The fish was delicious, and they shared the remaining pears and the last of the nettle beer. Felch felt his nerves returning to normal as he conversed with the Taggerung, aware of the fierce eyes behind the painted face, gleaming in the flames.
"You could've slain me. Why didn't you?"
The otter felt pity for his wretched captive, knowing that Sawney would have some terrible punishment in store for him, but he kept his heavily tattooed face immobile and shrugged, replying as if it were an everyday matter. "Sawney Rath told me to return to camp with two things, his fine blade and you, or your head as proof I found you."
Felch gulped visibly. "My head!"
Tagg twirled the knife in the air and caught it deftly. "I didn't want to mess my supply bag up and have to carry extra weight, so I'm returning you to Sawney alive."
The fox's whole body slumped. There was pleading in his eyes. "If you take me back Sawney will kill me himself."
The otter stared at the amber-handled knife. "I don't make the rules, Felch. You are Juskarath, you know our clan laws. You shouldn't have run."
Felch was about to stand up and reply, but he thought better of it and remained seated. "But Sawney was going to kill me anyway if I hadn't found the knife he had thrown at me. I had no choice, don't you see? There was nothing left for me but to run!"
Tagg pointed the blade at his captive. "You should be dead now, by rights. If Gruven had found you he'd have beheaded you on the spot. Be thankful you are alive, fox."
Felch leaned forward eagerly. "You spared my life. I'll always be gra"
The otter cut him short. "Save your breath, we've got a fast journey at dawn. Get some sleep, you'll need it. Don't forget, though: one false move and I'll make you wish that Gruven had captured you!"
The Taggerung threw more branches on the fire. He watched the fox until he was sure that Felch was deep in sleep, then he lay down himself and drifted into a light slumber, the blade still held relaxed but ready.
It was the dream that had visited his mind many times over the last fifteen seasons. A beautiful otter face, gentle and kind, and a soft voice murmuring things he could not quite make out. A younger face also, bright-eyed, pretty, repeating the same comforting noises. Soft clean linen against his cheek, aromas of the late spring and delicious food baking. A big male otter standing proudly close by, and the presence of a huge motherly beast hovering in the background. Then there were the walls, old, warm, red stone, everywhere about. Sunlight shafting through a window, turning them to the hue of dusty pink roses. It was a feeling of peace, happiness and safety he had never known running wild outdoors with the Juskarath clan. Tears coursed from under the lids of his closed eyes, dripping down onto the paw that held the knife. Suddenly he was awake, swiftly wiping his eyes and peering out into the still summer night. Behind him he could hear the slow swirl of riverwater. He stayed still as a stone, sensing everything about him, even a wood beetle, trundling by on some nocturnal errand. After a while he relaxed and checked on Felch. The fox was lying on his side, snoring lightly. The Taggerung lay down again, letting slumber wash over him, seeking again those visions he longed to see.
But this time it was a mouse standing in the corridors of his mind. A mouse? Instinctively he knew it to be no ordinary mouse. It was a male, a warrior, clad in battle armor, bearing a sword that was as beautiful as it was fearsome. He knew that if ever he stood against this mouse, he would meet his match. A warrior indeed! But for all that, the mouse smiled upon him, like a father meeting a beloved son. The mouse warrior spoke but a single word.
"Deyna!"
Then he was gone, faded into the dusty citadel of dreams.
Blue-grey woodsmoke from campfires drifted between the sun and shade of woodland trees. Covering his eyes with a paw, Sawney Rath noted the position of the sun standing in the sky at high noon. He turned his gaze onto the two creatures entering the clearing and spoke to the stoat Antigra without even deigning to look at her.
"You see, I told you. Here comes Tagg, my son, right on time!"
Antigra left off plucking the feathers from a dead dove, and threw a hate-laden glance at the Taggerung and his prisoner. Sawney continued to gloat and mock her.
"Nobeast living can hunt like my Taggerung. He was born of the storm and fathered by lightning on a moonless night! Hah! The food you are preparing for your sluggard son will have rotted in the cooking pot by the time he returns. Where do you suppose your precious Gruven is? Chasing butterflies ten leagues from here, I'll wager. Huh! He couldn't hunt on his own tail!"
The clan vermin crowded around the Taggerung and his prize, staring at their icon in awe and admiration. Shoving Felch ahead of him, the lithe otter strode through the crowd, like a pike through a minnow shoal. Grissoul stood smiling in front of Sawney's tent. She bowed fawningly.
"Thou did well! Zann Juskarath Taggerung!"
Sawney pushed the Seer aside and embraced his adopted son. "You did it! I knew you would, I said you'd return at high noon with both Felch and my blade, and here you are!"
The otter threw a paw about Sawney's shoulder. "That's the duty of a Taggerung, not to disappoint his Chief. Any food around? I'm famished!"
Sawney gave Grissoul a shove. "Go and get that roasted woodpigeon for my Tagg. Shift yourself, vixen, he's hungry!"
Eefera, one of Sawney's most trusted weasels, had Felch down on the ground, binding his paws with thongs. He pulled the fox upright. "One runaway, Chief, bound an' delivered!"
Sawney brought his face close to the fox, smiling dangerously through slitted eyes, his voice dripping menace. "Last night was your last night, Felch. Enjoy the rest of the day!"
The Taggerung whispered in Sawney's ear. "Punish him good, but don't kill him. That fox is still a useful beast. I think he's learned his lesson."
The ferret Chieftain patted the otter's cheek, still smiling. "Eat now, Tagg, and rest in my tent. Leave this to me. Our clan still carries the name of Rath; I make the rules here."
Tagg was halfway through his meal when Gruven came storming back into camp, thornstung and muddied. The stoat dashed past Antigra without even acknowledging her. Everybeast watched as he confronted the otter, sitting on the ground eating. Gruven pointed at Tagg and yelled, "A false trail! You sent me off on a false trail!"
The Taggerung rose slowly, wiping a paw across his mouth. "And you were clever enough to follow it. Well done, Gruven!"
The stoat was shaking from ear to paw with rage. "If you hadn't laid that trail I'd have taken the fox's head an hour after dawn!"
Grissoul was about to step in and remind Gruven of his lowly position in the clan when Sawney pulled her back. "Let them be. I want to see this."
Tagg shook his head. "An hour after dawn? Really? I don't think so. I'd already spotted Felch before that. Remember this, too. I was the one sent out to bring him back, not you, my foolish friend."
Gruven always carried a sword. Now he drew it in the blink of an eye. "I'm no friend of yours and I'm not foolish either. Huh, Zann Taggerung, you don't even have the guts to carry a weapon. So, who's the fool now, eh?"
The otter moved like chain lightning. He dealt Gruven an awful blow, just below the shoulder. It paralyzed his sword paw. Tagg's rudderlike tail thudded into his opponent's stomach, bending him double. The sword, which was still held loosely in the stoat's paw, its point against the ground, bent too, like a bow. A stunning crack from Tagg's paw to his adversary's chin sent the stoat crashing backward. The sword made a twanging noise as it left his grip and sailed off into the trees behind the clearing. Gruven lay flat on his back. The otter drew Sawney's blade from the back of his belt and threw. It buried itself alongside the stoat's face, clipping off several whiskers in the process. The Taggerung turned away.