Virtue and Terror

[Silas Hetherton]

All was a spinning blur, accented by spikes of pain as Silas fell in and out of consciousness. He remembered being dragged across hard stone corridors, but not being thrust into a prison cell. He stared blankly up at the dark, dripping ceiling, then lifted a paw to feel at a metal collar fastened about his neck. He didn?t remember that either. He rolled to a dizzying crouch and his stomach heaved. Yellow bile formed a small puddle beneath him and he closed his eyes until the throbbing eased. The knives and their sheaths were long gone, of course, but he felt for them anyway.

Footsteps approached and a mink guard peered in at the prisoner, banging a metal rod loudly against the iron grid. He grunted when Silas met his gaze and called out, ?Rat?s awake!? He sauntered away smartly while Silas leaned back against the cool stone wall to wait. After a while the scuff of boots echoed down the stone tunnel as beasts moved his way with purpose. A huge cat appeared, and Silas recognized the lynx from the dining hall crowd. Probably Nire, the famous showman in charge of the Crater. The mink strode up beside him, holding a spear leisurely.

?What do you think?? Nire tapped his chin with a finger. ??The Muddy Assassin?? No. ?Bard?s Bane??? They both chuckled, then the cat grew serious, addressing Silas directly. ?Do you know, I have experienced so many assassination attempts, I've actually lost track of the number.?

Silas watched the cat through half-closed eyes.

?I know you thought you were clever, sneaking in that window, but take some consolation in the fact that even if you had made it past my excitable bard, you would not have made it past my personal guards.?

The rat stayed silent.

?Let me guess,? Nire continued in a voice of boredom. ?Some family member of yours was killed in my arena and you were looking for some self-righteous form of payback.?

?Something like that.? Silas muttered, his voice hoarse and low.

?Vulpuz, it gets a little old. And no creativity. No pizazz. At least you could have tried something with a little more style ? flown in on a hawk or disguised yourself as a stone column. Both of those really happened, by the way, and neither succeeded.? He tilted his head, pointing two claws at himself. ?Obviously.?

The mink beside him chuckled and Nire leered.

?The nice thing about assassins,? the lynx patted the guard on the shoulder, ?Is at least I know they will put up a good fight. Even if they do all end up dead.? He winked at the bleeding rat and turned to leave. ?Clean him up and throw him in the slave pen for now.?


Silas cooperated all the way to the washing station where slave keepers started tearing off his muddy rags. He grabbed at his shirt, salvaging the thin bundle of parchment from the inside pocket in an obviously desperate motion, catching the attention of the mink. The guard motioned for the nearby ferret and otter to force it from the rat?s tightly clenched paw, then examined the letters. With a grunt of disappointment, he crumpled them up in a wad and added them to the pile of muddy rags a vole was carrying off. ?Don?t bother logging any of that garbage.? He waved a paw. ?Burn it.?

Silas?s heart twisted in his chest, but he knew it was useless to resist. A pair of slaves worked a wooden sluice and the rat stepped under the gush of water on command. He stared dismally at his feet, watching black clay and blood filter down through his fur to his toes.

?Move!? the ferret shouted. Silas shuffled over to a drying room with a mesh floor, dripping sullenly until the vole from earlier handed him a stack of garments, keeping her gaze averted.

?Much obliged, ma?am.? Silas felt the soft-woven fabric. ?Are these to keep??

She shrugged. ?The former owner won't miss them.? Then she scurried off, leaving the rat to dress himself.

A half hour later Silas was shoved onto the floor of a long, smelly cell filled with dejected-looking beasts. The door slammed shut with a clang and the guards departed. A single torch popped and crackled outside the prison, reflected in over a dozen pairs of eyes. They stared at the new addition, calculating the level of threat. Most turned away soon enough, curling back up in their makeshift beds. Silas found his own infested pile of hay and lay down upon it, feeling delicately at the gash on his head. A mouse had stitched up the wound in a rush, so it had at least stopped bleeding.

He lay wide awake, jerking every time a flea bit so that soon he abandoned the hay pile entirely, propping himself against a wall instead. The rat drifted in and out of sleep, so he was not sure how long the vole had been staring at him when he opened his eyes. She watched from the other side of the iron bars like a corporeal ghost.

Silas recognized the stumpy, twitching beast from the washing station. ?Ma?am,? he greeted solemnly. The vole gave a jerking nod. There was a movement and she held something pale out. Silas glanced around at the other forms scratching and shifting in their sleep and scooted over toward the bars. Five slips of familiar parchment wavered in the small paws, wrinkled, but smoothed and intact. Jubilee?s letters. Silas looked into the vole?s eyes, waiting for the catch. Instead she thrust them at him.

The rat accepted the letters cautiously, fingers trembling as he swallowed the lump in his throat. ?Thank you.?

?Did she escape?? the vole?s voice was scratchy and low.

?No.? Silas folded the papers gently and slipped them into a new pocket. ?She died three days before I arrived.?

?I?m sorry.?

Silas looked away.

?They say you were trying to kill Nire Borean.?

The rat continued to look away, unaffected.

?But you sought another target.?

Silas?s nostrils flared and he glared down at the vole suspiciously.

?Don?t worry,? she added. ?I won?t tell if you don?t let on about the letters. I was supposed to burn them, after all.?

Silas calmed at the reminder. ?What is it you want??

The vole was quiet for a while before she finally spoke. ?'Innocent bones build noble thrones.' I shall see them toppled.?

Silas nodded grimly. ?Then perhaps we can help each other.? He extended a clawed paw through the bars. ?Silas Hetherton.?

?Adeen.? She gripped his paw firmly.

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Silas jolted awake the next morning. A guard was shouting and kicking at a nearby slave.

?Up, you lazy lot! Move yer sorry hides to the other end o? the Drag!?

Silas scrambled to his feet, head swimming. He stumbled the direction the ugly weasel indicated and soon found himself surrounded by a mob of squirrels, hares, hedgehogs, mice, otters, shrews, and even a scruffy young badger. There were a few vermin scattered among the woodlanders like weeds in a grain field, snarling and snapping at those smaller than them. The other slaves gave them their space as much as they did the prickly hedgehogs.

?Line up along the wall!? The weasel threatened with a studded truncheon. ?Time fer inspection!?

The slaves obeyed, albeit with grumbles, growls and glares. These beasts were not broken, but they were controlled. The mouse that stitched Silas the night before walked beside the familiar vole, Adeen, who was recording information on a small chart. A weasel took measurements and forced them each to open their mouths in turn. Beyond them a pair of rats raced around the Drag, dusting beds with a pale powder.

When the mouse medic reached Silas, he bent his head low for her to re-examine the head wound, opened his mouth so she could check his teeth, and patiently allowed the accompanying weasel to ascertain the thickness of his arms, chest, and legs. Adeen scribbled fiercely throughout the process, determinedly avoiding eye contact.

?Good physical condition for his age, save the head wound,? the mouse noted cheerfully, and moved on.

The stoat after Silas was not as cooperative, and actually kicked the mousemaid when she touched a sore canine. Silas leapt forward to help her back to her feet as the weasel started to beat the stoat slave in response.

?No ? stop!? She reached toward the weasel, after accepting Silas?s paw. ?That was a pain reflex. He couldn?t help it.? She dusted off her blue tunic. ?I?m alright.?

Silas watched the trio leave once the inspection was complete. Not everyone who worked for the Crater did so voluntarily, it appeared. He had noticed both Adeen and the mouse medic wore collars. This explained their kindness and gave the rat some hope. He wondered how much of the Crater was actually run by beasts who did not share Nire?s depraved vision.

?Fringe fight underway!? An otter called out, peering through one of the narrow slits along the stone wall that Silas had assumed were vents. Most of the slaves rushed to look.

?It?s Bog, Renny and Gerda against Thrasher,? a rat added, swallowing thickly. ?Thought they were trainin?.?

Silas stepped up to one of the long window slits, blinking at the blinding light until he was able to see through to the other side. It was a large, open field of sand, surrounded by high walls and scaffolding. Two rats and a mole stood together in a line as a giant lizard marched forward, lifting a humongous axe with such ease and confidence that it made the rat fear immediately for the trio, despite their holding weapons themselves.

?This is gonna be a blood bath,? a mouse stated from his perch atop a water barrel.

In the arena the three beasts backed away, fanning out around the reptile as he sauntered up to them, hissing and swinging the axe in a display that was more show than attack. His red cape rippled around him as he twirled the axe and a roar shook the stones of the slave quarters. Only after a moment did Silas realize the rumble was caused by the shouts and stomping of the surrounding crowd.

One of the rats charged as the lizard was showing off, but the beast called ?Thrasher? spun with the attack, bringing the heavy weapon around to smash into the rat?s simple wooden shield. It splintered apart and the rat lost the arm that held it as well as the bottom half of his jaw as he was flung into the sand.

The mole, braver than Silas had ever given the species credit for, tackled the back of the lizard with his own smaller pair of axe blades, chopping deep into the scales so that the lizard bellowed with pain before whipping around and lopping off the dark, velvety head.

Silas wanted to throw up, but could not tear his eyes away as the last rat backed away slowly, barely able to hold his sword. He lifted his shield as the lizard bore down, but it was knocked easily from his paws. It quickly became obvious that Thrasher was playing with his prey, extending the fight for the sake of his audience.

The rat parried and jabbed with his sword, then fell as the long reptile tail knocked his feet out from under him, then the lizard leaped, bringing the axe down in an exaggerated arc to cleave the rat nearly in two. Another roar shook the arena walls and Thrasher lifted his bloody axe in the air, turning in a proud circle to the chants of the crowd.

Silas turned away at last, heart racing and eyes wide, until the noise died down and a distinctive laugh could be heard echoing across the arena. Silas pressed his eyes back to the opening and searched the stands. Blasio sat under a shaded roof on a distinguished platform, surrounded by servants, guards, and bright banners.

Silas ground his teeth together. He had seen himself in those rats, fighting a hopeless battle, lacking the skill necessary to survive. In fact, he knew from the moment he?d entered the Crater that he would probably die. But listening to Blasio Timberfell laugh as it happened was not something Silas was willing to imagine.

?That will not be me,? he pledged silently, curling his claws into fists. ?Whatever it takes, that will not be me.?