Chapter 20: The Heart of the Kingdom
Brownia and King Greatclaw stood alone in the alleyway. Brownia’s muscles quivered and her back ached, unused to the strain of standing up. The chains were great weights on her wrists and ankles. A dampness had settled into her lungs that no cough would clear. The king looked even worse than she felt. What was more, the weasels had blinded him. He wouldn’t even be able to see the enemy.
Against these two came now three weasels and a big wolverine. Nevertheless, they stopped when they saw the two bears in the alley, especially when they didn’t cringe in fear. And there was something obviously wrong with one of them–he was quivering and growling to himself–and the weasels seemed unsure as how to proceed.
And so the weasels eyed them warily, daggers in hand. Their musky smell was all the stronger for the clean air in which the bears had found themselves after escaping from the filth of Garmley’s dungeon. “You there!” one of the weasels said. “You know the city is under curfew. The weasel lord has commanded thirty lashes to any bear seen in the streets after dark.”
“The weasel lord?” Brownia said in barely controlled fury. Strength was rising in her limbs. “What is he to us? There is no lord or king in River’s Edge but Greatclaw. You are unwelcome in his lands.”
“Enough of this, you fools,” the weasel said. “Backs against the walls or we will cut you down.”
King Greatclaw suddenly reared back his head and roared. Brownia looked at him, startled and not a little afraid. Something was working its way through his body. He was stretching, growing. His flesh was filling in, muscles bulging where once there had been nothing but bones. He must have stood nearly six feet tall. And his eyes! They blazed with their own light. The alley was filled with it.
And Brownia could feel the power washing over her, as well. It was radiating out from the king like the heat from a furnace. It must have been just a taste of what had overcome the king, but she could feel her own muscles strengthening, and a surge of righteous anger flowing in her veins. She opened her mouth into its own roar.
At her side, Greatclaw tore his chains from his body as if he had done no more than stumble into a troublesome spider web. “Now!” he roared. “You will see the measure of a bear’s rage.”
The enemy dropped their weapons and fled in terror.
Brownia started after them, but Greatclaw stopped her with his paw. “Not now. We haven’t the strength. Quick, while there is still time.”
He took her chains and pulled at them. The peak of the king’s strength was already fading and it took some effort to free her of the chains and shackles. But at last they clattered to the ground and Brownia was able to stretch her limbs in freedom once more.
Greatclaw coughed. He was shrinking now, returning to his former, weakened state. Brownia could feel it in herself as well. Whatever power had radiated from the king was draining away quickly now. The light dimmed in his eyes, and then he was blind again. It had all lasted less than a minute and had left the king drained and shaken.
She took him by the arm, feeling his bones beneath her paws. “Come, we must flee this place. They will be back.”
As they hobbled from the alley and into the street, the king muttered under his breath, “Do not leave me now, King Prestor. We cannot win this war without you.”
Brownia had no idea what he was talking about.
#
Youd the Half-Paw had heard the news already when he was summoned to see the weasel lord. It was being whispered throughout Greatclaw’s manor and throughout the companies of weasels that kept control of River’s Edge. Snark had failed his mission. Exactly how was a mystery, though a few details had come out.
What was know for sure was that Snark had landed at Muddy Fork, unable to take the Alonus Bridge from a force of badgers and bears holding it. He’d set off for Broken Keep at night with a few trusted companions, hoping to settle by mischief what he couldn’t on the battlefield. Neither Snark nor any of his companions had returned, not even Mudruss the Wolverine, who was strong and fierce enough to take down a bear armed with nothing more than tooth and claw. After waiting a day for Snark to return, the leader of the weasel garrison at Muddy Fork had decided to move on the Alonus Bridge of his own accord. The attack had been a total disaster. Only a handful of weasels had escaped being captured or killed and were now limping their way northward, word of their failure reaching River’s Edge by mouth of a crow, who had been rather delighted to share the bad news.
Youd had been away for these past few days and was surprised to hear how badly the war had suddenly turned. He’d expected Snark to fail, but would have never guessed just how spectacularly. Youd had been in the north country during the time of Snark’s failure, supposedly searching out the last of the Greencloaks. Few had escaped his trap, and those were no longer a threat. Instead of wasting his time searching out their hiding place, he had pursued more fruitful endeavors.
Two companions had returned with him from the wilderness. They slinked by his side through the shadowy hallways of Garmley’s manor. The halls were almost empty, what with Garmley assembling an army to march south to meet the enemy. The three of them ran into one guard, patrolling the halls with a spear in hand. He took one look at the two beasts flanking Youd and shrank back against the wall, not even daring to squeak a challenge. Even so, Youd’s companions growled a warning, low and dangerous, as they passed. He held out a hand for them to stop just outside the door to the great hall. It was not yet time to reveal them to the weasel lord.
He pushed open the door and strode into the great hall. His boots were shod with iron nails and made a knock, knock sound as he marched across the flagstones. But Garmley didn’t look up from where he stood next to the Oaken Throne. He was hacking and chopping and even sawing at the massive thing with an axe. To little effect, it appeared. Chips and splinters of oak lay all around him, but the chair still towered over him, barely scratched by the effort.
Garmley looked up as Half-paw made his way up the stairs to the dais where the Oaken Throne squatted defiantly. Sweat had matted the fur on the weasel lord’s forehead. His sides were heaving. “It’s this cursed chair,” he said. “It must come out.”
Youd saw no point in the effort. “My lord?”
“It’s the heart of Greatclaw’s power. I should have seen it before.” He looked up at Youd, and fixed him with a strange stare. “I thought it was just a chair. We could tear it out, replace it with something more to my size, and nobody would be the wiser.”
“And why not? It’s only a chair.”
“It’s not only a chair! Can’t you see? Look, it’s growing. It’s already healing itself.”
It was true, Youd saw. The cuts in the wood made by Garmley’s frantic hacking and gouging were already disappearing, as if worked by an invisible hand that caressed the wood, smoothing, and polishing.
Garmley threw down his axe with a noise of disgust and despair.“It’s sending out power to our enemies. It’s helping them!”
Youd shook his head. “Impossible.”
Garmley turned with a snarl. “You fool. Have you not heard? Greatclaw and his captain have escaped the dungeon.”
This was, indeed, news to Youd. Unpleasant news. Worse, in fact, than the news of Snark’s defeat to the south. Even blinded, the king would be a rallying point for the bears. And with the Captain of the Greencloaks escaped as well–together with the other bears and humans to the south with their badger army–suddenly their certain victory was looking precarious. Some of the weaker weasels would be casting furtive glances to the woods and to the south to wonder how they could slip away before the enemy arrived at River’s Edge. Youd might have harbored his own doubts, but for his newfound friends.
“Greatclaw is blind and chained. He cannot get far. I will send men after them.”
“Already done,” Garmley said. “Though I don’t know what good they might do. They’ve already fought off three weasels and a wolverine from the night guard.”
Youd found that difficult to believe. Two half-starved bears, chained, would be no match for that many guardsmen. “I suppose they were drunk when they found the bears.”
Garmley gave a grimace. “From their outlandish tale, I would think so–they said something about giant, wild bears tearing off the chains and coming at them–but they did not appear drunk. And someone or something did break through the chains. In any event, we have searched the city and cannot find them. This could be troublesome.”
Youd could see it. By himself, the blinded king would be helpless. But Brownia, Captain of the Greencloaks, could use him to rally bears to her side. Youd could have sent weasels to deal with them before they got that far, only he had too much to worry about now with the badger rebellion gaining strength to the south. If he ignored it, catching Greatclaw wouldn’t matter at all. Badgers would march northward, gathering bears as they came, until they were too strong to resist.
Garmley was nodding as he studied Youd’s face. “So you see the problem we’re in. Our forces to the south are too disorganized to mount opposition. And we can’t leave River’s Edge or it will fall. What can we do but wait here until the enemy arrives? And when they come, they will be too powerful to resist, and we will have nowhere to flee.”
Youd was secretly pleased by Garmley’s fears. Things were coming together as well as he could hope. How far he had come in just a few days, from being despised for his supposed weakness, to being Garmley’s only hope for survival. And Snark was gone, too. He was one victory away from rising to such power that not even the weasel lord himself would be able to stand in his way.
“That is exactly what we should do,” Youd said. “We will wait here, let the enemy gather his strength. We will wait, and prepare.”
Garmley shook his head. “By then, the enemy will outnumber us. It will be too late to stand and fight.” He sat back onto the throne, now completely healed. Immediately, he was grimacing and shifting his weight, trying in vain to get comfortable. “They will have what, at least two hundred in their army by then. Who could resist such a vast force?”
Youd allowed a small smile to play across his lips. He had never before seen Garmley looking so defeated, and was enjoying the moment. Especially since he knew that the danger was much smaller than Garmley supposed. “We will resist it. Indeed, we will do more than that. We will crush them.”
“Yes, and how will we do that? In what fantasy land can you concoct an overwhelming victory from almost certain defeat?”
“First, we will spend the next week preparing for their arrival. We will set traps and ambushes. We will feign weakness, while hiding our strength. Second, we will abandon the south. Send out your crows to call all weasel-kind northward. They will come by the river, which we still hold. The enemy will be moving slowly, gathering forces and rallying the courage of their armies.”
“You would abandon our own lands?” Garmley protested. “What would keep them from cutting us off in the north and waiting until winter, when we will starve?”
“The badgers might argue for that kind of approach,” Youd conceded. “They are a cautious people, not prone to foolish mistakes. But the bears cannot wait. Every day they hesitate, our hold over their lands grows stronger and their people weaker. They will press the attack.”
“Hmm,” Garmley said. “You almost even the odds for us, then. It is a battle we might win. But we will never rout them, not even with the most clever strategem.”
“Ah, but there is one thing you do not yet know,” Youd said, waving his good paw in the air as if the matter were nothing more than a triviality, instead of days of painstaking effort and promises of flesh and blood to his new allies. “Imagine this. The battle is at its hottest. The enemy sees that we do not intend to flee in terror, but will fight to the death, and doubt begins to creep into their minds. Suddenly, from the trees comes a new host, fresh, ruthless and cruel. The badgers and the bears will lose faith and courage in an instant. We will decide the war in one brutal moment.”
Garmley gave him a disbelieving stare, full of scorn. “And where will this so-called new host come from? Your pockets?”
This was the moment Youd had been waiting for. He let out a low whistle.
And into the room loped the two companions he’d brought from the wilderness across the river. They were long and gray, creatures of shadow. And hungry. You could see the deep, abiding hunger in their eyes, as if nothing they could eat would ever satisfy them.
Wolves.
They were members of a renegade pack that had been driven from the northlands, from the frozen lands, where mammoths and frost lions roamed. The Bloody Paw Clan, they called themselves. Youd had not befriended them–the Bloody Paws had no friends–but he had enlisted their help by making certain promises and oaths. They were agreements that Youd had been all too willing to make. When the war came, the wolves would fight for the weasels, yes. In return, the wolves would feast on the dead and dying, be they weasel, badger, bear, or human.
If Garmley was frightened by the wolves, he didn’t show it. “New friends, I should hope?”
“Yes, of course. Friends. Twenty wolves in all, the rest waiting on the other side of the river. When the enemy arrives, we will call them across. They will tear through these badgers like they are no more than field mice.”
“The badgers, it would seem, are not so easily frightened as you would think.”
“You know, then,” said Youd, “what has become of the ferret?”
“No, I don’t. But it is clear enough that he has failed his mission.”
Inwardly, Youd smiled. Of course he had. The ferret was cunning enough, Youd would admit, but the badgers had been well-organized, and wary. It had been a military operation, and that was something for which Snark had been ill-suited. Half-Paw had little doubt that his end had been a messy one. It was a proposition that pleased him a good deal. He had not forgotten Snark’s treacherous ways–or Garmley’s, for that matter–and his only regret was that he hadn’t seen the ferret’s demise.
Garmley said, “So you bring help. And just in time to save us all. No doubt you wish some favor in return, some new privilege or power.”
Half-Paw feigned surprise. “Of course not,” he lied. “I have never wanted anything more than to serve you.”
The weasel lord was not stupid. He watched Youd and his wolves with narrowed eyes for a long moment. At last he nodded. “Very well.”
Youd whistled at the wolves, who gave a snarl and then turned to follow him from the Great Hall. Behind, Garmley turned back to the Oaken Throne, muttering and cursing about the blasted thing.
Youd allowed himself a smile. His path was clear to him now. He alone would stand victorious when the battle exhausted itself, when two armies lay broken. Nothing else would satisfy him.
Chapter Twenty-One: Taming the Wild Beast
The wolverine’s name was Mudruss, and Aaron had never seen a more vicious-looking animal. It had taken Brumbles and three badgers to subdue the beast at Broken Keep, and not without wounds all around. They’d tied him and then caged him, and all the while he was snarling and snapping at any hand or paw that came near. Finally, they muzzled him, but this did not stop his struggles. Only when they set out the next morning did he stop fighting. And then he settled into a sullen lethargy as eight badgers lifted his cage onto a cart to pull north with the rest of the army. He said nothing all day, just glared through his muzzle, or let out a low, dangerous growl whenever anyone came too close to his cage.
Neither of the children wanted to be near the wolverine–he even smelled bad, like a cross between Skunk at her worst and a piece of rotten meat–but once Aaron found himself walking along behind the wagon. He looked up to see the wolverine watching with smoldering eyes, no doubt sizing him up for a meal. He shuddered and looked away.
They met up with Skunk along about midday. She emerged from a hiding spot beneath an overturned cart by the side of the road, together with two companions, also skunks. The M
erley kids greeted her with a hug that was sure to leave a lingering odor, but they so happy to see her that they didn’t mind the smell.
“This is my cousin, Skunk, and my other cousin, uhm, also named Skunk. They’re brothers. I guess that’s obvious,” she added. “They look just like brothers, don’t they?”
Aaron supposed so. The two skunks looked identical to his eyes. Actually, Skunk herself would have been too, only she was just a hair smaller than her two cousins.
“We’d better call them Cousin 1 and Cousin 2,” Bethany told him, as Skunk waddled back to find Brumbles, “or it’s going to get confusing in a hurry.”
“So which is which?” he asked, looking back and forth between the two cousins, who had already found the provisions wagon and were helping themselves to some cheese. Skunk returned a minute later and sniffed out the exact same wagon. She came back to join the kids a few minutes later, crumbs still clinging to her whiskers.
The three skunks called themselves the Stink Brigade. “Not that we’re naturally smelly,” Skunk assured Aaron as they trudged north with the rest of the army. “But imagine the three of us giving a full blast right in the weasel lord’s snout.” She chuckled. “I can hardly wait. Oh, by the way. Have you got anything to eat? I’m still kind of hungry.”
They met no opposition from the weasels either that day or the next. Dermot and Princess Sylvia and the Ash Clan were still holding the bridge on the Alonus River, reported a fox who’d gone out the previous night to scout the road.
They made camp that night in a defensible spot called Grass Mountain, which was more of a large hill than a mountain. Ahead stretched the Apple Valley and the beginning of bear country. The mountains flanking them on the east began their slow and steady climb that would eventually lead to the vast ranges of the north country. A smaller mountain range stretched to the west. Aaron fell asleep staring up at the stars with the pleasant swish of the grass as waves of wind lapped over the hill.
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