User blog:Skipper Rorc/The Runaway part 2

I GIVE UP! I MEAN IT! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY LONGER! I tried to fit the entire story on one page, but after waiting ten minutes to edit ONE WORD I have decided to put the rest on a new page. So yeah, enjoy, and i'll enjoy updating and editing more now...

 NOTES!!! For notes and dedication go here. It's also the beginning of the story so read that before this.

Chapter 41
The sound of metal against stone grated through the tent, making the guards outside shift nervously, wishing their shift was over. Life as Zartho’s guard was hazardous, especially when the Commander was in a bad mood.

The Commander sat inside, bare sword across his knees, bent over as he perfected the edge. Not too sharp, not too blunt, that was the key. Growling his satisfaction, he laid the blade aside and drew his skinning knife. He smiled slightly as he bent over it. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was the edges on his blades. Nobeast else was allowed to touch them, anybeast who did died.

He straightened, holding up the knife and squinting at it. Picking up a length of rope lying beside his chair he held it at one end. There was a flash and a section of rope fell to the floor. Zartho examined the rope in his paw. It had barely quivered as the knifeblade passed through it. Smiling, he sheathed the knife.

As he sat back the tent flap opened and a cat entered nervously, standing stiffly at attention. “Commander!”

Zartho looked over contemptuously, picking up his sword as he did so. The cat gulped hard and Zartho grinned inwardly, he had worked hard to make everybeast fear him, it kept them obedient. Looking up, he raised an eyebrow, waiting for the cat to continue her report.

“Er…General Deatheye’s trackers are back, sir.” Said the cat nervously, she could feel Zartho’s dark mood in the air.

The Commander shoved the greatsword into the sheath at his hip, the steel ringing loudly as it slid in. “Well, send whoever’s reporting in.”

The cat bowed and backed out as he waved a paw at her. Words were exchanged and a thin, sly-looking ferret was pushed through the entrance. He stumbled, straightened, and looked around. Meeting Zartho’s eyes, he quickly looked down and away.

“What happened?” Zartho growled.

“W-We lost ‘is tracks!” The ferret whimpered. “They go right up th’ path, but then they jes’ disappear! We looked on both sides o’ the trail fer hours, but we couldn’t find even a pawmark!” Zartho’s face blackened as he stood up. The ferret stumbled backwards frantically making excuses. “T-The trackers were useless! They didn’t even try! They—”

Zartho cut him off. “Who led the tracking patrol?”

The ferret gulped, his knees shaking. “I-I did sir.”

Zartho nodded slowly. “Guards!” The ferret yelped as two guards, the cat an a fox, grabbed his arms. “Tie him up over there.” Zartho said, gesturing to a post in the middle of the tent. “I’ll deal with him later.”

The Commander stormed out of the tent amid the terrified screams and wails of the lead tracker. Deatheye would be a little put out at losing one of his best trackers, but he needed somebeast to take his frustration out on. Nothing had been going right since he attacked this abbey. His plans all had some flaw with them, and he couldn’t consult Shavant because the idjit vixen had gotten herself crushed by a falling tree during that storm.

He paused at the edge of the training field, watching as Rubah’s axe wove a web of blurring steel around him, swift as any sword. He grunted, at least the Juskaron knew how to teach the art of war. As he watched the hypnotic spectacle Shavant’s last vision came back to him.

Last night I was sitting in my tent and a vision appeared in my mind. She had said. ''In it you were standing at the gates of the abbey, the five armies engaged in battle around you. Above the gate a sea otter was wailing in despair and dropping to her knees. At your feet lay the warrior of Redwall, his blood running the length of your blade. Redwall was yours, nobeast could stop you''!

Zartho gave a rare satisfied smile. Shavant had been a good seer, she didn’t get things wrong. He looked at Rubah again, his smile fading as he watched his son. That otter was a variable he couldn’t leave unaccounted for. Growling slightly, he strode forward across the field. Drawing his sword, he stopped the bluing axe with a ringing clang.

Rubah took a step away, planting his axehead on the ground between his feet. “What do you want?” He snapped angrily.

Zartho’s anger flared again. “Where is your friend?” He asked, pressing the edge of his sword to Rubah’s neck.

The younger fox pushed it away contemptuously. “I already told you, I. Don’t. Know! And he’s not my friend, a friend doesn’t order ya around all th’ time.” Even as Rubah said this, he felt a pang of shame. Did he really think that about Rorc?

Zartho gritted his teeth. Spinning on his heel, he stalked off. Rubah turned back to practice, but soon had to quit because of the chilling screams coming from Zartho’s tent.

***

Rorc grinned from where he sat in a dark corner of the Great Hall, watching the final preparations for the feast. It was good to see and experience everybeast’s anticipation of a feast again. He had been left almost alone, Skipper had told him that he would be watched, but the old otter was too busy to keep a sharp eye on him, although he did glare at Rorc every once in awhile.

A tray of food rolled past, followed by a wave of hungry Dibbuns who had to be repeatedly chased away until Deyna recruited Arbuc and Awavian to keep them busy outside. Not that that stopped some of them from sneaking back inside. Rorc chuckled softly as two young squirrels ducked under a table, tiny paws darting out to grab pawfuls of sweets.

Rorc soon noticed that, although most of the tables had filled up, the one in his nook remained empty. Nobeast felt comfortable coming near the cloaked “stranger”. Sighing, he got up and filched a variety of food from nearby tables, most notably a pot of hotroot soup. Nimbalo walked by soon after, raising an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of food, but continued on.

Soon the twin tolling of the bells announced the beginning of the feast and the doors flew open to admit a flood of abbeybeasts and other woodlanders. Rorc stiffened involuntarily as a group of Guosim walked past. His forced himself to relax and enjoy the chaos of seating the inhabitants of Redwall, along with the assorted otters, shrews, and squirrels.

Eventually the cacophony died down as everybeast was seated. There was a number of sharp snaps as elders struck the offending paws of young ones too eager to wait. Soon Abbess Mhera stood up.

“Friends, this feast was put together by our good Friar Broggle and his loyal kitchen crew, some of whom kept silent despite what somebeast did to them.” Here Mhera paused and looked pointedly at Skipper.

The otter threw up his paws, “Alright, I’m sorry!” Then his face lit up. “There is ‘otroot soup though!”

The hall erupted into gales of laughter and even Mhera chuckled a bit before continuing. “Anyway, this feast is in honor of you good friends who came to aid us, and specifically for Rowan, our Fwirl’s father.”

Applause broke out, over which Broggle shouted. “Enjoy!”

With a shout Skipper lunged for the soup-pot, beating off several of his crew before he could serve himself. Some of the older beasts paused to gaze at the variety of food in awe. Not for nothing was Redwall cooking considered to be the best. Soups of all colors were scattered throughout the hall, flanked by platters of hard bread to dunk. Softer bread lay sliced near jars of jams. The types ranged from strawberry to blackberry to hazelnut. Hazelnut! Thought Rorc after he tasted the nutty flavor, Who thought that one up?

Some of the remaining fruit of last fall’s harvest was out, russet apples and ripe pears being chief among them. Rorc smiled as he remembered that apple tree seasons ago where the Juskaron had found him.

After awhile Rorc decided to stop staring at the food and start eating it. Many of the other newcomers to Redwall decided the same thing, and soon everybeast had tucked into large platters of food. The silent cloaked figure dining along in the corner of the hall stood out more than if he had donned a flamboyant vest and danced a jig on the tabletop. Rorc ignored the stares, curious ones from the Redwallers, and downright deadly ones from the Guosim and ottercrews.

Rorc plowed his way through the two bowls of watershrimp and hotroot soup, three slices of nutbread, an apple turnover, and a slice of cherry pie, enjoying every crumb of it. He didn’t neglect to wash it down with the common Redwall drink, October Ale, nor did he forget the favorite drink of Dibbuns, Strawberry Fizz.

As the evening darkened, the feasting slowed as everybeast turned their attention to talking, their hunger well sated. Rorc was aware that Skipper passed by frequently, a passive warning that he was not to begin wandering about. Rorc didn’t mind, he wasn’t about to risk letting somebeast see his face just yet.

Soon the candles around the Great Hall were lit to fend off the encroaching shadows. Rorc shifted so a cluster of candles was directly above him. Their light deepened the shadows cast by his hood, while the new position gave him a much better view of that Hall. Skipper started walking by his table again when he stopped and laid a paw on the table.

“You better have yer story ready, mate.” He growled, “We’re gonna ask soon.”

Rorc didn’t move. “Sind the Dibbuns off first, my tale is not for their ears tonight.”

Skipper strode off muttering something about not being ordered around. Rorc leaned forward and sighted, it was true that his tale wasn’t for young ears, and it wouldn’t fall well on Guosim ears either. He’d have to watch his back around them.

It wasn’t long after the candles were lit that the Dibbuns were sent off to bed, much to their dismay. Rorc grinned at their shrill objections (or bass in the case of the moles) but despite their complaints they were herded off to the dormitories. Rorc sat back, his paw brushing across his knives, assuring himself they were where they belonged.

As Filorn returned from putting the dibbuns to bed, Abbess Mhera stood. “Although this feast has been dedicated to celebrating Rowan’s reunion with Fwirl and her family, we also have a guest. Some of you may have noticed him. Sir, if you would be so kind to tell us your story, now would be the time.”

Rorc slowly rose and walked towards the middle of the Great Hall, conscious of the involuntary tightening of paws, although most weapons had been laid aside.

Deyna rolled his shoulders as the quiet guest approached the center of the room, feeling the comfortable pressure of Martin’s Sword against his back. He didn’t trust this stranger who hid himself in a dark cloak. He had a certain gait that he’d seen before, but couldn’t place. The stranger stopped in the middle of the Hall.

“Could a square be cleared here?” The stranger asked.

Skipper glanced at Deyna and shrugged. Motioning to his crew to assist him he stood. There was a scrape of wood against stone as everybeast in the immediate vicinity rose and moved out.

“I wonder what he’s up to.” Mhera muttered to Deyna.

“Whatever it is, this night will be very interesting.” Nimbalo said from the other side.

“When the square was clear the figure turned to the head table. “Who am I?” Deyna got the feeling that the beast was grinning at him. There was a flash of movement and then a metallic blur appeared in the creature’s paw.

“Heyya hupp!”

Most everybeast at the head table flinched and ducked at the stranger’s paw shot out and stuck the blur. The Great Hall erupted in a roar as the Guosim and otter crews shot toward the door to get their weapons.

“Stop!” Deyna roared, staring at the dagger in the table. Quivering with emotion, he reached forward and yanked it from the table in front of him. Staring at the painfully familiar blade he asked, voice trembling, “Where’d you get this?” He recognized the gait now; it was similar to a ferret from the Juskaron clan, the one that had been killed off. He had seen them once during his younger years as a Juska, and he remembered the tips that ferret gave him well, they were the best he had ever been given. “Tell me!” He shouted, glaring at the figure, the pain in his eyes evident as he feared the worst.

Rorc mentally steeled himself. He wanted Deyna to fight him. And the only way to get him to do that would be to wake that strain of vengeance for family in him.

“Oh.” He chuckled. “It was like taking it from a babe. Of course the babe is long gone, but it wasn’t too lingering.”

It worked perfectly. Deyna’s eyes closed momentarily as images of his tree-season old son slain flashed through his head. With a savage growl he leapt over the table.

Rorc grinned as he jumped forward to meet him, drawing his Salamandastron dagger as he did so. They met with a clash and a grunt. Deyna got his first glance under Rorc’s cowl.

“Juska.” He hissed, swiping the knife at Rorc.

The young otter stepped back just enough so the knife grazed his fur. “This is between you and me, Tagg.”

The otter’s eyes hardened at the mention of his old name. “Why did you come?” He spat, blocking Rorc’s strike with his blade.

“Well,” Said Rorc, jumping back and bouncing off a nearby table, rolling as he hit the ground, “I’ve been raised as the Taggerung so when I found that you were alive I had to come to defeat you for my title to be legitimate.”

So you killed my son, and now you’ve come to kill me?” asked Deyna, incredulous as he swept out a footpaw and knocked his opponent over. The creature simply went with the rotation however and rolled on his shoulder.

“I never said that.” Rorc retorted. “I have no wish to kill you, merely to defeat you.” Rorc leapt over Deyna’s rudder and shot his left paw forward, striking Deyna in the chest. Then he threw himself into a back pawspring, dodging out of reach. Darting forward again, he engaged the older otter once more.

Skipper blocked the door to the Great Hall as the otters and Shrews returned. “Stand by in cast the beast tries to hurt anybeast else or get away, but don’t attack him. This is a battle of honor and a personal matter, don’t interfere.”

The Guosim and ottercrews grumbled but agreed and spread out to cover all exits. The non-warrior types had long since cleared out of the hall, so the room was mostly empty.

Nimbalo sat back at the head table, sipping a mug of October Ale and cheering. “Go an’ get ‘im, Mate! Yore th’ best around! Don’t take that from ‘im, show ‘im what yer made of!”

Skipper walked around the whirling ball of flesh and steel. Grabbing Nimbalo by the shoulders, the old otter lifted the harvest mouse up and shook him. “What are you doing? Yer mate is in a life-and-death battle an’ yer cheering?”

Nimbalo held his head to stop his teeth from rattling. “Steady mate! It’s not deadly, haven’t you seen who he is?”

“Who he is?” Skipper echoed. He stared at the twin blurs, batching a better glance of the stranger as they disengaged a moment before clashing again. He drew a sharp gasp, starting forward.

Nimbalo quickly clamped a paw over Skipper’s mouth as the otter let out a cry of joy. “Not yet mate, don’t spoil th’ little troublemaker’s fun.”

Skipper nodded reluctantly and stepped back an Nimbalo let go of him. The grey-furred otter motioned Thorne over. “Tell everybeast to stand down, I recognize this beast, no harm’s gonna come to Deyna, we might actually have to protect our visitor.”

The otter looked slightly confused but left to relay the message. Skipper glanced for a moment at the three otterladies who had returned. Arbuc stood to the side of them with Awavian, checking his belt as he waited for the duel to end. The old otter was glad that Pearl and Filorn’s pain would soon be removed.

Rorc had allowed himself to slip slightly into his rage, it would be too tragic for this reunion to turn out badly with a mistimed slash. He jumped back and relaxed, hoping Deyna would take the opportunity for a throw.

The otter did.

Deyna watched his opponent stagger, holding the knife lodged in his chest. He relaxed as the foe dropped to his knees and gasped. He noticed Nimbalo and Skipper looking on in shocked horror, mouths gaping. They looked like they were sad that he had won. The cloaked figure fell forward and rolled, slamming his footpaws into the red stone floor, launching himself into a flying leap over Deyna. The otter barely had time for a surprised yelp before he felt a cold blade press against the back of his neck for a moment. Deyna wondered for a moment why he wasn’t dead, but quickly focused and spun around, reaching for Martin’s Sword. There was a whooshing sound, and before he could draw his blade he was drenched from above.

“So nice of you to keep that up Da.” Said the figure in front of him, throwing off his cloak to reveal a fit otter with Juska tattoos, reminding Deyna of himself. Almost exactly of himself, Deyna realized. The figure spun both daggers, neither one dirty in any way. “I think that counts as beating you.”

Deyna hardly noticed himself sprinting forward and wrapping his son in a tight embrace. He barely heard the screams of joy from his wife and mother and the shock of their collision with them.

Tears streamed from his eyes and voice trembling, Rorc choked out, “I-I’m home Dad.”