Facing them were a dozen huge, ravenous-looking wolves.
“Look,” one of the wolves said with a grin. It was a huge, gray beast with a long scar across his muzzle. “A meal. Enough for all of us. Anyone hungry?” The other wolves growled and licked their chops.
Beside him, Aaron could feel the smaller animals trembling. Yet none of them turned to flee or begged for mercy. Instead, there was a quiet defiance of these stronger, deadly foes.
“Stand aside,” Aaron said. He was surprised at the force in his voice. The bravery of the little creatures had given him courage. “Our fight is not with you. It is with the weasels. But if you do not stand aside you will find that we can bite hard, too.”
“We’re the Bloody Claw Pack,” said the wolf with a nasty grin. “Other wolves shun us, for we are not afraid to kill and be killed. We’ve fought Frost Lion and Mammoth. We’re not afraid of rodents and man-pups. Hya!”
The wolves leaped forward. Their lips curled back into snarls.
Skunk and her two cousins stood at the front, calmly eyeing the charging wolves. At the last minute, when they sprang forward with mouths agape, she said, “Let them have it, boys.”
The skunks wheeled around on their hind legs, butts lifted high in the air, tails arched. Three streams of foul liquid blasted out, catching the lead wolves with mouths open. They fell back, cursing and spitting and scratching at their eyes and nose and mouth.
“Ha! Ha!” shouted Skunk in triumph.
But the other wolves were upon them, then, tearing and biting. One wolf clamped his jaws on Aaron’s left arm, biting through his shirt. Pain shot through his arm.
“Aaron!” Bethany cried. “The sky stones.”
But the bite forced Aaron to reflexively open his hand and his sky stone fell to the ground. He slashed around with the knife in his right hand. The blade caught the wolf in the ribs and it wrenched away with a yelp and a snarl. Though his left arm felt like it was on fire, he dropped to all fours and searched in the mud for the stone. Two wolves attacked a helpless raccoon to his right.
Aaron abandoned the search while he turned to help the raccoon. One of the wolves let the creature go and leaped for his throat. He lifted his bleeding left arm to shield himself. It was a feeble effort.
A ball of snarling fury jumped between them. The wolf hit it and went rolling. The newcomer roared and slashed, and Aaron saw with surprise that it was a wolverine. He drove the wolf off, then turned to deal with another wolf. It, too, fell back in dismay at the wolverine’s attack.
“Mudruss,” Aaron said with disbelief as the wolverine turned to him with a grim look. It was the wolverine he’d freed after the battle of Broken Keep.
“I did a lot of thinking after you let me go.”
“But what–” he started to ask, before they were forced to fight off another wolf.
“You’d better flee,” the wolverine told him. “This battle is lost. You cannot defeat these wolves. You cannot defeat the weasel lord. Go back to your own lands.”
“No,” Aaron said, as the wolverine flew back into battle, defending the little creatures on the road. “No,” he repeated to himself. It was too late for that. He was in this until the end. He looked about, but he couldn’t see the stone. Worse, he couldn’t see his sister. “Bethany!” he cried. He looked again for the stone. He needed it now, more than ever. The road was hard packed, and even the tramping of boots and paws had not turned it to mud. It had to be around here somewhere.
A voice whispered then in his ear. “Look down, there. It’s your stone. Pick it up, quickly.”
Aaron did as he was told, grabbing up the glowing red stone and wiping it clean of mud. He turned to see who had spoken to him. Two bears stood in the road, wearing gray cloaks with drawn hoods. Though the fighting raged all about them, they stood calmly, as if not seeing–or rather, not caring–about any of it. The bears drew back their hoods.
The taller of the bears had a bandage or scarf drawn around its eyes. He was blind. His fur was cropped short, as if it had been shaved off and was only now growing back in. The second bear smiled and said, “Well met, my friend. It has been some time since we last met.”
He recognized her, now. It was Captain Brownia of the Greencloaks. He’d heard she was dead, or at least captured. As he watched them, the battle seemed to slow down all around them. It was like he was dreaming, or at the very least, half asleep.
“Are you dead?” he asked. “Am I dead?”
She laughed. “No, you are not dead. And neither are we.”
“Where is my sister? What happened to Bethany?”
“I’m right here.” She was standing right next to him. Had she been there all along? Or had she only just arrived?
The blind bear spoke now. His voice was deep, and almost...how to put it?...almost two layered. It was as if two bears were speaking instead of one, one younger, one old and wise. “Thank you for coming to defend my land, my friends.”
“Who are you?” they both asked at once.
“The king of this land. These are my people.”
“King Greatclaw,” Aaron exclaimed. And then, after a moment of hesitation. “King Prestor?”
“Yes, and yes. Some of King Prestor has died, but another part lives inside me. Some of King Greatclaw was destroyed by the weasels. But as you see, I still live.”
Aaron wasn’t sure he entirely understood and said so.
The king said, “Never mind. There will be time to understand later. For now, we must act. The battle has slowed, but still it continues. Look.”
Everything was moving in slow motion, and that was almost the worst of it. It gave Aaron time to see that Youd was winning the battle. The badgers and bears were holding their own against the weasels, but the wolves were running this way and that, breaking up any attempt to mount an organized defense. It gave Youd a chance to pick his battles, to crush whatever part of the opposing forces were weakest. He had almost completely taken the road.
“Listen,” said Captain Brownia, her voice hurried. Whatever magic had slowed the battle was now fading. “You must defeat the wolves if we are to have a chance.”
“But how?”
“They are mercenaries. They care nothing for the weasels. They are only in the fight so long as the killing is easy for them. You must make them pay.”
A wave of nausea rolled over him, and he felt like he would be sick. He doubled over, but the feeling faded and he began to change. Fur sprouted along his arms. His face lengthened. Aaron’s arms and legs broke through his clothing as his arms and legs grew long and powerful. Claws sprouted from his hands, now changing to paws. Bethany underwent her own transformation at his side.
Together, the two bears, the two wild bears opened their mouths and growled. Bethany turned on the nearest wolf, but Aaron put a paw on her shoulder to stop her. He couldn’t speak, but he told her with his eyes, “Not this one. Come.” She nodded her understanding.
They found the leader of the Bloody Paw Pack not too far distant, the wolf with the scar along his muzzle. He and a companion were savaging a poor raccoon that had been driven away from the others. Aaron realized then what these wolves were. They were bullies, who preyed only on the weak. That is why they’d been driven south by the other wolves. That was why they had so willingly joined the weasels, so they could bully. And they were helping the weasels primarily by spreading terror through the ranks.
Aaron and Bethany charged at him together. Two wild bears, side by side. United in righteous anger. The wolf looked up with a sneer that anyone had come to the rescue of the helpless beast at its feet, still struggling to escape. The sneer turned to a yelp of fear.
The other wolf moved to block their way, but they cast it aside. The pack leader snapped at them, snarling. Bethany swung her paw, catching the wolf across the jaw. It fell to the ground. Aaron raked his claws along the wolf’s back, drawing blood. The wolf regained its feet, but it was no longer attacking. Tail tucked between its legs, it turned and raced
from the battlefield and toward the safety of the trees beyond Honey Hill, howling as it ran. Wherever they stood, wolves and weasels stopped to watch it flee.
This was more than the wolves had bargained for. Whatever evil promises had brought them here no longer held sway. Their leader had fled, wounded. A coward. Some of the wolves let out a series of yowling barks and the entire pack turned as one and raced toward Honey Hill. The handful of badgers still guarding their supply wagons parted to let them through. The wolves disappeared into the trees, gone as quickly as they had come.
And as the wolves vanished, a great cheer went up through the forces of the badgers and the bears. Within a few minutes the tide of battle began to change, this time for good. Youd had no other secrets to spring, it would seem. Soon, the weasels were in full retreat. Someone opened the gates of the city and they tried to slip back inside. But there were no forces to guard their retreat. Bears and badgers streamed in after them.
Meanwhile, a great, wearying exhaustion overcame Aaron. He and Bethany were changing again. The transformation had only lasted a few minutes, but it had been enough. They looked about for their clothing.
“We did it,” Bethany said in an exhausted voice. “We defeated the weasels. I can’t believe we actually won.”
“Not yet,” he said, but a relieved smile came to his lips. The battle raged on inside the city, but it would be only a matter of time now. He looked around the battlefield.
Most of the fighting had moved inside River’s Edge, but here and there a skirmish continued. Badgers had taken numerous prisoners, weasels who had thrown down their weapons, seeing the fight to be lost. Everywhere were strewn the dead and wounded and Aaron realized that this was where they could offer the most help. They were too exhausted to fight any longer. But they could stay and help bandage wounds.
He looked around until he found the raccoon they had saved from the wolves. It lay panting to one side, wounded, but alive. They moved quickly to help. Its wounds were serious, but Aaron hoped it would live. Others, he could see, had already lost their struggle.
Chapter Twenty-Five: River’s Edge and Home Again
Youd had fallen back into River’s Edge, only to find that the city was no longer safe. Bears were in open revolt from the gates of the city to the banks of the Alonus. He’d tried to retreat to one of the towers where he could fight with stones and boiling oil, but weasels had come streaming out in a panic. They had no thought other than fleeing the battlefield. Badgers and bears were pouring through the gates, where they were joined by the bears of the city.
The battle was lost. Wolves had deserted him. Weasels were running to the river, for the bridge, or for the boats. A band of wolverines fought their way to the marshes that grew along the riverbank south of the city, hoping to slip away among the reeds and the cattails. But though the battle may be lost, Youd saw something still to be salvaged from the defeat.
The sun was dropping fast in the west and he found an ally in the lengthening shadows. He’d spent many days and nights in River’s Edge and knew the buildings and the alleys in which he could slip unseen, even though so many enemies were searching for him. He picked his way up the hill toward the great manor house on the hill. Soon, very soon, King Greatclaw would be coming to reclaim it. Blind or no. But for now, Garmley, the weasel lord still sat on the Oaken Throne. He would make his last stand there.
Battles raged throughout the city. Here and there fires burned, but nobody was around to douse them. He came upon two mink just inside the gates to the courtyard, struggling with a barrel of ale, of all things. What could they want with the barrel at a time such as this? He had no idea.
“ You,” he barked. “I need a boat at the docks in ten minutes.”
The mink looked up and sneered. “Get it yourself, then.”
“I am Captain Youd,” he said, drawing his dagger. “Get me that boat, or I’ll–”
“Yeah, and I’ll bet there are a few bears looking for you, eh?” one of them said. They drew their own weapons and gave him an insolent look. “So you want us to fight your last battle for you? Is that it?”
“Fools. You’ll die here, then.” Youd sheathed his knife and left them with their ale. There would be time enough to avenge such insults later. When his work was done.
The fighting had not yet reached Greatclaw’s Manor. There were no guards in the courtyard or at the front doors. He pushed them open with effort. When he was inside, he shut the doors again, and barred them this time.
The hall was dark and cold. He thought at first that he’d been wrong, that it was empty, but then he heard a pounding from the dais on the far end. He strode across the floor while the sound continued.
It was Garmley, standing at the Oaken Throne. He was hacking at it with his axe, muttering curses. All his efforts had barely scratched its surface. If anything, the weasel lord looked smaller than ever standing next to it.
Garmley looked up as Youd climbed the steps of the dais to meet him. “Help me, Half-Paw. Help me destroy this cursed thing.”
“It will never be destroyed,” Youd said. “Not by you.” He smiled. “No effort of yours will ever shrink that throne, or grow your stature to fit it.”
“As I suspected. You are a coward.” Garmley cast the axe to one side. “You have failed me, Half-Paw.”
“Failed you?” Youd spoke with a feeling of deadly calm. He knew what he had to do, but he didn’t want to rush. There could be no mistakes.
Outside, someone had reached the doors. There was a pounding, and then shouts. Axes and clubs pounded at the doors. They began to rock back on their hinges.
Garmley turned at him with a snarl. Madness was in his eyes. “You lost this battle. You said you could win, and you lost.”
“You miserable fool.”
Garmley was sputtering. “How dare you speak to me in such a tone? Do you know who I am? I am the weasel lord. I–”
“No,” Youd said. “You are not the weasel lord. I, Youd Half-Paw am the weasel lord.”
He pulled out his dagger. Garmley grabbed for his axe. It might have stopped Youd, but Garmley had grown weak from his long struggle with the Oaken Throne. He could barely lift it, and Youd pushed it aside with ease. Garmley fell to the ground with fear in his eyes.
Youd said, “Did you think I would forget the insult you gave me? You sent Snark the Ferret to do a captain’s work. He failed, as I knew he would. And now you have brought ruin to us all. We could have won this war. We would have won it, if you hadn’t been so greedy and grasping. Mistakes I shall never make.” He lifted the dagger.
“Mercy,” Garmley begged, though he had never shown mercy to anyone in his life. It was a word that sounded like it poisoned his lips, even though he needed it now.
Youd’s only reply was a laugh as he brought his dagger down. Revenge. When he was finished, the bears were breaking through the doors. Youd was slipping away through a back door. He had no plan, only a general thought to escape south into the marshes. Maybe he would make it. Maybe not. But he had taken his revenge.
At the foot of the Oaken Throne, Garmley, onetime Lord of the Weasels, lay dead.
#
Two days later, Aaron and Bethany marched through the front gates of River’s Edge. They wore green capes, draped over their shoulders by Captain Brownia, who led the procession into the city. To her left were Brumbles and the Merley children. To her right, Princess Sylvia and Dermot Strongpaw, and Brumbles, Sheriff of the Eastlands. Five other Greencloaks marched behind them as their honor guard.
A force of twenty badgers marched to the rear of the bears. The mud of battle had been washed from paws, the burrs of the trail brushed from newly washed coats. They were a smart looking group, numbered from among each of the clans. Jarr the Stout, chieftain of the White Stone Clan, marched at its head. He looked magnificent in his polished leather vest, and a brilliant white stone hanging from a pendant about his neck. His claws were trimmed and his fur brushed.
It was a proud group, a
nd the sight of them coming through the gates brought a cheer of joy from the bears lining the streets. Aaron’s heart swelled with pride to be numbered among them. He also felt a pang at the losses of those who should have been marching among them. Lieutenant Blacksnout had fallen. And the raccoon who had stood so valiantly on the road with them had not survived its wounds.
Every bear in the city had stopped their work repairing the damage left by the weasels to watch the parade. A troupe of bears played wooden flutes, while others joined their voices. It was a spring song, the song played after the last of the snow has melted, when all is growing and green again. Other bears threw flowers at their feet as they passed. Cubs ran up and draped garlands of vines and berries about the necks of the marchers.
The procession traveled up the hill and into the courtyard of the king’s manor. They passed through the doors and into the great hall, already crowded with bears and badgers and other friends of the kingdom. As they marched up to the dais and to where the king waited for them, the crowd from the streets filled the courtyard and the hall.
King Greatclaw sat on the Oaken Throne, waiting for them. Even with the bandage wrapped around his blinded eyes, the king looked regal, wearing a white cape with red paw prints embroidered into the fabric. A gold circlet sat upon his brow. His war hammer lay across his lap. The light of torches flickered across his face and Aaron thought he had never seen a more noble looking beast.
“We are here, Father,” Princess Sylvia said, kneeling and placing a hand upon Greatclaw’s knee.
King Greatclaw reached out his paws. “My daughter, Sylvia, and your faithful companion, Dermot Strongpaw.” The two bears knelt until the king could put his paws on their shoulders. “Thank you for your valiant efforts. You searched for King Prestor and you found him in your hearts. You fought for the Kingdom of the Bears when its need was the greatest. Soon, you will lead this country as its queen and king, but for now I am honored to call you daughter and son-in-law.”
He called for Jarr. “Thank you, dear badgers, for your friendship in these dark times. Without your help, we would have all been slaves to the weasel lord. Your friendship will never be forgotten, and we will send you back to your own lands burdened with so many gifts it may take you a month to return home.”
The Kingdom of the Bears Page 19
