin' for revenge.
"I also discovered the Guard had cleared out, run from th' Domain entirely; where to took me ages ta pin down, but I finally learned it was Ashdell. Not an easy place ta get to, so I ended up joinin' a group o' hunters in the hope I'd be sent there eventually. Instead, I couldn't even get past th' bloody trials, and, well...ya know th' rest..."
"Do you still want to...nail...Sutton's loyalists?" Kyra asked, carefully.
Mayla took her time replying, supping her ale thoughtfully for some moments. "No. T' be honest, now I look at it, I'm not sure I was ever truly...committed. Somethin' jes' kept...gnawin' at me..."
"I'm immensely grateful for that," Ben told her, patting his shoulder.
"How's it doin'?" Mayla asked, a touch guiltily.
"Barely hurts at all, now. You didn't hit anything important. I'll have another scar for my collection, though."
"Collection?" The shrew lifted an eye ridge.
"He has a remarkable ability to injure himself," Kyra explained, with a lot of wry affection. "Which reminds me - how's the sack?"
"Sack...?" Mayla's other ridge joined the first. "How'd ya even...?"
Ben, his ears reddening just a little, waved a dismissive paw. "Doesn't matter, and it's fine. Just another small scar for the collection."
Mayla snickered. "All right, but I'll wanna know sooner or later. Right now, tell me why ya's so keen on never takin' lives?"
Kyra set her mug down in the nearest alcove. "In a word - Finch."
The shrew stiffened. "Th' demented bastard who damn near tore th' whole Archipelago apart, an' wiped out Mysatia?"
"That's him. He was a Dunblane."
Mayla sat back, blinking. "Damn..."
"Putting it simply, ever since his...actions...we've been trying our best to make amends."
"Gotta admire yer dedication." The shrew leaned forward. "I've heard all the stories, o' course, but I'd love ta get your version."
"All right. I can't vouch for the accuracy of it, mind, since it's woven together from journals, notes, letters and so on, but it should give you a pretty good idea of what occurred." Kyra took a moment to compose herself. "Finch was born in 863, to Cameron Dunblane and his partner, Hannah. They were seventeen and nineteen, respectively, and neither was at all ready for a child.
"He was, quite bluntly, a mistake, the result of an evening of ale, sex and a lot of carelessness. Several records say Cameron wanted to end the cub before it could truly begin, but Hannah wanted to keep it; one or two suggest he actually tried; many more say he simply turned his back. Regardless, a rift began to grow between them, one that even Bonding couldn't heal.
"Cameron grew ever more distant, spending ever greater time away from Eldermoor, losing himself in the diplomatic duties he'd taken on after his parents were killed in the Portbridge Fire the year before. He left Hannah struggling to deal with Finch alone, and he was a difficult child indeed, even as a babe. He'd be moody and erratic, impossible to placate, or cold and remote, not responding to anything.
"By his tenth birthday, Finch had ceased to be moody, but remained entirely unmoved by anyone or anything bar Hannah, and even then it was only rarely. Many sources describe him as having an intense and inscrutable stare, his eyes utterly without life; Scruffe's eyes. He'd also developed a talent for influencing people, and he wasn't afraid to use it, on anyone he felt like.
"Just after his birthday a wind dragon hatched, and he quickly fixated on them. Finch tried repeatedly to steal Aerith, first by himself, then with the aid of other cubs he'd 'persuaded'. In the end, the hatchling had to be relocated, but even then Finch kept trying to discover where to. Some say he finally gave up after a year, others that he never did."
"Wait," a wide-eyed Mayla interrupted. "Wind dragon? For real?"
"For real." Kyra nodded, her expression and tone turning just a little reflective and regretful. "We once had an understanding with a family of them, but...not for a while, now. Truly a wondrous race."
"You ain't kiddin'," Mayla agreed, eyes shining. "I saw one once, jes' a-resting on a hilltop near th' village. Th' White-ears tried ta catch it, but they didn't get close; six beats o' it's wings and it was gone. I can see why Finch'd want one."
Kyra sighed. "It saddens me to no end that we've shifted so quickly from revering them to hunting them; I often wonder how much Finch had to do with that..." She shook her head. "Anyway, it was just after Finch turned fifteen that the only other person he ever showed any interest in entered his life - Justine.
"She'd become the Milady of Ironcliff but a year before, and already was proving herself to be strong, ambitious and shrewd. Cameron and Hannah met her when they attended her confirmation, not long after they'd reconciled, and both agreed she was more likely than anyone to finally bring Finch into line.
"The need for this was greatly exacerbated by the birth of his sister, Robin; the first time he saw her, and all of the records are unanimous about this, he tried to plunge his newly-received sword - a traditional fifteenth-birthday gift in Cameron's family - into her heart."
"Bloody Knowe," Mayla husked, visibly shocked. "He actually tried ta kill a babe...?"
"Five times in fewer days," Kyra confirmed, voice a little heavy. "Each attempt more violent than the last. This was the first real hint of just how...aberrant...Finch truly was. Even Hannah couldn't get through to him, so in desperation he was dispatched to Justine under the heaviest of supervision.
"Unfortunately, this is where the records become vague, inconsistent and, in some instances, difficult to trust. All we know for sure is that Justine took Finch under her wing as promised, and she was seemingly able to rein him right in. He even began to study under her, learning diplomacy, history and politics."
"An' that ain't suspicious at all," Mayla observed, drolly. "Justine was trainin' 'im, I bet. Thought she could use 'im."
"Perceptive," Kyra acknowledged, with a thin smile. "When I say she was ambitious, I mean it. Ironcliff was already a major trading power in the Archipelago, but Justine wanted even more. She desired control of what was, and still remains, one of the most valuable and exclusive commodities in Moonglade - bronze."
"Lemme guess - neither Dyllia nor Copperidge were willin' to let her have it?" Mayla surmised.
"Of course not; tin and copper are their main respective exports, and they certainly weren't about to allow any outside interests, especially Ironcliff, to exert even the slightest influence over them. Justine knew that full well, of course, and had concluded force was the best option open to her. Finch, she believed, was the perfect weapon with which to threaten them."
"Then she knew how bad 'e was?"
"She_thought_ she did, and thought she could control and channel him to suit her purposes. Even the violence of his outburst after an illness no record can put a name to took Hannah, culminating in Finch killing three Guards trying to subdue him, didn't dissuade her. If anything, it encouraged her, largely since he blamed Cameron for Hannah's death, and that played right into her paws."
"I'd wager me tail Justine had somethin' ta do with it." Mayla's eyes were narrow with suspicion. "it's just too...convenient..."
"You're_far_ from alone in that suspicion, but as of yet, no proof of her involvement has been found; the only place it might be unearthed is in Ironcliff's records, and they're notoriously hard to get to, and harder to search. Besides, while we have ample details of Robin's growth and bonding with Aerith, we have next to nothing about what happened to Finch, until he returns to Eldermoor.
"It was on the occasion of his twentieth birthday, a momentous date he decided to commemorate by driving his sword through Cameron's chest the moment he saw him. With Justine's backing and the military strength of Ironcliff he had no difficulty in taking control of Eldermoor, and by extension Dyllia.
"His desire to be rid of his sister and take control of Aerith, however, went unfulfilled, as she and the hatchling had been spirited away just after Cameron's death."
Mayla sat up a bit, ears perking. "Now we're getting' ta th' interestin' stuff; my parents allus told me an ancestor o' ours was part o' gettin' Robin ta Mysatia an' safety. I'd love ta know if it were true."
"Where on Mysatia did they say Robin was taken to?" Kyra asked, the corners of her mouth just starting to turn up.
"Th' Gold Peninsula," Mayla answered, with no hesitation. "Down in th' south-west somewhere. Don't properly recall th' name o' th' town, mind. San-somethin'?"
"Sandale." Kyra's smile widened. "And the simple fact you even know that much is good, strong evidence your ancestor was involved. I can't _confirm_anything, but it's known a shrew was part of the rescue party that got her out of Eldermoor, a determined, resourceful type who for a while looked like taking a much darker path than the one he ended up on. Sound familiar?"
"Definitely," Ben chimed in, staring at Mayla.
The shrew chuckled. "We'll see 'bout that. Gettin' back ta Finch, I know he an' Justine spent th' next decade or so buildin' an army ta go after Copperidge an' anyone else they felt like. I also know that Finch commanded it alone. What no-one would ever say is what happened ta Justine. Would you happen ta know?"
A frowning Kyra nodded. "We're in possession of a journal that tells in...graphic...detail exactly what happened to Justine. On the eve of setting sail for Rustcliffe a huge rally was held, a grandiose gathering to rouse the troops in preparation for conquest. Justine planned it as her great statement of might and intent, the moment she declared herself a real power in the Archipelago, but Finch...had other ideas.
"At a climactic moment, Finch held his sword high while the massed army, eight or nine thousand strong, roared his name to the skies over and over. Before Justine could repeat the gesture, however, he swept his blade hard and fast into her chest. It was said by some her scream of pain and outrage could be heard right around the islands."
Mayla gaped. "But that's...that's...insane. Surely th' army woulda massacred him fer that?"
Kyra let out a short, dark chuckle. "So you'd think, but remember - at a very young age Finch could exert enough influence over people to make them do what he wanted, and that skill had grown exponentially in the intervening years. He had the entire army so utterly under his spell he was able to slam his sword into Justine a dozen times without one pelt twitching so much as a whisker. They were so in thrall to him that when he lifted his sword again, now wringing with Justine's blood, they shouted his name even louder. Finch owned every single one of them, to their deaths...or his."
It took a while for Mayla to respond, and when she did it was quiet and shaken. "He musta been a Natural. It's th' only way..."
"Certainly as close to one as any pelt ever known," Kyra concurred. "I assume I don't need to tell you what he did next...?"
Still noticeably subdued, the shrew shook her head. "I know he took Rustcliffe, an' then attacked Hubsea, but I don't know why he attacked Hubsea. Do you?"
"Only Finch knew for sure, but it's a pretty solid wager he wanted to unlock Hubsea's great secret."
Mayla cocked her head. "No shortage o' secrets in the isles. What makes Hubsea's so great?"
"What it could mean. True, we only have legends and whispers to go by, but for all their fevered fancy they do share one commonality - the secret of Hubsea has the potential to reshape the entire Archipelago, figuratively, or literally, or both."
"Damn hard ta believe." Mayla slowly shook her head. "How could_anythin'_ be that powerful...?"
"I couldn't even begin to speculate, but I certainly won't dismiss it out of paw. Fifteen hundred years ago, the Mysatian Republic and the Eldermoor Accord, between them covering most of the isles, believed in it enough to unite and build a vast city on Hubsea, with the hope that all of the races would uncover the secret together. A covetous Verseethian Fang-King believed in it enough to attack and shatter the both of them, sinking Shraele in the process. Finch seemingly believed in it enough to carve a bloody swathe across the isles to try and secure it, scouring Mysatia in the process. All of that for a mere fiction feels more than a little unlikely."
"Just the possibility of it has already reshaped the Archipelago," Jen noted. "Twice. Imagine what the real thing, if it actually exists, could do." She shivered.
Kyra drew her daughter into her embrace, nuzzling their cheek and caressing their stomach. "Don't dwell. After all, only the dragons can visit the isle for now, and I doubt they have any thought of reshaping so much as an islet."
"But sooner or later Hubsea'll be safe for pelts, again," Jen persisted, pressing closer to the elder vixen. "Mother Beech will purify the magic enough for people to survive, and then..."
"Don't. Dwell." Kyra pressed fingers to the younger vixen's mouth.
"Maybe you c'n tell me," Mayla was quick to ask, "if'n somethin' else my parents kept sayin' is true."
Kyra flashed her a grateful smile. "Which would be?"
"That th' Mysatian army defeated Finch's without killin' a single one of 'em." Mayla's scepticism was palpable. "It allus seemed...impossible ta me. It couldn't happen."
Kyra almost grinned. "But it did. We have copious records saying as much, including ones written by members of the Mysatian forces, and members of Finch's. The former's army of just two thousand subdued the latter's of five or six thousand - a large portion of it was engaged in keeping Eldermoor, Dyllia, Ironcliff and Rustcliffe secure, in case you wondered - without taking so much as one life.
"We know how thanks to Robin, who while living and growing in the Gold Peninsula saw their methods first-paw, studied them, and even became quite expert in them herself. The Mysatians, adults and cubs alike, could communicate wordlessly, literally exchanging thoughts like most pelts would speech. As you might imagine, in a conflict this gave them a massive advantage, letting them react and adapt to whatever their opponents did with startling speed.
"Skilled in the arcane arts as they were - more so than anyone in the Archipelago - it also meant they could co-ordinate their magic quickly and artfully enough to produce truly astonishing collective displays of light, colour and movement, sometimes on a vast scale. Translate that to battle, and you can begin to understand how they could overcome an army three times the size of their own without any bloodshed."
"Still a struggle ta believe," Mayla admitted. "By th' way, what'd they do with Finch's troops?"
"Well, his power over them had been broken, leaving them lost and confused; the Mysatians managed to coax them back onto their ships and send them toward home. Suffice it to say, Finch didn't react at all well to losing his army."
"Speakin' of, if'n the Mysatians were so good wi' magic, why couldn't they stop him scourin' their island?"
Kyra's eyes closed. "Because they didn't want to. Finch wasn't out to scour just the Mysatians; in his fury he wanted to raze everywhere_to ashes, take _everyone down with him. The barrage of corrupted magic he unleashed from the Tower Well was too vast for even the Republic army to contain or disperse; in desperation, and with agreement from all, they channelled it, via longdoor, onto their own island, rather than let it lay waste to the rest of them, then destroyed the door. It didn't save Hubsea, but it did everywhere else.
"The only part of Mysatia to survive was the Gold Peninsula, and that was due partly to luck and circumstance, and partly to the efforts of a determined few. Their longdoor was out of operation, so the wave of warped magic could only reach them via the high ridge causeway that connected them to the main island; by the time it did it had weakened enough to be blocked, by Robin, Aerith, a female wind dragon called Kaleth, and nearly a dozen more, a certain shrew amongst them. The Peninsula remains sealed off to this very day, the last bastion of the Mysatians, and a major reason why they still exist in any form at all."
Her eyes snapped open, fair blazing now. "That incredible, beautiful culture made an unimaginable sacrifice to save the Archipelago from a monster almost beyond comprehension, and how do so many of the isles regard the survivors now? As trifles, as toys, as slaves...as vermin to be used and abused as seen fit. I don't know how it got so bad, but I'll be damned if I let their true legacy die. They'll be honoured in deed and thought for as long as a Dunblane still draws breath."
Mayla stared at the vixen in shock for some moments afterwards, her face twitching through numerous expressions before finally settling on quiet but fierce determination. She gripped the fox's much larger paw, bringing it to her muzzle for a kiss. "Then ya have my loyalty as long as Ah draw mine."
Kyra gazed at the shrew, eyes bright, then a chuckle began to rise out of her, quickly growing to full-blown laughter. "Their blood's still alive and well, after all! Ben, you've found a prime one, here!"
Her son nodded, looking satisfied indeed. "Definitely. We agreed she can help us?"
"Agreed," the vixens chorused.
"Help?" Mayla's attention flicked to Ben. "With what?"
"We're heading out on something of a...quest...tomorrow, and could use another able body," he explained. "It'll likely be dangerous."
"Never let it be said I turned down an adventure." Mayla stuck out a paw. "I'm in."
"Great!" Ben shook it, as did Kyra and Jenna. "We'll be leaving at first bell in the morning for the Dragon Tomb. It'll be a few hours trek, but hopefully quiet. The danger will probably come at the tomb itself, as we believe someone's set up a base there, and they're very unlikely to be accepting of visitors."
"Understood." Mayla looked quite excited. "Does that mean we'll be meetin' some_actual_ dragons?"
"We will - wood dragons," Kyra confirmed. "They aren't about to let us into the tomb unaccompanied. We've still a lot of trust to regain."
"Dealing with th' intruder would help that a lot, I'm guessin'?"
"It would. On that note, we should warn you - the intruder is highly likely to be an Adept with serious designs on our lives."
Mayla shrugged. "Eh, I like a challenge, an' I was lookin' for an excuse ta try out ma new toy."
"Ditched the crossbow, huh?" Ben asked.
"Couldn't stand it any more," the shrew admitted, "so Ah burnt it, an' got meself somethin' a little more...direct. I'll show ya in th' mornin'."
"All right." Kyra beckoned her son to her, and the three foxes began to settle together. "Unless there's anything else you need to know, we all should rest up."
"Think I'm good." Mayla bedded down too, on her side. A rumble of thunder shivered through the room. "Damn glad I got solid walls roun' me tonight. Got caught out inna storm like this once; weren't fun."
"Tell me about it." Ben's fur was fluffing up, his expression haunted and his tail twitching. "One of the worst nights of my life, that."
Kyra and Jenna ruffled his cheek and side respectively.
"Easy, Ben," the former murmured. "Keep calm or the jitters will be all the harder to cope with."
"These are the nights I hate having magic." He buried his face in her chest and clung to her with both arms.
"It could be worse," Mayla told him. "Ya could be walkin' the walls o' Castleridge right now."
Ben shuddered. "I pity the poor wretches stuck with that duty..."
"They'll survive," Kyra murmured, licking his ear, "and so will you."
Ben began to relax, his voice turning drowsy. "As long as there's arms to hold you tight..."
A solitary figure paced out onto the bridge, one measured step at a time. The wind tore, howling and roaring, at his uniform and fur, the rain pounded him mercilessly and flooded the flagstones beneath his bare feet, a nearly ceaseless fusillade of thunder crashed and cracked across a sky fitfully fractured by lightning, and he registered none of it, just kept evenly walking.
He unlatched his helmet, letting it slip from his fingers to splash and clatter to the road behind him. His pale blue, tree-emblazoned tabard was untied next, to be snatched away by the winds and swept across the parapet, fluttering out over the sheer, ragged cleft of a gorge the bridge spanned. A twist here and a twist there, and his iron chestplate came loose, the figure dropping it to one side.
He pulled his long, heavy chainmail tunic off over his head, and cast it aside. His padded linen, knee-length jack was next, then his matching leggings, by which point he'd reached the middle of the bridge. Here the figure, a compact, trimly muscular squirrel with a particularly dark russet coat and a flash of cream on his forehead, stopped and looked around, still utterly unmindful of the tempest battering him.
Ahead, the bridge met the side of the gorge, the road forging through a sharp cutting then fading into darkness. Behind him the gatehouse and walls of Castleridge rose high, imposing and implacable, immune to anything the elements could throw at them. He might have spotted a figure for just a second, atop the wall, but otherwise everything was silent, all the torches out, no other guards patrolling, the whole town battened down to last out the storm.
The squirrel turned to the left-paw parapet, regarded it for a lengthy moment, then stepped up into the nearest embrasure. Hands resting against the stone, his soaking string of a tail whipping violently back and left, his ears plastered to his head, he stood obliviously naked and stared blankly out into the void of the gorge. Finally, his head tilted so he was looking down into the depths, then he leaned forward.
Splattering footfalls raced toward him, but he ignored them, his eyes closing as he passed the tipping point and gravity took hold. A second after his feet slipped from the stone paws latched onto the end of his tail; he flailed down into the side of the bridge, cracking his head hard enough to knock him almost senseless.
The new arrival, a lean yet powerful, sandy-red squirrel in a midnight blue vest and matching hood that only the shine of his eyes was visible beneath, hurriedly hauled the darker rodent back over the parapet to splash onto the flagstones. He crouched and leaned in, gripping their head and shaking it lightly, until they began to focus.
"Why...?" Their voice was faint, and as hollow as their expression.
"She's still alive, Stuart."
Their dark hazel eyes widened momentarily, the faintest wisp of light dawning in them, then fading. "She can't be. It was a massacre..."
The lighter squirrel sharply shook his head. "Hardly a massacre when no-one's killed. She's alive and waiting for you. I'll take you t-"
"Prove it." The darker one demanded. "Prove this isn't a trick."
"All right." The hooded rodent rummaged in a vest pocket, pulling out a tiny copper locket and dangling it in front of the other's nose. "She gave me this."
The light kindled again, then dimmed again. "You could have taken it from her...her..."
"I didn't. She gave it to me. She wants her Dab back."
The light grew a third time, and lingered, if faintly. "Y-you could have overheard her call me that. I've seen you watching us. This could still be a trick..."
The paler squirrel growled softly in frustration. "Why in Dama's name would I want to trick you? She's alive, Stuart. Take the locket and see for yourself."
Tentative fingers closed over the item, and a leaf-green glow radiated from it; dark eyes snapped wide a second time, the light within them brightening dramatically. "Sweet Sira..." The dark male let out a single, incredulous laugh. "She is alive. Take me to her!"
"Gladly." The hooded squirrel helped them up, draping their arm over his shoulder to support them, since they were still quite groggy.
They'd barely started moving when two more figures emerged from the gatehouse, hastening toward them. A tall, powerful badger and a squirrel of athletic build, both female and both in Guard uniform, they closed the gap in moments, concern writ large across their faces.
"Don't tell me he...?" the brock began, picking Stuart up.
"He tried to," the light squirrel answered. "I stopped him. Just."
"Thank Dama," the female squirrel breathed. "He got away from us."
Stuart blinked in confusion. "Captain? Fern? You know him?"
"We'll explain when we're safe," the badger assured him. "Grab all his clothes, Fern."
The female squirrel did as bid, collecting everything as they jogged to the gatehouse. "His tabard's missing."
"Wind took it," the hooded rodent explained. "It'll take us if we don't hurry; it's getting worse."
"We can find another, if he wants it." The Captain glanced at Stuart as they passed beneath the portcullis; he gave no reaction, just huddled into her as the wind and rain found yet more fury.
The group fell silent, focused entirely on getting to shelter. Past the gatehouse was the right-angled corner of a cobbled street, extending far to the left, between the wall and several long, low warehouses of heavy grey stone, and ahead, a line of equally slab-faced dwellings on the left, a tightly-packed, two-story jumble of small ones to the right.
They hurried forward, four sets of senses keenly alert, then ducked into a tight thread of a passage that squeezed amongst the confusion of tiny homes, going under many of the second-level ones, to Stuart a hopelessly confusing blur of walls and doors with no apparent order or logic to their placement. A right, a left, and the quartet were rushing down a set of narrow steps and along a mostly pitch black passage.
More stairs took them up into a small courtyard surrounded by the massed houses, paths and steps leading in all directions. They took a passage in the far right corner, more doors rushing past, then spun left and finally entered one. A cramped sliver of stone-lined space, barely wider than the paths and lit by one faint spell in a corner, it contained just a pair of rough bedrolls, some scraps of parchment, and a polecat girl in ragged green leggings that ended halfway to her knees.
When the badger set Stuart down on one of the bedrolls she jumped on him, hugging him fiercely and kissing him repeatedly. "You flappin' stupid furbrain!" she scolded, even as tears flowed. "I coulda lost ya!"
"I thought..." Stuart was sobbing himself. "I thought..."
"They didn't touch me. Hoody here stopped 'em." She pointed to the lighter male squirrel, now crouched nearby, as was Fern; the Captain stood by the door, ears perked toward it. "He saved everyone."
"I had help," the vest-clad male demurred, his face still hidden. "We weren't about to stand idly by and let people die." His ears dipped. "I apologise for not telling you about Deanna sooner, but I couldn't ever find an opportunity. So many eyes and ears to evade."
Stuart nodded, still holding the polecat cub close. "Why do you think I chose tonight to...well..."
Fern sighed, pulling at her tail. "I should have watched you closer, but I had no idea you'd want to..."
Stuart sagged, ears and whiskers wilting. "I thought I'd lost Dee, and after losing her parents, and mine, I...I thought I had nothing left..." A wan smile flickered. "I might have been a little wrong."
"Damn right," the Captain averred. "I know it seems like the whole of the bloody town's in one pocket or another, that you'll just keep hittin' dead ends everywhere you turn, but...there _are_good pelts here." Her expression softened. "And certainly ones that care about you."
Dee nodded, kissing his nose for emphasis. "So don't try ta lob yaself off the bridge again, ya hear?"
"I hear." Stuart released a long, deep sigh. "I have a lot of thinking to do..."
"To that end," the badger instructed him, firmly, "I'll ensure you have a while off. I'll want you back sooner or later, mind - you're too damn good to lose."
"All right." Stuart turned to the light squirrel. "I hope you don't mind me staying here for a bit. I doubt I'll be up to much for some time."
"Stay as long as you like," the hooded one told him. "Both of you. I won't be around much, but I'll do my best to look after you. I daresay Fern'll help, too."
"Of course," she nodded. "I'll not let you slip away again."
"Thanks." Stuart's eyes watered anew.
"Right now, get plenty of rest," the Captain ordered. "No-one'll worry you here. I've got to get back to the barracks. You too, Fern."
Fern nodded, kissed Stuart's cheek, and joined the badger. They both gripped the light squirrel's paw tightly, then left.
The latter settled a hand on the other male's shoulder. "I have to take my leave, too, but I'll be back tomorrow. Look after yourself."
As he stood up, Stuart caught his wrist. "Can I know your name?"
There was a definite pause, then the lighter squirrel pulled down his hood and looked round, revealing a handsome, well-formed face set with keen green eyes that sparkled brightly. His head was crowned by luxuriously-tufted ears, and a light smile curved a strong muzzle.
"I'm Sebastian." He bowed elegantly. "A pleasure to finally meet you."
Stuart could only stare, ears colouring, while Dee giggled. "I think the pleasure's all Dab's."
Sebastian laughed himself. "Not at all. For now, farewell!"
As he left, his tail rippling behind him, Stuart watched with jaw slack and eyes quite wide.
Deanna giggled anew. "I do believe you've taken a liking ta him."
"Do you know," Stuart murmured, almost smiling. "I think I have."