He looked again to the north and west, but it took a moment for him to see the truth of what was happening. The sight sent a shiver of renewed terror down his spine.
A flood of rats crashed from the cover of the leaning tall grass and swept toward them in a horrible, swollen mass of black and brown. This was the earthen wave he had seen from the dome of Round Top. This was the main body of GoRec’s army, come at last to lay siege to the city of promise.
But the sea of rats was not the worst of what he saw.
GoRec, king of the rats, came with them, surrounded by his own sort of kingsguard, the Ur’Lugh. They were perhaps two hundred of the fiercest rats JaRed had ever seen. They moved in disciplined ranks, like seasoned warriors, not topsy-turvy as rats usually do. They were all huge, all well-oiled. As they approached, JaRed saw that each of the Ur’Lugh warriors had smeared half of his face with reddish-black war paint.
No, JaRed realized, not paint. Blood.
A collective hush settled on the mice.
“I told you to retreat,” LaRish huffed, his breath coming in gasping heaves as he spoke in JaRed’s ear. “Is that what you call … obeying an order? I have half a mind … to claw you myself. But I am too tired. And besides … I have not thanked you yet.”
JoHanan nodded toward the advancing army. “We haven’t much time.”
LaRish grinned. “Let’s go, then. Take JaRed inside.”
“What about you?” JoHanan asked.
LaRish scowled. “I am a generale. I will come last. My honair is at stake.”
JaRed didn’t argue. Helped by JoHanan, with the kingsguard covering their retreat, they reached the Shade Gate and plunged inside.
After they were all safely encompassed by the comforting blackness of the tunnel, JaRed looked around. Female mice tended the wounded, licked their wounds. Now that the immediate danger was past, some of the warriors openly shook with fatigue and fear, all sense of dignity ignored.
But JaRed knew: LaRish hadn’t followed them through the Shade Gate into the tunnel. He had never intended to.
LaRish was still outside.
Chapter Nine
LaRish
From his position at the head of a small line of defenders, Captain Blang stared in quiet disbelief at what he saw unfolding to the south. Numbness crept over his mind, settling around him like a warm blanket. When he spoke, the words seemed to come from someone else.
He ordered his mice to retreat into a tightly controlled circle, though the nearest rats had broken off their attack and seemed content, for the moment, to await orders. Now the rat battalions stood in a ragged line less than three meters away.
Blang’s mice obeyed with admirable precision, closing their line into a tightly ordered island of safety around the narrow hole of the one gate that would remain open.
To the south, the last of LaRish’s exposed kingsguard mice slipped inside the Shade Gate, but LaRish did not enter. Instead, he wheeled around and moved toward the knotted mass of the Ur’Lugh on the open plain.
Captain Blang drew a sharp breath. “What is he doing?” he snarled to no one in particular. “Doesn’t the fool know we need him?”
By tradition, the last defending warrior outside a besieged a city was considered a messenger. This was a matter of functionality more than courtesy. Someone had to take the terms of the attacking army inside to the king. Until this moment, Captain Blang had expected to be the one who would execute this unfortunate duty.
LaRish clearly had other plans.
The rats could have fallen on LaRish from all sides and ripped him to pieces, but something held them back. Perhaps it was his self-assurance. Perhaps it was his irritating and belligerent smile. Perhaps it was the blood smeared on his fur, none of which seemed to be his. Whatever the reason, the great sea of rats gave way before LaRish as though he carried a terrible disease. A poet might have called that disease courage, but the rats were in no danger of catching it.
The rats parted around him like the waters of the White River in the ancient story. The Ur’Lugh warriors sneered, then glanced back at GoRec for instructions.
“Let him through,” GoRec said. His voice sounded like gravel.
The Ur’Lugh did as they were told, and LaRish slipped through their lines to stand before GoRec.
“You have come for terms,” GoRec said. “You shall have them. I give the mice of Tira-Nor one hour to leave the city.”
“I have not come to hear your pathetic demands,” LaRish said, “but to see if you are as good a fighter as the rumors say. I am told you do very well against females and kits.”
GoRec scowled. “For that, you will die slowly.”
“Well, I have lived long enough. And you seem to have lived a bit too long. You have attacked innocent mice without warning. You have keeled without provocation. You have surrounded Tira-Nor to take what you can never have: honair. I would give you a worse insult than this, but I cannot think of one. You, sir, are a rat!”
The Ur’Lugh formed a large circle around the two, a sort of combat ring for the duel. They laughed as though they had no doubt what the outcome would be.
LaRish glanced to his right, toward the sloping mound of the West Gate, where Captain Blang stood his defiant watch.
GoRec hissed, rose, began to sway.
“Pay attention, Captain Blang,” LaRish said in a voice audible only to himself. “Or this will be for nothing.”
HaRed tried not to reveal his surprise when he saw the wealth of King SoSheth’s palace for the first time. He was good at hiding his thoughts and emotions, but even so, he drew a sharp breath when—after what seemed an eternity of waiting in an adjacent guard chamber—he at last stepped into the private chambers of the king.
Blue and green glowstones washed the room in a soft cascade of light, giving the chamber an iridescent, liquid appearance, like moonlit water. The walls and floor were carpeted in matted down, soft as the fur of a kitten, and seemed to radiate warmth. At the far end of the room, the king reclined with YuLooq as a serving maiden fed them raisins.
The guard who had led HaRed into the room bowed low, his nose touching the floor. “Your Majesty. HaRed son of ReDemec the Red.”
The king barely glanced at him. “Who are you and what do you want?”
Before HaRed could answer, YuLooq swallowed a bit of raisin and raised a finger. “Forgive me, Majesty, but …” He turned to HaRed. “We met previously, did we not?”
They had spoken less than an hour ago in the guard chamber, where YuLooq had advised him to “be patient and play along, and look for opportunity as the conversation progresses.” But HaRed understood that in the game of politics the most important rule was to never say what one meant. “I am at your service, my lord. My sincere apologies for this unfortunate interruption, Your Majesty.”
“Apology accepted. Now, what do you want?”
“I am here, Highness, because I have information that may be of interest to you.”
King SoSheth licked one paw. “Information? No. What I am interested in is raisins. Servant! Must I grow them myself? Thorns and thistles!”
The serving maid appeared with two more raisins and handed them over, bowing profusely.
King SoSheth bit the end off of his and chewed thoughtfully. “Excellent. I must see that the last of these are moved to my private quarters.” He motioned to HaRed with his empty left paw. “Well, mouse? Get on with it.”
“King SoSheth,” HaRed said, “you have taken into your service a certain mouse by the name of JaRed.”
“Also son of ReDemec,” the king said with no hint of irony.
HaRed cleared his throat. “My brother, in fact.”
“Unremarkable.”
YuLooq raised one paw. His eyes shone dully in the light of the glowstones, and for a moment HaRed saw himself reflected in the blackness of each pupil. “I believe he’s the one who destroyed the escape tunnel, Majesty.”
King SoSheth scowled. “Well, that was remarkable. The little se
rpent killer. What about him?”
HaRed looked to YuLooq. The old merchant’s fat face smiled, stretching into an expression as cold and hard as ice.
“Majesty.” HaRed’s voice seemed to come from somewhere far away, somewhere dark and lonely and desperate. “My brother JaRed has been anointed king over Tira-Nor.”
Captain Blang’s mind was numb. He could not think. A dreadful sense of inadequacy and fear swept over him.
It couldn’t be. And yet it was. The monster of his memory and the rat master GoRec were the same rat!
He knew. He saw. He heard. The memories—the sounds and sights and smells of that night—came flooding back, undimmed by time.
Shush. Be still. Father will protect us …
Mother hiding him in the secret hollow place where he could peer out and see Father defending them. Father the commoner. Father the fearless. Father, who stood up to two, then four rats, circling among them like a mongoose among serpents. Father biting, wheeling, arcing.
Father bleeding. Father killing.
Until the monster came. The huge rat with the blood-frothed nose, the pink bubbles at his lips, the dark stains on his teeth. The monster rose up like the heavens and struck.
Father falling. Shuddering under the impact as Mother screamed …
“Captain Blang?”
Lieutenant KoVeek’s impatient chirping drew him back to the present.
GoRec, the one who had killed Father and Mother and all the rest, had come at last to Tira-Nor.
“We must get inside. We can do nothing for him now.”
Far down the sloping plain to the south, GoRec’s Ur’Lugh warriors closed into a tight fist around LaRish and the monster. Even the legendary LaRish would not be able to fight his way out.
“He is a brave mouse, sir, but there is nothing we can do. He is buying us time to secure the city. Let us not waste it.”
Without taking his eyes from the circle, Captain Blang said flatly, “No, Lieutenant. We will wait.”
“But sir—”
Blang cast a withering glance at the lieutenant, who snapped a stiff salute and shut up.
As Blang turned back, the Ur’Lugh exploded. The great knot of rats that encompassed LaRish swelled and opened as two rats went down, falling on themselves as if struck by some mighty blow.
Indeed, they had been struck. By GoRec. Probably by mistake, though Blang could not tell for sure.
As the fist opened, Blang was able to see. A timeless battle: dwarf against giant, hopelessness fighting fear. A dance of death. A dance of spinning grace and grotesque force and spit and blood and sweat.
The bodies seemed to flow together as they struggled, the two dissimilar creatures meshing into one live, writhing mass of furious will.
Eternity pressed upon him. The moment expanded until nothing but the now mattered. Blang felt as though he were going into war himself.
He caught a glimpse of LaRish spinning, whirling, biting. LaRish taking a long, bloody gash along his spine as GoRec’s claws swept past him and LaRish slid away. LaRish, as light as the wind, dancing and weaving on paws that seemed tiny by comparison. LaRish striking in his inimitable style, moving in, under, turning lightly.
And yet not so lightly.
LaRish was tired.
Blang could see it, though perhaps the rat could not. But then, Blang was familiar with LaRish’s style. And LaRish was not so young as he used to be.
GoRec struck, missed, recovered. He coiled. He sprang. He missed again.
Strike now, Blang thought. For he saw the opening he could not have seen as a child on the day GoRec killed his father. The rat was vulnerable at the throat. When he struck downward his front paws opened, and in that instant there was space for a death blow.
Surely LaRish saw it, too. Three times GoRec had struck in the same fashion. Each time from the left. Each time after swaying. And each time his front paws opened for an instant. Just an instant. But long enough.
LaRish did not take advantage of the opening. Instead, he turned like a leaf tossing in the wind, arcing out of the way, barely a hair’s breadth from the point of GoRec’s outstretched claws.
The gash on LaRish’s back widened as long fingers of blood reached down his ribs. Too much blood. Long stripes that burned black in the trailing sunlight.
The blood loss had taken its toll. LaRish was beyond tired. He was exhausted.
He cannot win.
GoRec rose up as the Ur’Lugh cheered. LaRish spun again, moving in this time, though more slowly. He bit a chunk out of GoRec’s thigh, drawing a scream of pain and rage so deep even the Ur’Lugh were silenced by it.
LaRish’s sides heaved. He did not back away, and Blang knew LaRish had no more strength left.
Blang heard Mother’s scream. Saw the look in Father’s eyes as he died: a look of profound helplessness and sorrow, a look of exhaustion, a look of defiance that would burn itself forever into Blang’s memory.
Father!
GoRec spat a stream of profanity audible even from where Blang stood. He cursed mice, Tira-Nor, ElShua. His mouth foamed with a pink froth that he wiped away with the back of one paw, rage making his limbs shake.
LaRish drew himself up. He turned toward the deserted mound above the Shade Gate and lifted one paw in a silent salute.
GoRec struck.
JaRed shot from the Shade Gate into the sea of rats and raced for the circle of Ur’Lugh warriors. The guards at the narrow mouth of the gate would have tried to stop him had they seen him coming, but his exit was so unexpected they didn’t have time to react.
Rats of all shapes and colors surrounded him, though none were so large as those in GoRec’s bodyguard. It seemed GoRec had pressed all of the largest rats into the Ur’Lugh.
They let JaRed pass without a word, parting as they had for LaRish. Not all the rats were as ferocious as the skirmishers he had fought earlier. Most of them seemed small by comparison. And ordinary. They smelled like garbage. But they were still rodents, even if their tails were ugly and bald. JaRed imagined most of GoRec’s army consisted of simple rats, commoners like himself.
He wondered how many even wanted this war with mice. Perhaps some of them secretly breathed the name of ElShua when they went to sleep, or when they spoke to their children of life and death, justice and mercy.
He stopped at the circle of the shouting Ur’Lugh. Their voices gurgled, a sound like asphyxiation, and it took JaRed a moment before he realized they were giving a kind of cheer. He did not know why. He could not see through the ring of tall rats, and he could not tell what had happened.
When one of them finally noticed him, a grotesque sneer spread across his face. He tapped another rat on the shoulder. When they had parted, JaRed saw LaRish lying like a bundle of rags on the ground, his fur matted and torn.
Bleeding from a dozen minor wounds, GoRec wiped the bloody froth from his mouth with the back of one blood-stained paw. He sneered at JaRed. “Another champion?”
JaRed stepped into the ring, which closed behind him, and padded over to where LaRish lay staring into the sky.
“That’s no champion,” one of the Ur’Lugh said. “They must have sent him for the body.”
“Good,” GoRec said. “Take it back into Tira-Nor with my terms for your surrender. Any who surrender before dawn will be spared. All others will die slowly, like this one. This mouse will bleed to death within the hour. And he will suffer much in the meantime. Let this be a lesson to your king.”
The Ur’Lugh laughed.
JaRed hovered over LaRish, too numb to think.
“Leetle mouse,” LaRish whispered, “did you see?”
JaRed shook his head. “Hang on.” The rats could have killed him then and he would not have resisted. It seemed the world had already come to an end.
“It is …” LaRish wheezed, his voice coming in great, heavy gasps as blood rattled in his throat.
“Don’t talk,” JaRed said. “I’m taking you back into Tira-Nor.”
&
nbsp; “It ... is … an ... honair.”
JaRed could not lift LaRish. He hooked his paws under the armpits and dragged the body backward one staggering step at a time. It took a long time to reach the Shade Gate.
Three times Blang sent soldiers to demand permission to help remove the body. And three times the demand had been rebuffed by attacks from the rats.
Clearly the rats were enjoying the situation. They taunted JaRed as he struggled to get the body inside. They turned the whole thing into a cruel game. No mouse would help him, and no rat would inhibit him.
JaRed felt nothing. The world of rats all but disappeared. He barely heard their mocking laughter. He did not heed their voices, their threats. The universe shrank to a long, narrow tunnel, a path of flattened grass that stretched for what seemed miles between here and the Shade Gate.
LaRish’s body grew heavier with each step.
JaRed was tired. His legs were stumps of wood, fixed by fatigue into a cramped mass of knotted muscle. Worse, the oil on LaRish’s coat made getting a firm hold nearly impossible. Now JaRed’s paws were smeared with a mixture of oil and sweat and blood. With each step, he was forced to shift his weight and readjust his grip.
Reach under LaRish’s ribs with the opposite hand. Glance briefly behind him. Grip the lower shoulder. Step backward.
Do it again: Shift and adjust. Look behind. Step.
Shift. Look. Step.
Like some awful, bloody dance. Like the rhythm of life itself.
So much blood. Why should there be so much? Where did it come from? The blood of mice, the blood of rats. Where did it end? Would it end with GoRec’s blood? King SoSheth’s? JaRed’s own? Would it ever end at all?
Blood from the wound in LaRish’s back seeped onto JaRed’s chest, where it congealed into a warm, sticky mat. The sun fell.
Shift. Look. Step.
Time stood still, and all movement and sound became a blur. The taunts of the rats were like water running in a stream, flowing indistinguishably past, lost in a current that bore away the universe. Everyone and everything slid into the beyond, into darkness, falling endlessly over the edge of reality.
Runt the Brave: Bravery in the Midst of a Bully Society (Legends of Tira-Nor) Page 10