Expedition [Urk Climax #1]: The Long Watch

[Gyles F. Stowett]

The shrew shaman allowed himself a desperate giggle as he chanced to look behind him and watch the weasel fall, soon to be finished off by a barrage of cudgels and spears from the high warriors. They were sorely mistaken if they thought a sacred mystic bound and blessed to the gods would stay and make battle with the petty sticks and blades of lower creatures, he mused, still glancing over his shoulder as he ran straight into the bloodstained sword of Gyles Stowett, First Lieutenant.

The blue-painted shrew died smiling!

Gyles withdrew the rapier with a flourish and leveled the blade with the guards with a casual glance at the beast he had killed. "La! Demmed if it ain't a new one on me," he called to Tultow. "Foebeast what stabs itself!"

As soon as the honor guard saw the shaman slain, they let out a loud feral whoop as one and charged his apparent killer, obviously unaware that the death had been, by all appearances, textbook suicide. They would need some instruction.

"Mistress Yosha! The head, if you please, madame." He shook his head apologetically for the burden she had thus borne. "Bloody business."

He raised the crimson sack in one paw with his blade still extended at arm's length toward them in a challenge, then unveiled its vile contents to a shriek of horror.

 

[Dusk Rainblade]

The reaction from the shrews rippled out across the battlefield, a wailing wave coursing from the epicenter like a pond disturbed by a falling pebble. Whether it was for the monstrous wolf, their chieftain, or both, none could say; what mattered was the effect, which led to a stumbling, chaotic retreat by the army. Whatever will they had to punish the intruders was broken by the quite literal decapitation of the head of their culture.

Tultow could feel his strength flagging - but they weren't safe yet. Not while Shorris lay on the ground, unconscious or perhaps dead. Prisoner she might have been, undeserving perhaps of mercy, but she'd still fought like a true Vulpinsulan in their darkest moment. Tultow would not let that be dishonored. He reached down and scooped her up, ignoring the pain that lanced through his chest. "Come, Gyles!" he urged. "Good beasts laid their lives down to save yours; don't let it be in vain! That goes for you too, lass!" he directed to Vihma. Then, with the last of his flagging strength, he pushed himself toward the longboats, carrying Shorris in his arms, whether to safety or a burial with honors, he did not know.

 

[Gyles F. Stowett]

Gyles was at Tultow's side in an instant, rapier as quickly sheathed. "Let me."
The rakish mask fell as he supported his friend, his oldest of friends who yet drew breath on this battered world, toward the boats. He attended a paw to the limp weasel - whatever she was, she was in this with them now. He glanced back at Talinn's body over Brull's brawny shoulder. The Minister had sworn an oath on her account.

He would do his best to be sure that word had not been spoken in vain.

"Ahoy the camp! Officers and crew, don't stand a minute longer! No tellin' what that mad pack will do next. Best we not be here to find out! Leave the useless odds and ends - there's plenty of plunder to buy more when we make Old Bully!"

He scanned the ragged survivors, the wounded and still whole. Few had died, but many were hurt. He noted Ralynn Waverunner, the bold young rabbit bosun, among the still absent. And Honeytail, the marine and Tultow's beau. Where was he? Gone, too, was the bold midshipper Songfox, or so it seemed. He pushed the thoughts from his mind as his eyes found the doctor, Arthur Barrett.

"Mr. Barrett, as standing warrant, you're promoted to acting Boatswain of the Golden Hide, honors and et cetera. Get these hides and tails moving!"
He turned his head toward Tultow. "And your assistant - wherever he's got to - get some beasts together and take this prisoner off our paws." He helped Tultow forward, the waiting boat a mere few yards yet. His heart dropped as he saw the ashen face of his comrade. Tultow was fading fast, struck more deeply than he'd realized.

"There, old boy. Just a few more steps. Just like Kamkeray all over again, ain't it? 'Ceptin' a lot less mud..."

 

[Dusk Rainblade]

Tultow could feel the strength leaving him. Each step was more arduous than the last, Shorris's weight a pound heavier each second. By the time he reached the camp, he was dragging his footpaws more than stepping with them, his lungs cramped and on fire as his ribs collapsed around them. It was only Gyles' encouragement that willed him past the pain and the misery, through those ten awful, limping, ragged-breath steps to the longboat. He didn't set Shorris down; he dropped her into the boat, then toppled in himself. The pain was awful, something was sticking into his shattered ribs, and as he breathed, he found himself coughing up blood. It tasted like iron and hollow glory. His eye slanted to Gyles, and his voice was raspy as he spoke. "Piper," he choked out. "Honeytail. Don't leave them."