“That bird is up to no good,” Brumbles said in a low voice.
“Maybe it’s just curious,” Bethany said. “It probably doesn’t see bears or humans very often.”
“Or maybe it’s after our provisions,” Skunk said. “A crow will snatch the food right from your mouth if it can get away with it.”
Brumbles looked at Skunk. “It’s not the only animal who will do that, eh?”
“It’s hard for a bear to admit,” Dermot said with a chuckle, “but not everything is about food.” He took out a honey cake and tossed a few crumbs for the crow. The bird ignored the food. “There you go. Not about the food.”
Brumbles called out to the crow, “Ho, there, my friend. Can we help you?”
With that, the crow lifted in the air without a sound and circled once before flying north. “Most likely a spy,” said Brumbles with a look of dismay.. “Maybe I should have taken out my sling, but I didn’t want to kill it just on suspicion. Well, there’s nothing to be done for it now.”
They came across the badger village just over the next hill. It was a collection of burrows with thatch-roofed tents shading their entrances. It had been several days since they’d left Shar La and they’d seen no people, no villages in all that time. It was startling to come so suddenly upon the village.
A group of badgers looked up in surprise at their approach. They were planting potatoes. The badgers leveled their shovels at the newcomers. More appeared from the village, armed with ash spears. Three more scrambled from a ditch, covered in mud. They were armed with spades. There were some twenty or more in all. They were smaller than the bears, but plenty fierce looking. The badgers jabbed and herded the companions into a tight clump.
“I am Jarr the Stout,” one of the badgers said. It was half-greeting, half threat. “Chief of the White Stone Clan. What do you want?”
Brumbles said, “Only to talk to our old friends, the badgers. We have need of your aid, up north in the Kingdom of the Bears.”
“Kingdom of the Bears? What kingdom? Last I heard, Greatclaw was in chains, the weasel lord sitting on the Oaken Throne.” He spat to the ground. “All the better. Leaves us in peace, for the moment.” He cocked his head. “What’s more, you’re no friends of ours.” He gave a jab with his spear for emphasis.
The spear poked Aaron in the ribs and the boy said, “Ow! That’s not fair. We haven’t done anything to bother you.”
“No you haven’t. Nor have you done anything to help us, either. And that doesn’t make you friend or enemy, that makes you strangers.” He snorted. “We have no use for strangers in these times.”
“Look here,” Dermot said. He tried to step forward, but the shovels and spears forced him back. “That’s why we’ve come. To help.”
“Sure, now that the Kingdom of the Bears is gone. Now that the Greencloaks are scattered, you want to help. Hah! What you really want is for badgers to die to free your people. If you’d come and helped us last year when we asked, none of this would be necessary.” He shrugged. “But that would have been the sort of thing that friends would have done, and we’ve already established that you are not friends.”
The bears were silent at this.
“Perhaps I could offer my opinion,” Skunk said. She alone was not surrounded by bristling spears and pitch forks. The badgers didn’t want to take a chance with her raised tail. “You?” Jarr said. “Surely you’re not in this for anything more than to fill your belly in the laziest way possible. How many times have we chased you away for stealing potatoes? Yes, your opinion should be good for a laugh.”
If the badger’s harsh words bothered her, Skunk didn’t show it. She waved a paw. “Let’s not bicker over what may or may not have happened to a few potatoes. The point is, we all hate Garmley. I’ll bet there are even weasels in his army that can’t stand the sight of him. Potatoes, hmm? If you don’t do something, you’ll be giving over all your potatoes to the weasel lord within, say, six months. You don’t think he’ll stop with River’s Edge, do you? Not when the badger clans are so much closer to the weasels. Not when badgers can work so hard and willingly. He’ll hardly have to whip you...once he’s killed a few to set an example.”
Aaron looked at Skunk with new appreciation. From the looks and murmurs among the badgers, it was clear that her words had done more to move them than anything Aaron or the bears had said.
“What’s more,” Skunk said. “I know the rule of the clan. If one of us challenges you to a test of strength, and wins, we have the right to meet with a council of the badgers.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Jarr said with a grunt. He sounded none too pleased.
Aaron looked around. Was that all? Surely Brumbles or Dermot could best one of these badgers, strong as they appeared, with little difficulty. “If that’s all it takes, then...well, then we challenge you to a test of strength.”
Jarr gave an unexpected grin. “Yes, that is all it takes. Very well, I accept your challenge on behalf of the White Stone Clan.” He tore off his vest, revealing powerful arms and shoulders, with clawed paws. The other badgers backed away, lowering spears, pitchforks, and spades.
If one of the bears could defeat this badger, Aaron realized, they might yet win the help of the badger clans. That would be the biggest help they could offer to the Kingdom of the Bears.
Dermot stepped forward. “And I will be our champion.” He stood head and shoulders above the badger, who was closer in height to one of the children.
Brumbles put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me do this brother. I’ve heard of these tests of strength. They can be dangerous.”
Jarr the Stout threw back his head and laughed. “Neither of you will be the champion of the Kingdom of the Bears.”
“That’s right,” Sylvia said. “I am Greatclaw’s daughter, Princess Sylvia. By all rights, I should be the champion.”
“Wrong again,” Jarr said. He really seemed to be enjoying himself.
Skunk gave a sorrowful shake of the head and said to Aaron, “You really should hesitate before you speak. A few moments of reflection, I’ve found, can save you a good deal of pain later. I would have been happy to explain to you the rule of the clan.”
“What do you mean?” Aaron asked, but even as the words came out of his mouth, he guessed the answer. Bethany made a worried-sounding groan. The bears started suddenly forward, also realizing, but were stopped by badgers with spears.
Jarr gave a toothy smile, “She means, foolish boy, that by rule of the clan, the person issuing the challenge becomes the champion of his side. That was you, now, wasn’t it?”
Aaron’s guts felt soft, like he was about to lose control of his bodily functions.
The badger chieftain bellied up to the boy, staring him in the eye. “Are you ready to fight?”
Chapter Fifteen: A King Unthroned
It was a dank pit to store sewage, rotten food, filthy rags, and anything else too nasty to simply slosh into the street. The weasels had set some of their slaves to digging out the worst of it and then converted it into a prison. Half-Paw led Brownia, First Captain of the Greencloaks, down passageways beneath the manor. From the smell she knew where they were taking her; there could be no other place foul enough for the weasels to leave her to die.
She was chained with great iron manacles about her wrists and ankles. An iron collar hung about her neck. Brownia could scarcely lift her feet as the weasels dragged her along. Weasel guards jeered and spit as she passed. Her head hung low, and she wished she were dead.
“Here we are, Captain.” Half-Paw bowed low, his tone mocking. “A room befitting your high station as slave of the weasel lord. I trust you will find the accommodations comfortable.”
He threw open the door and his henchmen shoved her inside. She landed sprawling, chains biting as she twisted painfully and struck the flagstones. The door slammed shut behind her. Locks turned, bars fell into place. She lay in the darkness, gasping at the foul air.
Slowly, her eyes began to adjust
. A trickle of light came through a tiny window high on the ceiling. The worst of her despair passed and she struggled to a sitting position. Rats scrambled out of her way, then promptly returned to fighting over a bit of rubbish. She looked around. The cell was bigger than she’d originally thought, roughly fifteen feet square. Heaps of garbage filled the corners.
Suddenly, something moved.
She’d taken the creature for a pile of rotting clothing, but then the rags convulsed and she heard the rattle of chains. Another bear, she guessed, taken in the weasel attack on River’s Edge. The kind of bear that had looked to Brownia to rescue him. Well, she had failed him. Brownia made her way to her own corner where she hunkered down and lowered her head with closed eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was complain to a fellow sufferer, or listen to his complaints, or worse, his misplaced hope of rescue.
The poor beast was muttering to himself. He spun around as if grappling with some unseen foe. He hurled himself to the ground, then rose again and cried out. For a moment, Brownia thought he was really fighting with someone, the way the shadows twisted, but it was only madness.
“There, now,” she said. She made her way to his side, then took his paws, to keep him from scratching himself.
“No, Prestor,” he said, struggling. “No, I must protect the kingdom. We must not surrender.” The bear was strong, even in his weakened state.
“I’m here to help. But please, stop struggling.”
“Is that you? Is that really you? Have you come for me, my child?”
“I am Brownia, of the Greencloaks. Do I know you, friend?”
“Ah, it is you, Captain Brownia,” said the other. “For a moment, I thought it the sweet voice of my daughter, Princess Sylvia.”
“Sylvia? Your daughter? Then you must be...”
The other bear drew back the rags around his face and Brownia drew back in shock. The bear looking back at her was Greatclaw himself. Nothing the weasels had done could hide his noble face. They had shorn his fur and cut his flesh. And then, horrifyingly–and here Brownia gasped in shock and outrage–she saw what they had done to his eyes.
They were gone. There were no eyes, just two weeping holes.
“Oh, my king,” Brownia cried. She searched in vain for a clean scrap of cloth. Taking the best that she could find in this cesspool, she tore a strip and bound it around his head, to stop, she hoped, the bleeding.
The king, the dejected, pitiful creature before her, groped for her paw and patted it. “Thank you, my child. You were always a good bear, from a good family. Your grandfather would be proud of you, if he could see you now.”
“But I lost,” she said, miserably. “We are undone.”
“You gave a good reckoning of yourself. I heard the weasels cursing your name these two weeks past.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“Perhaps not. Perhaps nothing we do matters.” He was overcome by a fit of coughing.
Brownia looked to his wounds. They were many. The weasels had whipped him, had hung him by his wrists, had starved him. She did the best she could, but he was a wreck, weak and starved. She lay him down, and at last, he fell into a fitful, muttering sleep.
Overcome with anguish, Brownia threw herself down next to her king and wept.
#
Youd marched into Garmley’s presence. Last time he had approached the Oaken Throne, he’d been afraid that Garmley and Snark would kill him for his failure at the Fords of Nivum. This time, he returned in triumph. He had destroyed the Greencloaks’ base. He had captured their captain and sent her to rot in the dungeon. A handful of Greencloaks had escaped the ambush, and the bear, the skunk, and the human children had escaped across the fords. But no real opposition stood in their way.
So he was surprised to see the sour expression on Garmley’s face as he approached the throne. The weasel lord was shifting about, trying to get comfortable, but discomfort wasn’t the only thing angering him. His eyes were narrowed, his teeth clenched. There was a plate of food and a mug of ale on a small table in front of him, but he wasn’t eating. Garmley was talking to a crow, who hopped back and forth from one arm rest of the throne to the next. As Youd climbed the stairs, the crow lifted into the air with a squawk and left through the nearest window. What had the crow been telling Garmley?
Youd knew better than to boast about his triumph when the weasel lord was in such a mood. He dropped to one knee when he reached the throne, ignoring Snark, whose face was frozen into its typical mask, unreadable. “You called?” he asked Garmley.
Garmley said, “Stand up, Half-paw. Yes, and be quick about it.”
“Something troubles you?”
“Something always troubles me. Something is always stirring. There are always enemies to find, work to be done, lands to be conquered. My job is not an easy one.”
Garmley was always locked in struggle. Even the first day that they’d arrived in River’s Edge, when he’d sat in the Oaken Throne for the first time, he’d seemed more angry than pleased. He could never rest or be satisfied. Not until the whole world was enslaved.
Snark, on the other hand, seemed to be living a life of exceptional pleasure. The cold face was a mask for a smug satisfaction with the hand one has been dealt. Youd had never understood how he managed to enjoy himself so much in Garmley’s presence. Half-Paw was always anticipating violent conflict with the weasel lord, and that set him forever on edge.
“What troubles you today, my lord Garmley?” Youd asked.
“You, for one. One of the bear leaders escaped. This...this Lieutenant Blacksnout. What of that?”
Youd sputtered. Whatever else he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this. He had won. He had destroyed the Greencloaks’ power. He had taken Captain Brownia. How had Garmley even heard of this Blacksnout–who was he?–or his escape. That cursed crow, no doubt. Miserable spy. But never mind. What did it matter?
He fought down his rage and chose his words carefully. “Only a handful escaped. I will track them down.”
Garmley nodded. “Yes you will. In the meanwhile, I’m going to send my champion–” and here he looked deliberately at Snark, who wore an insufferable expression on his face, “to do the real work.”
Youd shot Snark an icy glare. A slight smile played at the ferret’s lips. Half-Paw turned back to Garmley. “What real work? Is there a threat?”
The weasel lord snorted. “Of course there’s a threat, you fool.” He took hold of the ale mug. It was too big, meant for a bear’s paw. Garmley took a long swig. “It’s those badger clans.”
“We’ll deal with them when the time comes.”
Garmley said, “The crow tells me that the bears and the humans have crossed the Alonus and are moving toward the badger villages. Greatclaw’s daughter is with them, as is Sheriff Brumbles’s brother, a certain Dermot Strongpaw. They are a threat.”
Youd considered. “And they seek help among the badgers? Interesting.” He saw why Garmley was in a foul mood. It had little to do with the escaping Greencloaks.
“And what of the humans?”
Garmley bared his teeth, his hatred of all things human showing. “We will deal with them in time. But first, the badgers. They are a threat.”
Of course they were. The truth was, Youd had always thought they should deal with the badgers before striking north at the Kingdom of the Bears. So close to weasel lands, they would remain a threat until they were killed, scattered, or enslaved. Snark, of course, had wanted to seize River’s Edge, then deal with the badgers later. Garmley had agreed. Youd had been proven right, of course, but there was little hope of getting recognition for that now.
Youd said, “I’ll gather my forces at once.” He clenched his good hand into a fist. “We’ll crush them before they have a chance to move against us.”
“Not this time, my friend,” said Snark in an oily voice.
“I’m sending Snark,” Garmley said, taking another sip of ale, then grabbing a piece of the roasted quail, which he stuffed into
his mouth. He wiped away the juices with the back of his hand. “Your task will be to track down these last Greencloaks. That should keep you busy.”
Youd turned to the ferret, wanting to rip out the other’s throat. He’d taken it for a jest the first time Garmley had said it. “You? You are going to lead the army into battle?” The fool. He didn’t know anything about war. The only thing he was good for was stabbing someone in their sleep.
Snark said, “You didn’t think that the weasel lord would send you into battle again? Not when you’ve failed three times already.”
Youd’s rage was boiling over. “Failed? Their captain is in chains, their base destroyed. The Greencloaks are no longer a threat.”
“Yet I believe our lord’s exact command was to capture or kill all of the Greencloaks. Some escaped.”
“Three. Three escaped.” Youd couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “There might be a fourth or perhaps even a fifth. They’ve probably fled the kingdom.”
“Those are the same excuses we heard last time you were beaten.”
Youd reached for his knife. Snark already held his in hand and snarled a challenge.
Garmley lifted his hand. “Enough! Put your weapons away. Do it now.” When the weasel and ferret had obeyed, he said, “Half-Paw, you will hunt down the last Greencloaks. Snark will deal with the others. Youd, you may go.”
Youd’s blood was still boiling. He turned and strode from the hall. He swore he would avenge himself of this moment.
Chapter Sixteen: A Rumble From the South
“No,” Brumbles said, trying to push through the crowd of badgers. A spear point at his throat stopped him. “You won’t fight the boy. He’s under our protection.”
“I will fight the boy,” said Jarr the Stout as badgers herded Aaron into a flat spot between the badger dens. Other badgers formed a circle of stones on the ground, about a dozen feet across. They pushed Aaron into the circle, then took their places in a ring around it. Jarr joined him in the circle, smiling none too pleasantly. He took a staff from one of the badgers.
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