It was night by the time Kiern headed back to the Nightclaws camp. A
long day…a battle the night before, the whole recruiting process, the evening
report to the Longclaws…it all built up to drain the stoat captain of energy.
His weariness didn’t show in his movements, though, as he strode through the
Nighthunt camp, path threading around nightblack tents, reddish coat flaring to
the color of flame in the light of campfires, then dimming to shadowed rust as he
passed the ring of light and warmth given off by each healthy fire.
Exhaustion and preoccupied thoughts dulled his senses, so that the sound of
muffled screams didn’t register on his consciousness until he was nearly right
next to the source. Then his ears pricked up, wary tension overtook his entire
wiry form, and his paw went to his saber as he listened, searched for the
source of the agonized fearful screams.
There. A black tent lit within by torchlight, with dark shapes clustered at the
entrance. Cruel laughter echoed from the onlookers with each renewed scream
from within. Kiern’s gaze narrowed, his paw clenched on his weapon’s hilt as
anger flared, and his pace quickened with furious purpose.
“Haha, show th’ undersized rat wot real fun is, Skintail!”
“Yah, she ain’t seemin’ te understand t’concept yet, eh?”
Kiern’s jaw muscles clenched and one paw shot out, grasped the nearest onlooker
by the back of the neck. “What is going on?” he growled as the ferret stiffened
under his iron grip.
“C-captain!” the ferret gasped, red-gloved paw crossing to his shoulder in a
shaky salute. “Er…uhm… we’s just havin’ some fun with a captive…Longclaws gave
th’ fems ter us…”
A growl rumbled from the stoat’s throat as fury gripped his paw tighter,
drawing a pained squeak from the Nightfang soldier. Kiern pushed the ferret
aside and shouldered his way into the tent, the scene within only intensifying
his rage. A half-clothed rat lay atop one of the captives, a pretty female
mouse, his paws pinning her to the ground along with his weight, and tears ran
down her face as her useless screams rent the air, cries of pain and pleas for
help as she begged the rat to stop.
That wasn’t what made Kiern the angriest, though. What drove his rage to nearly
blind him was the sight of a black cloak, a cloak of the Nightclaws, laid in a
pile next to the mouse and rat along with the rat’s breeches.
”Enough!”
The rat was too occupied in his “fun” to realize the danger burning behind him.
Kiern reached down and grabbed the rat by the collar of his rumpled tunic,
ripped him off the mouse and threw him to the side. Too caught up in his own
anger, Kiern ignored the mousemaid as she curled into a whimpering ball of
blood and sweat and tears, sobbing with exertion and fear and pain. Kiern advanced
on the bewildered rat, his face the picture of cold rage.
“Oy, whatcha doin’ that fer?! I was just gettin’ ter th’…” Then the rat
realized just who had flung him off his victim and the blood drained from his
face. “Captain! Wot’re yew doin’ ‘ere… I mean…”
Kiern forced the rat to his footpaws, jerking him up by his tunic collar. “Get
your clothes back on,” he snarled, fangs bared with savage fury. “Get back to
the Nightclaws. Tell Skyfire to round up the rest of the unit. Now!”
With a frightened squeak, the rat dove for his clothing, pulling it on in
fearful haste as Kiern stormed out of the tent, paws curled into fists at his
side.
“You!”
The ferret Kiern had interrogated earlier yelped and drew back as the stoat
captain rounded on him. “Y-yessir?”
“Where are the other captives?”
He gulped and pointed a shaky claw to a nearby tent. “An’ Subcaptain Patcheye’s
got th’ third ‘un, sir…”
Kiern nodded, curt and tense, and whirled on one paw to stalk the rest of the
way to the other tent.
There was a slightly larger group outside this one, mostly Nightfangs and
Nightblood with a few Nightarms mixed in. Kiern scanned the group for black
cloaks and his gaze fell on a weasel at the front of the line, about to enter
the tent for his turn. A growl and Kiern’s paw wrapped around the Nightclaw’s
cloak, yanking him to an abrupt stop.
“Return to the Nightclaw camp,” Kiern spat, as recognition flashed in the
weasel’s dark gaze.
He gulped and saluted shakily. “Yessir!”
The stoat turned to the nearest soldier, a red-fanged Nightblood. “Who’s in
there right now?”
“Er…” The small dogfox shifted from paw to paw. “He…”
”Tell me.”
A wince as the captain’s voice cracked out like a punishing whip. “Rakel.
Th’—th’ Nightclaws all went first ‘cos…”
“One of mine.” The words were growled, low and threatening, and Kiern swept
into the tent to the sight of a blank-eyed squirrelmaid huddled under a rough
blanket while a fox tugged on his breeches.
Kiern’s fangs bared in a silent snarl and he scooped up the fox’s fallen cloak,
tossing it into the unsuspecting Nightclaw’s angular face. The fox yelped,
whirled into a fighter’s crouch, and his amber gaze widened at the sight of his
captain.
“Captain!” He straightened, saluted, swallowing hard at the rage clear in every
line of his superior’s tense form.
“Back to the Nightclaws camp.” Every word was clipped, hissed past clenched
jaws, and the fox nodded in hasty assent, fleeing the tent as if a demon were
at his heels.
Kiern looked down at the squirrelmaid, his nose twitching at the musky scent
that coated the air, and he whirled to the tent entrance, paw gripping almost
spasmodically at his saber as he shoved past the fearful soldiers, heading with
savage purpose to the Nightclaws camp, all former weariness forgotten in his rage.
Skyfire had acted quickly when given the command to gather the Nightclaws. They
stood in silent formation when Kiern stalked in, rare anger still evident in
every tight muscle. Nervous expectation rippled through the ranks as he stopped
in sight of all his command, fury burning from his light brown gaze in the
crimson light of the campfire.
“I discovered three of you lowering yourself to the level of common slumbeasts
today,” he said, not quite succeeding at keeping a growl from the clipped
words. “Skintail, Rakel, Darksnout!” The three names lashed out like triple
cracks of a deadly whip, and the threebeasts named stepped forward with dread
drooping their ears and hunching their shoulders.
Kiern stepped forward, circled the three with his ears laid flat against his
skull, fists clenching and unclenching. “These three were apparently unable to
find willing bedpartners among the horde,” he said, forcing scorn into his
voice despite the fact that he felt only fury. “They had to resort to raping
captive woodlanders.”
A growl, and he whirled on the rat, weasel, and fox. “You are Nightclaws!
The elite soldiers of the Nighthunt! There is no need to lower yourself
to bedding woodlanders. And I will not tolerate rape of anybeast,
vermin or woodlander, not in my command! You need not and will not bed
the unwilling, none of you will,” and this he directed to the entire
Nightclaws, “not while you serve under me!”
He turned back to the three hapless soldiers, eyes narrowed to thin slits. “The
three of you will serve latrine duty for the entire camp, and on half rations,
until I feel you have been given sufficient punishment. Be grateful that I am
not more severe. If there is another instance of this…you will be
discharged from the Nightclaws after you have received a lashing. Do you
understand?”
The quivering soldiers snapped out salutes and a stumbling, “Y-yessir!”
“Good.” Kiern glared at the three of them. “You may begin your duties tonight.
Go!”
“Yessir!”
They scattered, tails tucked and ears flattened, fear written in every
movement.
Kiern turned to the uneasy Nightclaws, words snapping from his throat. “The
same punishment will be dealt any of you who does these things!” Silence from
the unit, and he glared over the ranks. “Dismissed!”
As the black shapes faded into the darkening night, Skyfire stepped silently up
to her captain’s side, watching the Nightclaws disperse with a rare anger in
her own face, clenching her jaw and glittering in her gaze. “The Longclaws
allowed this?” she asked, voice quiet and tight.
Kiern nodded once. “Aye.”
A low growl rumbled from her throat. “How could he…?”
“I…” Kiern’s paw clenched at his side and he took a deep ragged breath, forcing
himself to relax, at least part way. “It is not our role to question him.”
Skyfire’s fangs flashed red in the firelight. “Not our—“ but she bit off the
retort and her anger left her in a long sigh, drooping her shoulders and head.
“Nay. It isn’t our role, is it…?” And now there was only sadness in her voice,
and a faint bitterness.
Kiern shot her a sharp glance, eyes narrowing. “Something bothers you.”
A grimace. “It’s just…” She looked at him for a long moment, studied the steel
in his gaze, shook her head. “Never mind…it doesn’t matter.”
The stoat captain’s lips thinned. “You are angry at him.”
“Yes, I am!” The explosion burst from the quiet stoat’s lips like a river from
a finally broken dam. “Aren’t you? This is… this is dishonorable, it’s
disgusting, it’s…”
“Stop.” Kiern’s paw shot out and gripped her muzzle shut, gentle and firm at
the same time. Skyfire glared up at him for a long moment, mouth twitching in
an attempt to hold back a snarl. She searched his eyes with fury in hers, body
tensed in frustrated anger, and then it all rushed out of her body in a single
moment and she closed her eyes, biting her lower lip as her legs threatened to
collapse beneath her.
Kiern’s eyes widened at that and he shifted his grip to her arm, holding her
upright, gaze raking her weary form with a studied scrutiny. “You’re exhausted,”
he said at last. “It’ll do you no good to collapse in front of the troops… Can
you walk?”
An uncertain nod was the answer and he let out a sigh, slinging her arm over
his shoulders to better support her. “Let’s go to your tent…”
The subcaptain’s tent wasn’t that far, positioned right next to Kiern’s. They
ducked under the tent flap and Skyfire staggered to her bedroll, collapsed into
it with a fatigued sigh, dropped her head into shaking paws as her shoulders
shook with inexplicable sobs.
“Subcaptain…?” Puzzlement crossed the stoat’s face, uncertainty curling about
his mind. What am I supposed to do about this?
Her paws clenched into fists, claws digging into flesh as she tried to stop the
tears. “I—I’m sorry,” she choked out at last. “Likely…likely I’m just tired,
that’s all…”
Kiern frowned. “Skyfire, we’ve worked together too long for you to be able to
lie to me. What is wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Again that flash of anger, and her tear-streaked face
lifted to stare at him. “Our chief condones something as dishonorable and
disgusting as rape and your only answer is that we aren’t supposed to
question him?! How can you say you aren’t angry?” He opened his mouth to
retort, a frown creasing his brow, but she didn’t give him a chance. “I saw
you, back there—I’ve never seen you so angry. You were furious, you are
furious, but you can’t say the Longclaws might have…”
“Subcaptain!” The word was snapped out, breaking her tirade, and she stared at
him with defiance stiffening her jaw. Kiern’s paw clenched at his side as he
tried to remain calm. “Enough. What you speak…it’s enough to get you executed.”
“Executed.” A snarl ripped across her face. “And is that the only reason you
won’t say anything against him? Fear? Is that it?”
His paw reached back and Skyfire’s eyes widened, and then a bitter smile
twisted her mouth. “Go ahead, Kiern… I suppose one more disappointment won’t
hurt me much more.”
Kiern blinked, stared at his upraised paw, lowered it shakily. “I…” A deep
breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Another breath, forcing his scattered thoughts
to order. “It’s not fear that keeps me from speaking against the Longclaws,” he
said at last. “It’s loyalty. He saved my life, he raised me, he trained me, he
placed me as his captain… I’ve served under him for seasons and I know he
doesn’t do anything without good reason. So…there must be a reason for this,
too…”
Skyfire sighed and closed her eyes. “Morale, or because the captives are dead
weight…does it matter? Does that justify this?”
“I don’t…” Kiern shook his head. “I don’t know. It has to.”
“Has to.” The stoat fem tilted her head, studied her captain for a few long
moments. “I…think I understand… You’ll always be loyal to him, won’t you?” she
said, voice thoughtful. “No matter what he does…?”
A shrug, uncertain, not really wanting to think about it. “Perhaps. Likely so…”
She smiled, very slight and still sad. “Well…” The ghost of a nod. “I’ll see
you tomorrow, then…”
Kiern nodded in return, accepting the hint to leave. “Aye, tomorrow. Fare thee
well, subcaptain.”
He turned away as Skyfire’s slight sad smile burned into his back, the touch of
pity in her gaze itching at his skull as he stepped into the night air,
troubled thoughts circling ‘round his mind all the while.
The night passed for Kiern in restless sleep, Skyfire’s words ripping at his
consciousness, his own doubts keeping him from full unconsciousness until the
gray light of dawn erased the stars from the sky. He rose, bleary-eyed and
exhausted, stumbling to the washbasin to cleanse away the sleep and jerk him to
wakefulness.
Outside, the Nighthunt were already stirring. It took Kiern, still not fully
awake, several moments to realize why. “Ah yes…” he murmured. “We’re returning
to the march today.”
A frown as indecision tugged at his mind. Pack first, or speak to the Longclaws
first…? Doubts whirled, and then so did Kiern, striding with purposeful speed
to his leader’s tent.
Kiern stood outside the dark tent, ears pricked forward at the sound of
scraping and thudding—the Longclaws had already begun to pack. One paw raised
to the tent pole, reached back to rap on the wood—and then pulled back as black
cloth rustled and a dark, angular head snaked into the open air.
Surprise didn’t hinder ingrained reactions. Kiern’s paw snapped to his shoulder
in a sharp salute. “Sir.”
“Captain.” Ebon eyes studied the stoat’s, and a long moment passed before the
wolverine nodded, short and curt. “Come in.”
Uneasiness nudged and tugged at Kiern’s stomach, but he forced himself to
outward calm, set his thoughts in the order he so valued, and ducked inside the
tent. The narrow cot lay dismantled on the ground, wrapped in a badger-fur
blanket, the distinct white stripe contrasting violently with the inky dark of
the surroundings. Atop that pile lay clean black uniforms, barely visible in
the guttering candlelight. Beyond, Nightdeath worked at packing papers and inks
in a compact carrying case, seeming to ignore his captain.
“…Sir?”
Rounded ears flicked back. “Aye, captain, what d’ye be wantin’?”
Kiern shifted his weight, mind marshalling words into coherency. “Last night, I
was told that you gave the three captive woodland fems to the troops.” Silence,
a quiet breath, watching the Longclaws continue packing as if he’d not even
heard his captain. “Sir…may I ask why?”
No answer. The wolverine placed the last bottle of ink in the safety of its
carrying case, closed the lid and latched it, then rose and turned to face
Kiern at last. The dark gaze pierced Kiern’s as if rifling through the very
secrets of the stoat’s soul, and then a slight nod. “There was high tension
among th’ troops. Couldna ye sense it?”
“…Aye.” A frown creased Kiern’s forehead, shadowed his gaze. “But…rape?”
”Rape?!” A snarl from the Longclaws and his teeth bared, flashing white,
ebon eyes narrowing to slits. “They be woodlanders, do ye noo ken? Lesser’n our
kind, not worthy o’ respect—it be not rape!”
Despite his usual iron control, Kiern took a step back, shock rippling across
his tense form at his chief’s outburst. “S-sir…” A deep breath and he regained
control, straightening once more. “Then what will happen to the captives?”
A dismissive motion of one long-clawed paw. “They’ll be sold.”
”Sold!” Now it was Kiern’s turn for outrage. “You said there’d be no
slavery! That’s what I told the captives, that’s what I believed…you said they
were for recruitment only!”
The angular head snaked about, a savage smirk slashing across the dark face.
“Be ye questionin’ me, lad?”
The stoat stiffened at the implied threat. “Sir…” A deep breath, marshalling
strength. “You know I am loyal to you. I just wish to know why I have been made
a liar.”
“It were tae woodlanders, so it be noo matter.” A shrug. “But I ken ye be
honorable…an’ so we’ll get rid o’ them someway else, if it makes ye happy.”
Fangs gleamed and Kiern’s stomach twisted. “Release ‘em, an’ mayhap they’ll
starve or be taken into slavery. Or kill ‘em naow.”
Kiern’s eyes closed for a long moment, turning the options over in his mind
although he knew already what the best answer would be. “Then let it be
slavery, sir,” he said, and his voice was low and bitter. “I should never have
doubted you.”
A smile ghosted across Nightdeath’s face. “Do noo be worryin’ yeself o’er it.”
One paw reached out and clapped the captain on the shoulder in affirmation.
“Naow, ye’d best be gettin’ tae work…we march soon.”
“Aye, chief.” A sharp salute, and Kiern headed for his own tent, mouth pressed
into a tight line.
The sun was halfway to its zenith by the time the Nighthunt set out on the
march once more. Fourscore black-garbed soldiers in solid formation, heavy
footfalls pounding the earth. At the fore marched the Nightclaws, arrayed about
the towering form of the Longclaws. Behind strode the red-gloved Nightfangs,
then the Nightarms with quivers hanging over their shoulders, and last skulked
the red-fanged, red-clawed Nightblood.
If an observer stared very close at the surrounding trees and brush, they might
glimpse shadowy figures ghosting silent along the Nighthunt. But it would have
to be a sharp eyed watcher indeed to spot the majority of the Nighteyes unless
they allowed themselves to be seen.
As Stormsong did, seeming to materialize next to Kiern like a gray ghost.
“There be movement in the trees,” he said, voice only loud enough to reach the
stoat’s keen ears.
Kiern managed not to look startled at the scout captain’s sudden appearance,
glancing instead to the windrustled treetops, to the Longclaws, and back to
Stormsong. “Squirrels, you think?”
“Aye. An’ they be near as silent as my scouts. We’ve no idea if they be
watching or waiting te kill.”
“I see…” Kiern looked to the trees once more. “Thank you.”
A nod from the softspoken weasel, and then he melted into the undergrowth once
more.
Nightdeath glanced over at his captain. “Woodlanders?” Spoken in a casual voice,
but with a gleam in the ebon gaze.
“Likely… Stormsong’s scouts saw something in the trees. Probably squirrels…”
Movement flickered, a red flash across the treetops at the corner of Kiern’s
eye, cutting off his words. He whirled, probed the concealing foliage with
narrowed gaze.
Creeeeeak…
The straining sound of a bow drawn taut—Kiern burst into motion, leaping on the
Longclaws, throwing the startled wolverine to the ground.
Sss-thunk!
Impact in his shoulder, burning pain— “Stay down!” shouted to the tense
wolverine as another arrow thudded into Kiern’s back, as the air fled his
lungs; body jerking with a third stabbing impact and then…
Blackness.