There's evil in the air and there's thunder in sky

[Damask the Minstrel]

The knight upon his knee did bend
And lay before the maiden fair
His heart. His favors he did send
And yet, it was as if he spoke to air.

For even in his dreams he saw
A villain dark with black intent.
Who took from him his maiden's paw
Our hero's only bond to her was rent.

So now as he awakes from this foul dream
He wishes dark reality weren't true.
And coming from that blackness now, it seems
A voice that is familiar. You--

You!

Damask's eyes snapped open. His land of dream departed. The verses that had shimmered under the surface of his consciousness drifted away like echoed notes. The image of that dream remained, however: a fair paw encased within a darker one. The sight was past burning in his vision, it was a scar. Red and pulsing, it seethed, drawing his mind's eye over and --

Snap out of it! The voice that had intruded into his dreams was still here. The robin closed his eyes and listened -- only breathing of his bunkmates -- he was alone. Which meant...

Ah, see the great Damascinous. How your sonnets and verses woo, eh? the voice was soft and gentle, like falling leaves, but sharp as an autumn wind. It was familiar -- like his voice, but more subdued. It echoed about in his mind, triggering old memories: scents of a forest, feelings of fear and loneliness, even old faces. Damask shivered. It was cunning. It replied to his own thoughts, I survive.

The robin shook his head, muttering under his breath, "No... she was simply overwhelmed. And that's when --"

That vermin stepped in. The Softleaves voice finished for him.

"I don't like that word..."

Why? the voice queried, It has nothing to do with species, right? It paused, and when Damask didn't reply, continued, He took her. You saw how he waited until she was alone to confront her. You saw how he took her paw. He is a base demon.

The bird was silent for a moment, considering this. "Even so," he began, "how could I confront him? Or her? Call her untrue? I couldn't! I still can't believe it."

You don't have to say anything to her. The voice was soft, conciliatory. All you have to do is eliminate the competition.

"Kill him?" The bird's voice rose, startling a nearby sleeper. Damask held his breath then, waiting for a shout that never came. After a moment, he added, "That's wrong! I can't do that."

Don't kill him, the Softleaves voice explained, just... persuade him. We've always been persuasive, right? Show him that she's your maiden to love. That your love is true. The voice grew hard. Let him know that you know what he is. And if he touches her--

"I'll take care of him." The bird nodded once, and took a few quiet hops towards where Bellona was slumbering, suffering similar dreams, from her quiet moans. Damask laid a soothing claw on her shoulder; the pressure settled the dormouse back into a deeper slumber. He gave a small smile before moving the claw down to her dirk's handle. With the greatest of care, he removed it, dipping his beak down to grab the handle.

Excellent. We know the fiend retired the next level up. Now, find him and show him...

And so our hero bravely crept
Into the den and durance vile.
Where many maiden's souls have wept
But yet by chance the beast doth sleep a while.

Damask paused just inside the entrance to Venril's chambers, looking to the shadows and listening for movement. The captain may have had the room to himself, but who knew what minions may lay in wait in the room.

Damask forced himself to stand and wait, counting off his heartbeats, willing his body to be calm and not betray him. Gripping the dirk tighter in his beak, the bird shuffled forward, worried that even his normal hop might be too loud.

He was over Venril now, and felt a slight unease. He looked... small. As if it was possible that he was what he seemed: stuck in a situation that was too much for him -- smaller than life, as it were.

But you know what he can do.

The bird closed his eyes for just a moment, trying to compose himself. A light paw in a dark one... His eyes flew open again, fleeing that ever-present sight. I know what he's done.

One step closer brought him right next to the stoat's head. Damask lowered his beak and grabbed the handle of the dirk with one claw. Setting his beak, he brought the point to Venril's neck. The muscles twitched away from the point, as if the body was trying to save itself from a neckless existence.

"Hark, Villain."

The stoat gave a sleepy groan and began to turn his head. When flesh encountered blade, however, he cried out, bringing his paw to his neck and jerking away from the point. A pair of bleary, beady eyes snapped open, resting on the tip of the dirk. "What do you want? Wh-who's--?"

"I'll do the talking, vermin!" Damask took a one-legged hop forward, keeping the dagger in easy stabbing range. His voice was a rough hiss as he continued, "I saw you lay paws on my fair maiden, and let me tell you, if you even so much as look at her again."

"I-I-I don't know!" The captain-nee-clerk's voice was high and nervous. "I don't know what you mean."

"You dared lay a paw on her!"

The stoat's eyes darted from the blade to the bird and back, his voice starting to calm. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. If you could just lower your weapon..."

Doubt began to nibble at the edges of Damask's quest. Against the screaming protests of the Softleaves Voice, Damask began to waver. "Well, I mean, I did see you, but if you--"

As soon as the dirk was a paw's length away, Venril gave it a sharp slap on the hilt. Damask gave a squawk of alarm as the mustelid was up and pushing his feathered attacker away, snarling in disgust, "What do you take me for, bird-brains?" He paused, letting the threats from before sink in. "You think I... with Eliza?"

"I saw you with her!"

The puzzled look that fell across Venril's face did nothing to allay the bird's suspicions. "What are you talking about?"

"But... she's a maiden, not some sailor's trollop! How dare you --"

"You're kidding." The stoat began to laugh, a mirthless chuckle from deep in his chest that rose in tone and volume, each crescendo diminishing Damask's stature. "You... your maiden." As Damask gulped nervously, Venril continued with an incredulous tone, "Oh, this is rich. So, what, do you care for her, bird?"

The robin's eyes narrowed as he gave a low hiss, his beak dipping defensively. "More than you could comprehend, you black, vile creature."

"Look, bird, perhaps you didn't notice, but she doesn't have any wings." He snorted, rising to his feet and dusting himself off as he continued, "No feathers. No beak. If she wanted someone to care for her, they wouldn't be lunch."

Damask spat, his feathers ruffling in indignation. "How dare you presume--"

"Get out of my sight, you pathetic excuse for a meal." Venril just shook his head, "A bird and a marten... rubbish!"

The bird hissed once more, then took to the air, flapping over to the floor, where the dirk lay. He paused before it, eyes slitted. "If you breathe a word of this to her, beast, I won't pause next time I visit you in your slumber."

"Out!"

The bird snorted once, then picked up the dirk and left with none of the slow caution of his entrance. He missed the sigh that seemed to remove any pomp from Venril, leaving him small and shaking in his bed.

-----

You know, the voice whispered, smooth and gentle as a spring updraft, not every hero relied on strength alone.

Damask paused outside of Bellona's chamber and set the dirk down. He muttered under his breath, "True. We aren't all built like badger lords. Why, even Martin himself used guile and traps."

And recruited help. The voice's statement interrupted Damask's musings, a harsh dissonance to his monologue. The mouse. She's fierce enough. If you get her on your side, she could be a great help. She got the best of that vermin brute, Wrath.

"But why would she help me? She thinks... well, I can tell she wouldn't like my beloved much." The bird hopped back and forth, nervous energy radiating from him. He continued, "Besides, what would--"

Fool! He was cut off by the Softleaves voice, his beak shutting at the mental rebuke. We don't know what that vermin captain is capable of! He laid paws on your maiden. It continued, its tone calming, We don't know what killed Sailpaw either, do we? For all we know, Venril did it.

Black eyes shining, the bird turned his beak in the direction of the tunnel -- that place his nightmares kept revisiting -- where Sailpaw must surely still lay. "He could've done it. First he goes after Eliza, then uses Sailpaw to get to Bellona."

Yes.

"And that Wrath works for him! He was the first one to try and kill Bellona."

Yes.

"So, Venril. Venril's the one that's behind it all! He's trying to use the fair maids to get to me... I must tell Bellona!"

Yes!

The bird's chest was heaving and his eyes were darting down either tunnel, following the shadows that danced in the torchlight to a silent beat. They menaced with each movement, and from the passage behind, where the villain slept, they were dark as the foul beast's soul. It was beginning to get oppressive, this dank, twice-breathed air. "But... she trusts him, doesn't she -- Eliza."

Yes, so we must be careful when we... remove him. Now go to the mouse-maiden. Tell her all.

The bird slunk back to his companion's bunk, transferring the blade back to a claw. The tip shook as Damask tried to line the dirk back up with its sheath.

"Next time ask, bird."

The robin gave a squawk of surprise, the dirk clattering to the ground as he hopped back from the supine mouse. "Bellona! I -- that is, I mean..."

"Save it, Damask." The warrioress rolled over, eyeing him with a critical stare. She reached down and sheathed her weapon.

"Bellon' I thought that you should know," the bird began, his voice quiet and lilting, "that it is that foul stoat--"

Bellona raised a paw to silence him, the other rubbing at her eyes. "Just... not now, Damask. No strange ideas or cryptic verses or--"

"He killed Sailpaw!"

Her head snapped up, eyes locking to his. "Who? That stoat captain? He's harmless."

"He's not! I mean, he looks it, sure, but--"

"I am," Bellona cut him off, "going to bed."

The mouse rolled back over, and Damask gave an irritated squawk to her turned shoulder. He hopped around her, dipping his beak so that it was level with her snout. "Think about it, Bell!" She gave a small jerk at that, ears pricking back to listen. "That Wrath ferret is under his command, and was the first to attack us. He is always keeping to himself and looking furtive. He talks like he's learned. And we don't know what killed Sailpaw."

"Damask..."

"It could have been poison! He was out of his mind and foaming! He was.. he said he was sick and not himself. A poisoner could've--"

"Stop it!" The mouse snapped at him, "Just shut your beak!"

Damask staggered back, a shout catching in a throat. After a moment he continued, "Bellona, I'm sorry. It's just... I don't know what he's capable of."

She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to his. "What do you want me to do?"