Of Fighters and Spies

[Bellona Littlebrush]

?What do you want me to do?? Bell spoke without color. It felt like all the emotion had been leeched out of her for that day -- arguing with Sailpaw, fleeing his death, fearing the drums and fighting the creatures that accompanied them, explaining to Giddy that his hero had died, trying to console the recruit while hiding her own grief. There was nothing left in her but fatigue, the vein completely tapped. She could hardly find the will to care that the bird had managed to swipe her dirk while she slept. Still, appearances must be kept up.

?I?ve a notion,? Damask began, bright eyes catching her world-weary gaze, ?that we?d best be served by teasing out his means and motives, first. Reconnaissance!?

If he had paws, the dormouse realized, the faintest glimmer of humor shining through her darkness, one claw?d be raised dramatically about now. The bird had always been a bit amusing. Wasn?t that the purpose of a minstrel? Entertainment.

?But that craven cur has routed me out,? the bird continued with a quiet forcefulness that was refreshing, if unusual. ?You?ll need to take point on this, Bell. Yes. I think, if we can uncover his purpose -- his grand scheme -- we?ll be better equipped to deal with him and his?minions.?

?Sensible,? the dormouse agreed, finally sitting up. Here was a task, something to occupy her mind instead of the continuous replay of Sailpaw?s death. Everything she could have said and done differently. Her last words had been a threat? What had the squirrel said to her so often?

I try no? t?fight with ye, Bell. Only a few beasties left oot here I count as friend an? I?ll be a fox?s uncle b?fore I die angry at ye. Heh! ?Sides, ye?d murder me in a fight, ye would.

Her throat tightened. What had happened to him anyway? If it was poison, as Damask said, it was some terrible thing she had never seen. If it was disease like she had smelled? Fates forbid it be something contagious.

He was on me, the dormouse realized, eyes widening imperceptibly in the flickering torchlight. His blood and spit. When did he say he?d first started feeling ill? That vermin! He said he was bitten by one of the cave vermin. Was the gibbering beast going crazy even now, infecting more creatures with its putrid condition? Had one of the creatures managed to bite her in the battle after? She hadn?t been paying attention to her physical wounds. What if??!

?So you?ll do it, then?? Damask?s query broke into her increasingly worrisome thoughts. What was happening to her now? When had she become such an excitable beast? When had?

Enough, Littlebrush! the dormouse chided silently. Focus on Damask. Focus on his idea. Yes. The robin and his plan. He wasn?t asking anything extraordinary of her -- just to watch.

?Aye.? Bell nodded. ?I?ll do whatever you want me to, Damask. We?re comrades.? They both started a bit at that statement.

When did I?? When had she stopped thinking of Damask as just ?that funny robin? and ?the spy??

When he tried to protect you, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Freyr replied simply.

For all the good it did, for all the stupidity in the act itself, for all the misguided bravado, the robin had tried his best to save her from a beast who could surely have ripped him limb from limb. And not just any beast, one they both counted as comrade... more or less. To defend against ones enemies was common and expected. She had done it for Damask, and he for her. To defend against ones friends? That demanded a courage that Bell would not have credited the minstrel with until that moment.

?We?re comrades, Damask.? She affirmed with a nod, both for his sake, and her own. ?If Venril?s responsible for Sailpaw?s? I?ll kill him. Mark me: neither Hellgates nor high water will stop me.?

~ = ~ = ~

And so Bell found herself the next morning leaning against as stalagmite in a cavern on the lowest level of the vermin city, watching Rath try to teach the ?devious? Venril how to fight. If he was faking his incompetence, he was doing a bloody fine job of it. Four times now, the dormouse had forced herself to remain silent when she saw the stoat?s pitiful attacks parried or dodged completely. Rath was fast, yes, but he wasn?t that fast.

?Oh, for the love of the Long Patrol!? she finally chittered, unable to contain herself as sword clanged against axe once more. ?Feint right and attack left, Venril. He?s half blind! Take advantage of that, will you??

Both combatants looked over at her, the ferret glaring, his beady eye a slit, the stoat captain panting, but seemingly relieved by the short respite.

?Comments from a beast who can?t finish an honorable duel ain?t welcome,? Rath growled warningly.

?If you?re going to train him to fight, you should instruct him in tactics, as well,? Bell challenged. What was she doing? Helping to train Venril was not part of the plan. Still, the warrior in her rebelled at the notion that some brute of a ferret could train a lithe fighter like the stoat properly. It would be like Sailpaw trying to teach her about fighting with a dirk -- a complete waste of time. ?What good is it to know your enemy?s weaknesses if you don?t exploit them??

?A good fighter don?t need to ?exploit?, mouse.?

?A good fighter takes any advantage given, vermin.?

The dormouse suddenly found herself footclaw-to-footclaw with the ferret. Bell had her dirk drawn and teeth bared, and Rath had his axe gripped too tightly for the tilt of it to be casual.

?If I may interject.? Venril coughed, but Bell paid him no mind, glare fixed on the brute above her, gauging the best first move. ?Look here!? The stoat practically shouted into her ear. Bell blinked slowly to hide a wince and shifted her gaze to the smaller vermin.

?Er?? he began weakly. Pathetic. If this was the creature that had done Sailpaw in? No! She mustn?t be deceived by appearances. He was physically incompetent, but frailty had a way of hiding other traits? like duplicity and guile. ?Look, here, Leftenant Littlebrush. I appreciate the advice, but I did ask Rath to train me. I should rather think you?d be better served assisting your own captain in training the other woodlanders than commenting on my lessons.?

That little? Bell felt her fur bristling. Such a nonchalant statement when he knew. ?Captain Sailpaw is dead.? She struck the pain from her voice and replaced it with anger.

?Oh.? He had the gall to look embarrassed. Quite the little performer -- one to give Damask a run for his title. ?Sorry.?

The dormouse snorted, turned on her heel and stalked back to her stalagmite, sheathing her dirk in the process. That was how he was going to play it, then? Innocent?

Tch! No vermin?s that innocent.