The Home Front

[Clutus]

The sound of battle drifted in through Clutus's window like an unwanted draft on a cold winter night.  The owl lifted himself from his nest, where a sleeping water rat kit still laid peacefully.  Pushing the window shutters open, Clutus relished the morning's first light, as the sun cautiously peaked its rays over the horizon.  It looked like the beginning to a beautiful day, and the only evidence to the contrary was the noise of brutal melee far below.  The battle was practically invisible to Clutus.  The soldiers of both sides appeared as shadowy ghosts under the veil of the horizon's shadow.  A dozen possibilities ran through the owl's agile mind as he perched on his windowsill.  The gloomers may have made an early morning attack, but considering that at least the bulk of the fighting was concentrated on the parade ground, it seemed far more likely that it had been the Kotir forces that had struck out from their prison.  This disturbed Clutus immensely, that the wolves would have ordered an attack without seeking his advice.  It seemed that instead, his invaluable talents were being wasted with monotonous kitsitting.

?That's my daddy coming to get me and kill you, birdie.?  Mirdros's voice called from the nest.

Clutus shut his eyes, ignoring the kit as he collected his thoughts.  The battle below was undoubtedly a counter-attack from Kotir, but that did little to diminish the danger the entire castle was in at that moment.  If his avian intuition was correct, the attack would most likely fail, and the wolves' forces would be pushed back into the castle or else annihilated.  If the rout was complete enough, then the gloomers would most likely pursue their enemies into the castle, and finish their ultimate objective.  Kotir would fall, and all its inhabitants would be slaughtered.  The complete rout was hardly a certainty, but if their was one thing the owl had learned in the last five days, it was to leave nothing to chance or ground-dwellers.  If he hoped to survive this week, he would have to make his own fortune.

?Stop not listening to me! I'm thirsty, and I'm hungry too.?  The kit's complaints fell on deaf ears.

If the gloomers did breach the keep, there was little chance for a flightless bird to survive.  He could not fly away, it would be impossible for him to outrun the water rats on foot, and his chances of sneaking away unseen were everything but impossible.  The only remaining possibility was to attempt a negotiation for his life.

?Pay attention to me! I'm important!?  The kit's words finally made it through to Clutus.

The owl spun around, finding his only hope standing behind him, paws akimbo.  With a hurried promise of food, Clutus ushered the kit down the spiral staircase to main hall.  As the pair descended the steps, Clutus was half expecting to collide with hostile water rats.  He mentally practiced the frantic speech he would recite to them; explaining his plight, and his intention to return Mirdros to his tribe as a gift of goodwill.  He became increasing certain that his plan would fail miserably. 

The main hall was eerily empty when they finally reached the last step.  Besides the wounded, a few slaves, and a couple guards, the large room was devoid of life.  If not for the uneasy atmosphere of the room, Clutus would have been tempted to forget the peril he was in.  This quasi-peace would last only last a few moments.

There came a horrible, nightmarish noise from the corridor.  A chorus of screams and wailing that covered the entire emotional spectrum of defeat.  There were cries of sorrow, howls of pain, and cursed vows for revenge.  Buried beneath these louder noises though, was another, far more potent sound that the owl knew well.  It was the sound of death, of Dark Forest's gates opening wide.  No matter how many times Clutus had heard the sound before, and no matter how welcomed the noise usually was; this time, it turned his stomach to rot.  Never before had he heard the sound with such magnitude.  It was a low moan, intermixed with vain pleas for help and the occasional cry for a mother.  Clutus glanced down at Mirdros, realizing what the young rat was about to witness. 

The smell struck a moment before the sight, and what a sight it was.  Over a dozen limping, dripping, bloodied creatures marched in disarray into the hall.  Some were being carried, others were being dragged, dieing or already dead.  Those who had escaped serious injury entered last, most with their weapons still drawn uneasily.  The main hall had descended into chaos.  The wounded wandered aimlessly, while the able-bodied occupied themselves with the cleaning weapons and searching for mates.  A few thoughtful individuals had began treating the injured, but many savored the last of the adrenaline that had seen them through the battle, their eyes searching wildly for more enemies.  One such creature, a brutish rat wearing a torn, soiled uniform, and sporting a bloody stump where his ear had once been; approached Clutus and his charge.

?Hey there, you little devil!?  The rat called, as he brandished a red bladed long sword.  ?I reckon some retribating is in order!?

?The correct pronunciation is 'retribution, thank you very much.?  Clutus educated the rat, as he took a step in front of Mirdros.  ?However, there is none of that to be had here.  If retribution is what you seek, you would do best to take it up with those who have attacked us.?

The rat pointed a bruising paw at Mirdors.  ?That little brat belongs to them outside.  I say, we throw him off the roof and see how the blaggards like that.?

?That would be an incredibly idiotic move on your part.  It would do little more than infuriate the water rats, and more than likely result in all of our deaths.?

?You'd better watch whose side you're taking, Fancyfeathers.  You?re walking on a shaky branch.  We're under siege after all, I imagine soon, some nice roasted owl will be sounding pretty tasty.?

Clutus advanced on the rat until he felt the beast's sword prick his underbelly.  ?You are the one on a shaky branch, you foul lump of deformity.?

?You ought to keep your tongue inside your head, Bird, or else I?ll cut it out.?  The rat said, as he prodded Clutus with his sword.

The soldier would have been wiser to run Clutus through, rather than weakly prodding him.  While Clutus was being threatened at sword-point, the close proximity was not an exclusive advantage for the rat.  Clutus, as well as all birds of prey, had been born with a lethally sharp beak; where ground-dwellers had been given only their loud-mouths and meager teeth.  In response to this natural disadvantage, ground-dwellers had developed blades.  However, while an expert swordsbeast could make the blade an extension of his or her body, the birds' beak was not an extension, but an actual, physical part of his or her body.  As such, no swordsbeast could match the speed of an owl's beak, unless given ample warning.  Clutus gave little warning, and moved faster than expected for an aging, overweight, crippled owl.

The rat released a grunt as he half leapt, half fell backwards.  One paw shot to his bleeding snout, where a flap of loose skin was hanging from his lip. 

Clutus took a step back, and gloated from the safety of two strides.  ?May that serve as a lesson to you, to never cross an owl.?

The words were still in the air, as the rat suddenly bound forward at Clutus, his blade raised high for the killing blow.  The owl had no time to react to the counter-attack, and barely had the time to shut his eyes as death cut through the air towards him.

Clang!

Metal sounded against metal, and as Clutus opened his eyes he found Captain Blacktip poised between him and the attacker.  His sword held the rat's aloft, and a quiet look from the mink instantly disarmed the suddenly submissive rodent.

Returning his blade to its sheath, Alan turned to Clutus, his eyes burning as if he were still in battle.  "Would you please enlighten me as to what in Hellgates is going on?!"

?I am only fulfilling the duties you gave me and looking after the kit.?  Clutus explained, as he examined his feathery body for wounds.

Alan grabbed Clutus by his burnt breast feathers, pulling the owl down to eye level.  "I told you to watch him, not eat him, and keep him safe. I hardly call flaunting him in front of a mob who'd like to kill him, good kitsitting."

The barn owl tried to pull away from the mink's grasp, but decided against losing even more of his breast feathering.  ?I kept the kit confined to my chamber nearly all day, yesterday.  Granted, I enjoyed some much deserved rest, but you cannot expect us to live up there.?

"Can't I?"  Alan asked, his breath feeling hot and sticky on Clutus's face.  "Last time I checked I'm still in charge. I can do whatever I want."

?May I take it that I am a prisoner too then?  I was up there as well you know, and without a bite to eat since yesterday.?  Clutus explained the injustices he had suffered, as he renewed his efforts for freedom. 

The captain released the owl, but his tone remained hard.  "Yes your plight is so very harsh. You got to sit around doing nothing while the rest of us got nearly killed! If you didn't get anything to eat, it's your own blasted fault. You know where the kitchens are."

?It would be greatly appreciated by the both of us if some food was provided.?  Clutus persisted, after his growling stomach reminded him.

Blacktip released a sigh, rubbing his tired eyes with a bloodstained paw.  "I don't have any beasts to waste waiting on you. If your hungry, get it yourself. If the little cretin gets hungry, do your weird bird vomit thing in his mouth or whatever it is birds do to feed their young."

Liquid sarcasm was practically dripping from Clutus's beak as he replied.  ?Indeed, we birds are so disgusting compared to you ground-dwellers; who feed your young with-?

?Shut up!?  Blacktip interrupted.  ?Where is Mirdors??

Clutus spun around to find that the kit had vanished.  Whether it had been during the fight or after, the young water rat had made a run for it, disappearing into the crowd.

?Clutus,? Alan said through clenched teeth.  ?If you don't find that kit, we might be eating roasted owl after all.?

The barn owl pivoted his head around to look at Blacktip.  ?You would not dare...?

?If you don't get moving, you'll find out.?  The mink said, as his paw slowly moved down to rest on the hilt of his sword.

Clutus released an indignant huff, and then began working his way through the crowd.  Five days ago, or rather two days in the future, the owl had found Kotir's grand completion feast a nightmare to navigate.  This new environment was far worse though.  Not only was there the constant background noise of a crowded room, but there was also intermittent screaming from the wounded.  The overpowering scent of blood had the bird's head spinning as well.  He hoped fervently that it was not Mirdros's blood that he smelled.

Slowly, the soldiers and slaves began to settle down, and find comfortable places to rest or productive things to do.  Still, Clutus could not find the kit.  At least not until his ears caught a faint squeak, such that only a young one could make.  The owl rushed towards the source of the noise and found the kit sitting comfortably on a flour sack.  The sight of the creature who watching him though, gave Clutus reason to question his eyes.

?Oh, joy, it's Featherbucket. I was wonderin' how long it was gonna take fer you t' track me down."  Rousseau commented idly from her place beside Mirdros.  "Look who I found, the little blighter looked like 'e was set t' walk right out our front door."

?I don't like it here.?  The kit told them, his eyes carefully avoiding the carnage that surrounded him.  ?I wanna go home now.

Rousseau chuckled lightly.  "Don't we all. Why, I wouldn't mind takin' a little sail on me ship right now if I got the chance."

?Your alive...?  Clutus finally managed to say aloud, as he stared in wonder at the rat captain.

"Keep it together, Bird. I was only gone fer less than a day, an' ya already assume I'm dead? I kin take care o' myself, if ya haven't noticed."

Clutus moved to sit beside that two rats, his eyes gleaming happily.  ?This is most excellent, Captain Rousseau.  You were sorely missed in these parts.?

Rousseau's face turned serious.  "I'm not so sure o' that. Though, I am surprised it took ya this long t' track me down, I've been back since yesterday mornin'."

?And of course no beast thought to tell me.  I have been occupied with caring for this little terror.?  Clutus said, gesturing at Mirdros with his wing.

"An', I believe I'll be takin' over that job now. Morleo decided t' throw some threats at me an' I'm not about t' let my first mate or any other beast die because somebeast let an owl kitsit a liddle 'un. Somethin' about that jest doesn't seem like the best idea. I think he'll be a lot safer with me."

Clutus turned his accusing eyes towards Mirdros.  ?What did you tell her? I believe we discussed this earlier.?

?I just told about your friend who tried to eat me, and when you said you was going to eat me, and then the rat who wanted to throw me off the roof.?  Mirdros looked quite smug as he spoke.  ?You only told me not to tell the minks and fox.  You never said anything about Rosy.?

Clutus attempted to explain the intricacies of the agreement to the stubborn kit.  ?It was implied that you would speak to no beast about Licium, and besides, we thought Rousseau was dead-?

The owl's words were cut short by an unearthly howl.  It echoed from pillar to pillar across the hall, as if it were some booming thunderbolt from Vulpez himself.  Over a score of swords unsheathed in a crescendo of ringing steel.  However, as the soldiers caught sight of the noise's source nearly all faltered, some began to retreat, and a few even dropped their weapons in the face of this new foe.  Clutus released a disturbed screech as he saw the beast, and suddenly regretted his decision of leaving his chamber.