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Description

     The bench of the mouseslave Vinetail was nearest to the exit and right next to the slavedriver’s chamber. If he put his ear to the wall, the mouse could hear everything that was said in that room, and Vinetail put that advantage to use.

     “Hey, Killspear! Captain’s got orders for you.” That voice was unfamiliar to Vinetail.

     “Hoho, look who’s here, Katt! What’s the matter?” There was no mistaking Killspear’s voice, though, and it seemed that the new bosun was the one talking with him.

     “The Heartless wants you to keep the slaves rowing at double speed. There’s a storm coming our way, so whip those gadabouts good!”

     “Haha, I can do that. Skin them till the bones are showing,” Killspear laughed.

     “So do that. We’ve got to outrun that storm and reach the Tallrocks at noon.”

     “Tallrocks, you say?” The mirth left Killspear’s voice. “Do we have to go there?” There was no answer to be heard. Katt had probably given the slave-driver one of his stares, and Killspear continued almost frantically. “It’s not a good place, Tallrocks. Do you know that Vilu Daskar and his red ship found their end there five seasons ago? And Daskar was the terror of the high seas, his Goreleech the biggest vessel in these waters!” The stoat lowered his voice. “They say that the Dark One himself struck him with the lightning that broke the ship right in two, then threw one half to the rocks and dragged the other half right into Hellgates, with Vilu and his crew still alive! They say… they say that even now you can hear their cries if you sail close enough to the stones. These rocks are haunted, I tell you!”

     “And so what?” Katt didn’t seem impressed.

     “Why do we have to sail so close to the rocks anyway? You’re the bosun. Can’t you change the course?”

    “Tallrocks are the best reference point to turn south. Besides, the Captain lays the course.” Katt’s voice was dripping with venom. “You don’t like it, you go and tell him, then you’ll be joining Vilu Daskar in the Hellgates.”

     “Was I complaining? Oh no, matey, I wasn’t. I just… eh, let’s go get some breakfast.”

     After Vinetail repeated the whole conversation for his fellow slaves, Varyg turned to Davar. “Well?”

     “Scorched Ground had already been in some storms this season,” the weasel observed. “If the Heartless wants her to avoid this one, it surely must be very bad.”

     “Just what we need,” said Varyg. “If the corsairs are so afraid of this storm, we just ought to get to the Tallrocks in the same time with it. Killspear is going to beat us double to outrun it, but he cannot watch all of us in the same time. Row when he’s looking at you, and once his back is turned, just stop your work. That will slow the ship down.”

     “Or we can just churn the air with oars,” Olina suggested. “Or row backwards – us otters can do that, and that’s hard to catch with so many slaves round there.”

     “Yes, let’s do just that,” Varyg agreed.

     ***

     Killspear was furious. Scorched Ground had just reached the Tallrocks, but it was evening dusk and not noon! The stoat had spent his day beating the slaves up, but much to his surprise that didn’t seem to help, though the wretched beasts were rowing frantically under his scrutiny. The storm was already upon the ship, throwing her wildly from side to side so that sometimes Killspear had difficulty staying on his footpaws. Even in the lowest deck, the beasts could hear the howling of wind and the crashing of water against the stones, as well as curses and shouts of the corsairs struggling to keep their ship away from the sharp rocks.

     Davar was the only of the slaves who had seen the Tallrocks from the upper deck, and now the weasel pressed his muzzle to the oarlock hole tightly. “Yes, that’s it,” he whispered. “The most dangerous crags of Tallrocks, all pointed stone and unpredictable currents. Brr, it looks like an entrance to Hellgates!”

     “Want to back out?” Varyg asked while he pretended to row.

     “No! Yes… eh, give the signal already!”

     Varyg easily raised his voice above the din of the storm. “Slaaaves! Haaalt!”

     All as one, the oarslaves pulled their oars out of water and stopped rowing. That was so outrageous that Killspear stood dumbfounded for a couple of moments, not being able to believe his eyes. “Wh-what?.. H-how?.. Get back to rowing, you slackbrained maggots!”

     Nothing happened.

     Killspear swung his weapon menacingly. “Bend your backs or you’ll get this!” He struck the slave nearest to him. That was Olina. The ottermaid just glared at the slave-driver, but didn’t move a paw. “Row!” Killspear shouted, giving Olina blow after blow.

     “Make us!” Varyg laughed, hoping to turn the stoat’s attention away from the poor maid.

     Killspear was at him in a moment, stabbing through his left paw. But before he could deal the killing blow, the ship was lifted in the air by an especially violent toss, and Killspear was thrown off the vole slave.

     There was a tramping of footpaws, and a searat barged in. “Blood’n’claw, what’s in the Hellgates going on there?!” he shouted. “Why the oars ain’t moving?! We need to get away from the Tallrocks as fast as possible, and you let slaves laze about?!”

     “It’s the slaves, Katt!” Killspear exclaimed. “They just don’t row! I shout and beat them and stab them, and they don’t row!” The stoat sounded genuinely offended. In his experience, slaves could rebel, but they were supposed to fall back in line after a taste of his spear.

     “You fool!” growled the bosun. “Then just kill some, like this!” And Katt stabbed Olina in the back with his sword, the young ottermaid crying out when the blade speared her through.

     Varyg winced as if from pain and bowed his head. He knew blood and death would be inevitable. It didn’t make seeing his friends die any easier.

     “Row, wretched ragpelts!” Katt shouted, pointing bloodied sword at the slaves. “Or you’ll be next!”

     Behind his back, Korie laughed softly. “You’re digging your own grave, vermin. If we die, you die, too.”

     “You? You are nothing!” Katt sneered, dealing the volewife backhanded blow.

     “You don’t understand it, do you?” Varyg spoke, forcing Katt and Killspear to leave Korie and turn to him. “You vermin are the ones holding the whip, but you’re in our power now, because you depend on us to row your oars for you. Because if we do not, this storm and the Tallrocks will kill you. You can slay all of us, but that won’ help you. You won’t make us row for you anymore.”

     Killspear and Katt exchanged glances. This they didn’t expect. A loud crash sounded from above as the ship was thrown against the rocks, with yells and curses following.

     “I’ll bring Captain!” Killspear whined, taking off running.

     Once he was gone, Davar jumped to his footpaws, waving his forepaws above his head. “Katt, Katt old matey, it’s me, Davar! I know those slave’s little secret plan! Free me and I’ll tell you how to make them row!”

     Katt sighed with relief, hurrying over to where the weasel slave sat. “Davar, my best friend! Of course I’ll free you, just tell me what you know first!”

     “Don’t you dare!” Varyg whispered, but his crippled hindpaws prevented him from stopping either of the vermin.

     Still, Davar winced and moved away from his rowing partner. “Get closer, Katt, so that this vole cannot get you.”

     The searat obeyed, bending close to Davar. “What? Speak, matey, speak!”

     Davar lunged, sinking his teeth in Katt’s throat. The searat gave a shocked gurgle and tried to pull back, but Davar locked his claws on Katt’s shoulders and jerked his head sideways, ripping open a blood vessel. Katt let out a wheeze and sagged, but Davar didn’t let him fall. “That’s for taking my position,” the weasel whispered to the dying corsair, licking his blood off his fangs. “You think I don’t know who told the Heartless about that silver goblet?” The weasel kicked Katt’s dead body away and grinned. “Now, that feels good.”

     The smile was still on his face as the lower deck’s door was slammed open and a throwing knife buzzed, cutting through Davar’s throat and pinning him to the wall. Zekran the Heartless strode in, foreboding as ever. Vinetail tried to charge at the hated Captain as he was passing his bench, but the Heartless just stabbed back with his cutlass, not bothering to look as the blade pierced the mouseslave’s heart. Walking over to where Varyg sat, the fox pushed Katt’s body aside with his footpaw and retrieved his knife from Davar’s dead body, all without a sound.

     Then the black fox turned his gaze on the other slaves. “Stop this, all of you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Get back to rowing. Now.”

     Varyg met his gaze steadily, but it was Korie who spoke. “No, we won’t, and you can’t make us.”

     Expressionless yellow eyes of the Heartless darted from Korie to Varyg, and the fox put two and two together. Turning swiftly, he grabbed the volewife by the scruff of her neck and lifted her off the bench, his knife at her throat. “Your wife, isn’t she?” he addressed Varyg. “And you’re the so-called ringleader. Tell your beasts to start working the oars, or she’ll die.”

     Varyg froze. He was too shocked to give Zekran a proper answer, so he just shook his head.

     Zekran brought his knife down in a violent slash, and Korie cried out through clenched teeth, even though she tried not to show her pain. The blade sliced the flesh on her shoulder and paw, and the wound was quickly welling up with blood.

     “Wrong answer.” Zekran’s voice was even as always. “If you don’t give a command to row, I’m going to skin this one, slowly and thoroughly. The longer you persist, the more she will suffer. Do you really want her to bleed out before your eyes?”

     The ship was thrown in the air once more, and there was a loud crack from above, but neither Varyg nor anybeast else on the lower deck paid it any mind. It was like a nightmare inside a nightmare. When Varyg had planned out his revenge, he knew the death of many, if not all, would follow, and he acknowledged it as the necessary price. He accepted that it would happen. He even accepted his own death. But to see Korie, his beloved wife, tortured and killed and be unable to make a choice that wouldn’t betray his ideals in one way or another?

     He hesitated, and Korie saw that hesitation on his face. “Don’t you dare, Varyg Ratatoskr! Don’t you dare going back on your plan. For our children, for my brother, for your parents! I won’t let you give up!”

     The volewife reached out for Zekran’s diagonal crossbelt and snatched one of the knives from it. Zekran’s paw went up in an instinctive gesture to shield himself, but it wasn’t his heart Korie aimed at. The blade found its mark when Korie plunged it into her throat, slicing it with jerky movement. The blood splattered both her and Zekran’s fur.

     The black fox dropped the volewife that instant, and Korie crashed down to the floor, chains rattling, her eyes already clouding with death.

     Zekran stumbled backwards, his yellow eyes wide in shock – the first emotion he let show on his face for many seasons. “Wh-why?” he breathed out. “Why would a beast do this to themselves?”

     Varyg closed his eyes shut, blinking away tears that streamed down his cheeks. “Because that had to be done.” He had no desire to explain that to corsair fox, and he didn’t expect him to understand anyway. Concepts like ‘love’ or ‘self-sacrifice’ were foreign to him. But Varyg understood. Korie died so that he could make the right choice. She died so that he could finish what they began and give the Heartless what he deserved. And he would not betray her sacrifice. The vole warrior straightened on his bench, his black eyes ablaze. “Slaves!” he roared. “Stand fast! Do not move a paw! Give them blood’n’thunder!”

     All round him, the other slaves straightened their backs as well, determination on their faces. Zekran took that all in with one shifty glance, his left eye beginning to tic. “Th-this is m-madness!” he hissed, suddenly stammering. “Y-you are all ch-chained up! If the ship drowns, you die with her!”

     Varyg met this tirade with a short answer. “We will die anyway, sooner or later. But this way… this way, you die with us.”

     As if to confirm his words, the ship ran into one of the cliffs, and a terrifying crash sounded out, temporary deafening everybeast. Scorched Ground shook as if she was falling apart, and several more crashes followed, accompanied by cries of vermin crew. “The main mast is broken in a half!”

     “It killed half a dozen our messmates, fur’n’fang!”

     “All the railing on the starboard is destroyed!”

     “The ship won’t last longer if we don’t move away from Tallrocks!”

     “Er, Cap’n?” Killspear dared to come near the Heartless and even raise a paw to his shoulder, though he wasn’t brave enough to actually touch the fox. “They are slaves. Why don’t we just kill them all and put the crew on the oars?”

     “Because I need the crew to work the upper deck, fool!” Zekran snarled, backhanding his slave-driver. His emotionless mask slipped, but he didn’t even bother to put it back in place. “We don’t have enough beasts to fill all the positions, up there and down here!”

     Zekran turned to Varyg. “What do you want?” he spat out, as if the words burned his tongue. “Do you want me to free you? Fine, I’ll free you all once we get out of this storm, all to the last oarbeast! I’ll do it if you only get back to oars and row! What else do you want? Treasure? Fine, I’ll give you one! I have a lot of loot hidden on land… Gold, silver, jewels, pearls – everything a beast can wish for, and it all will be yours if you do as I say! You just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you! I can conquer land for you! I can conquer a castle for you! I can even give you slaves of your own! Just row the oars and get the ship out of here!!” Zekran shouted, his voice slipping into a high-pitched wail in the end.

     “You are pathetic,” Varyg said, putting all the disgust he had felt into his voice.

     “Ah, but I like this deal,” Jarnsaxa spoke, surprising everybeast. That wasn’t part of the plan, but it seemed that the volemaid couldn’t resist a chance. “There is something I want from you, fox.”

     “Anything!” Zekran breathed out.

     The volemaid pointed at Killspear, the one who scarred her so badly and took her eye. “Kill him.”

     The burly stoat blinked, somewhat at loss. “Er? Cap’n…” he didn’t get to say what he had wanted because the Heartless thrust out with his cutlass, spearing Killspear’s chest through.

     Pulling the bloodied blade out of his crewbeast’s body, Zekran nodded to Jarnsaxa. “See? I did as you said. Now, row!” There was desperation in his voice.

     “Ask us,” Swald said, her voice unusually soft. “Ask us nicely.” Zekran stared at her, and the old otterwife stared him down, no fear in her pale eyes. “On your knees, fox. And beg us.”

     “We don’t have time for this!..” Zekran hissed as Scorched Ground was thrown into the rocks once more.

     Swald only smiled bitterly. “Then you’d better hurry.”

     Reluctantly, the Heartless sunk to his knees, still glaring at the slaves round him. “Please, get back to rowing. Your lives depend on it as well as mine. So please, please, wise up and get to your work.”

     “And that’s what you call begging?” Swald rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard orders that were more humble. Firstly, bow your back low and keep your eyes down!”

     “And call us ‘sirs’. No, ‘mighty sirs’. That’s even better,” Jarnsaxa stepped in.

     Immediately, all the other slaves joined in the fun, their dire situation forgotten. “Put more wail in your voice! You can even let a tear or two drop.”

     “Down, keep your head down! Don’t you know you shouldn’t look the higher beasts in the eye?”

     “Why don’t you just get on all fours and be done with it?”

     Zekran was less than happy with all of that, as was evidenced by his stiff position and the audible grinding of his teeth, but fear that possessed him was stronger than his anger. The black fox lowered himself on the dirty floor of the oarslaves’ deck. “Please, o mighty sirs, be kind and row! Please, please, I plead you with my life, I plead you with anything dear to you! I’ll do anything for you rowing again! Anything! Please, please…”

     Swald crossed her paws across her chest. “I don’t quite believe you. Let’s rehearse this again.”

     More mocking advice and tips from the slaves followed, and Zekran obeyed them without a word. Almost with each moment new pounding against the hull of Scorched Ground could be heard, together with more terrified cries from the upper deck, and with each moment Zekran the Heartless was losing all his pretence for bravery and cold-bloodiness. He didn’t have to fake his terror anymore. In the end, the slaves had the mighty Captain sprawled facedown on the floor, weeping and sobbing uncontrollably while he writhed in dirt. “Oh please, please, don’t do this to me! Please, kindly, mighty, high sirs! I want to live! I don’t want to die like that! Please, please, please, don’t kill me like that! I’ll do anything, I’ll give you anything!.. I’ll be your slave till I die, just row and get out of this place! Please, please, please!..”

     “Well, that was good,” Swald agreed. “Now tell me, fox, do you remember a day almost twenty seasons ago when it was me groveling in the dust before you? Do you remember what you told me when I begged you to spare the lives of my sick husband and my young son?”

     “And my infant daughters?” Varyg added.

     “Our old parents?” Jarnsaxa spoke up.

     More voices followed. “My brother?”

     “My wife?”

     “My wounded tribebeasts?”

     “My little ones?”

     “My sister and her child?”

     Zekran’s eyes gained a look of a hunted beast. He already knew the answer.

     “You said that they couldn’t row and were useless to you. So they died. Now I, Swald Frostdog, the last of Holt of Frostdogs, say to you: all your treasures and all your lands, all your promises are useless to us. You are useless to us, Zekran the Heartless. And so you die.”

     That was a signal to Varyg. “Now!” the vole warrior shouted as he pushed his oar forward and up in the same time as Mikal, the old otter chained behind him, pulled his oar backward and down. All round them the pattern repeated, the slaves working in pairs. Outside the ship’s hull, the oar paddles clashed and interlocked together firmly.

     “Pull away!” Varyg roared and thrust his weight against the oar handle, pushing it down with all his might. Behind him Mikal twisted and put his shoulders under his own oar handle, pushing his oar up. The life of an oarslave was insufferable, but if it didn’t kill a beast at once, it made them stronger. The oar handle under Varyg’s paws cracked as the oar paddle beside him snapped, breaking Mikal’s oar as well. All around them the sound of snapping and cracking wood resonated in the enclosed space of the lower deck as one by one and by groups, the oars broke.

     Zekran let out a wailing screech and jumped to his paws, but it was already too late. Now Scorched Ground couldn’t be saved even if somebeast tried to. “You!.. What’ve you done, slime-livered mangepelts!”

     Varyg smiled, meeting Zekran’s mad eyes with a level gaze of his own. “Now you’ll pay, fox. Pay for every beast you killed and every life you destroyed. A slave’s revenge is a long-awaited one, but it’s the most terrifying of all.”

     Zekran’s yellow eyes were burning feverishly on his tear-streaked face as they skittishly roved all round the lower deck, before stopping on Varyg. “You,” the fox breathed out. “It’s all because of you. All were fine till you appeared!”

     His last words were a wail as he charged the vole slave with his cutlass in paw. Varyg raised his chained paws in an attempt to ward off the rain of blows that Zekran brought down on him, but the chains did little as the fox’s blade took Varyg’s head off with one of the frantic strikes. Mikal died next, slain with a thrust of the black fox’s cutlass.

     “Die, useless lot!” Zekran yowled, whipping round, no regard for the future of the ship or the crew. “You’ll all die here!”

     “You’ll die, too,” Jarnsaxa noted boldly.

     Zekran lunged at her, but at this moment the ship shuddered as it was thrown upward by a huge wave, and the former Captain fell in the middle of the aisle. The next wave caught Scorched Ground and threw her starboard-first against the massive boulders of Tallrocks. That last blow was more than the already battered ship hull could withstand, and the wood breached in several places, torrents of seawater flooding inside.

     The disaster seemed to bring Zekran back to his senses, as the fox got up and backed away to the stairway leading out of the lower deck. “Stay there and die, flea-ridden oar fodder,” he growled. “But not me! Never me! I’m going to live!” Tossing his heavy cutlass aside, Zekran darted up the stairway as if he had his tail singed.

     The storm continued to rage outside, and each time waves pounded on the hull, the wood creaked and crumbled, more breaches appearing each moment. The freezing seawater was gushing forth, ankle deep already.

     “Oi, friends!” Jarnsaxa called. “Why don’t we sing? If we’re going to die, we’d die with music!” The volemaid threw her head back and gave a cry that turned into a song.



    “Hey, death, the old hag,

     You think you got me in your jaws,

     But I’ll give your tail a tug

     And break your snaggy claws!”



     That was an old Ratatoskr battle dirge, and none of other slaves knew it, but they all joined in, roaring the words enthusiastically and just clapping along when they couldn’t follow.



    “You thought you got me cornered,

     You thought you got me weak,

     You thought the thunder that yesterday stormed

     Today was small and bleak.”



     Swald grabbed the wreckage of the oar before her and pushed herself up, using her strong forepaws to lean on it. Her rowing partner gave her a shoulder, and the old otterwife climbed into a position that resembled standing, no weight on her useless hindpaws. Slowly, a wide smile spread on Swald’s face, and she laughed loudly, overriding the thunder of the storm. She was still laughing when the girder above her head collapsed, crushing on the two slaves and killing them instantly.



    “Little do you know,

     Death, my offender,

     Whatever you at me throw,

     A warrior never surrender!”



     It was a long way from the oar deck to the top upper deck, and Zekran the Heartless could hear the singing as he ran up the stairs. He even paused when he first heard the roaring song.



    “Standing on my paws,

     Eyes open, head’s high,

     Laughing at your maw,

     That’s how a warrior die!”



    Those fools! They are about to die, and they are glad for it? Bloody fools! Well, let them die! Let them all die – the slaves, the crew, the ship! Zekran didn’t care one bit for them. The only thing that mattered was that he would live. Yes, he would live. This storm was vicious, but he could swim. He could get to the Tallrocks and climb one of the cliffs, where he would wait the storm out. That was difficult, but he would survive. And then he would start it all anew. New ship, new crew, new slaves. Zekran the Heartless wouldn’t die there!

    Scorched Ground shuddered again, and the black fox was thrown against the wall. Next moment, half of the ceiling construction crashed down and Zekran screamed as it hit him. He thought himself dead for a second, but sharp pain in his back and shoulders proved him wrong. The dead didn’t feel pain. I will not die! Somebeast else will, but not me!

    Zekran shook the rubble littering his pelt off himself and pushed upward, straining his muscles. He managed to shove away one of the crossbeams, but his hindpaws stayed trapped beneath more debris. The black fox kicked out, but the wreckage held firm. Moreover, Zekran realized that his efforts made no difference at all… in fact, he couldn’t even feel his hindpaws. Panic began to stir in his chest, and Zekran screeched, trashing wildly with his paws. Some of the smaller planks and slabs were flung away from him, but there was still no response from his hindpaws. Were they broken? Was his spine shattered? Or were there simply too much weight on them? As if it mattered anyway!

     Sweat and tears running down his face, Zekran twisted and grabbed the bigger girder, pushing it off his hindpaws. But all he had succeeded in was causing the said girder to cave in completely and bury his hindpaws under the ruins. He was trapped.



    “My heart is bleeding,

     My wounds are raw,

     My death is speeding,

     But I stand on my paws!”



     Ominous rumbling sounded from above. Raising his head, Zekran saw dark water streaming down the stairs, pumping inside through one of the many breaches in the hull. It came at him cascading in a wave, slowly but inevitably.

     The last thing the Heartless had heard was the singing of the slaves from below.



    “My dirge is your last cry –

     That’s how a warrior die!

     My death I defy –

     That’s how a warrior die!”

Description

     The bench of the mouseslave Vinetail was nearest to the exit and right next to the slavedriver’s chamber. If he put his ear to the wall, the mouse could hear everything that was said in that room, and Vinetail put that advantage to use.

     “Hey, Killspear! Captain’s got orders for you.” That voice was unfamiliar to Vinetail.

     “Hoho, look who’s here, Katt! What’s the matter?” There was no mistaking Killspear’s voice, though, and it seemed that the new bosun was the one talking with him.

     “The Heartless wants you to keep the slaves rowing at double speed. There’s a storm coming our way, so whip those gadabouts good!”

     “Haha, I can do that. Skin them till the bones are showing,” Killspear laughed.

     “So do that. We’ve got to outrun that storm and reach the Tallrocks at noon.”

     “Tallrocks, you say?” The mirth left Killspear’s voice. “Do we have to go there?” There was no answer to be heard. Katt had probably given the slave-driver one of his stares, and Killspear continued almost frantically. “It’s not a good place, Tallrocks. Do you know that Vilu Daskar and his red ship found their end there five seasons ago? And Daskar was the terror of the high seas, his Goreleech the biggest vessel in these waters!” The stoat lowered his voice. “They say that the Dark One himself struck him with the lightning that broke the ship right in two, then threw one half to the rocks and dragged the other half right into Hellgates, with Vilu and his crew still alive! They say… they say that even now you can hear their cries if you sail close enough to the stones. These rocks are haunted, I tell you!”

     “And so what?” Katt didn’t seem impressed.

     “Why do we have to sail so close to the rocks anyway? You’re the bosun. Can’t you change the course?”

    “Tallrocks are the best reference point to turn south. Besides, the Captain lays the course.” Katt’s voice was dripping with venom. “You don’t like it, you go and tell him, then you’ll be joining Vilu Daskar in the Hellgates.”

     “Was I complaining? Oh no, matey, I wasn’t. I just… eh, let’s go get some breakfast.”

     After Vinetail repeated the whole conversation for his fellow slaves, Varyg turned to Davar. “Well?”

     “Scorched Ground had already been in some storms this season,” the weasel observed. “If the Heartless wants her to avoid this one, it surely must be very bad.”

     “Just what we need,” said Varyg. “If the corsairs are so afraid of this storm, we just ought to get to the Tallrocks in the same time with it. Killspear is going to beat us double to outrun it, but he cannot watch all of us in the same time. Row when he’s looking at you, and once his back is turned, just stop your work. That will slow the ship down.”

     “Or we can just churn the air with oars,” Olina suggested. “Or row backwards – us otters can do that, and that’s hard to catch with so many slaves round there.”

     “Yes, let’s do just that,” Varyg agreed.

     ***

     Killspear was furious. Scorched Ground had just reached the Tallrocks, but it was evening dusk and not noon! The stoat had spent his day beating the slaves up, but much to his surprise that didn’t seem to help, though the wretched beasts were rowing frantically under his scrutiny. The storm was already upon the ship, throwing her wildly from side to side so that sometimes Killspear had difficulty staying on his footpaws. Even in the lowest deck, the beasts could hear the howling of wind and the crashing of water against the stones, as well as curses and shouts of the corsairs struggling to keep their ship away from the sharp rocks.

     Davar was the only of the slaves who had seen the Tallrocks from the upper deck, and now the weasel pressed his muzzle to the oarlock hole tightly. “Yes, that’s it,” he whispered. “The most dangerous crags of Tallrocks, all pointed stone and unpredictable currents. Brr, it looks like an entrance to Hellgates!”

     “Want to back out?” Varyg asked while he pretended to row.

     “No! Yes… eh, give the signal already!”

     Varyg easily raised his voice above the din of the storm. “Slaaaves! Haaalt!”

     All as one, the oarslaves pulled their oars out of water and stopped rowing. That was so outrageous that Killspear stood dumbfounded for a couple of moments, not being able to believe his eyes. “Wh-what?.. H-how?.. Get back to rowing, you slackbrained maggots!”

     Nothing happened.

     Killspear swung his weapon menacingly. “Bend your backs or you’ll get this!” He struck the slave nearest to him. That was Olina. The ottermaid just glared at the slave-driver, but didn’t move a paw. “Row!” Killspear shouted, giving Olina blow after blow.

     “Make us!” Varyg laughed, hoping to turn the stoat’s attention away from the poor maid.

     Killspear was at him in a moment, stabbing through his left paw. But before he could deal the killing blow, the ship was lifted in the air by an especially violent toss, and Killspear was thrown off the vole slave.

     There was a tramping of footpaws, and a searat barged in. “Blood’n’claw, what’s in the Hellgates going on there?!” he shouted. “Why the oars ain’t moving?! We need to get away from the Tallrocks as fast as possible, and you let slaves laze about?!”

     “It’s the slaves, Katt!” Killspear exclaimed. “They just don’t row! I shout and beat them and stab them, and they don’t row!” The stoat sounded genuinely offended. In his experience, slaves could rebel, but they were supposed to fall back in line after a taste of his spear.

     “You fool!” growled the bosun. “Then just kill some, like this!” And Katt stabbed Olina in the back with his sword, the young ottermaid crying out when the blade speared her through.

     Varyg winced as if from pain and bowed his head. He knew blood and death would be inevitable. It didn’t make seeing his friends die any easier.

     “Row, wretched ragpelts!” Katt shouted, pointing bloodied sword at the slaves. “Or you’ll be next!”

     Behind his back, Korie laughed softly. “You’re digging your own grave, vermin. If we die, you die, too.”

     “You? You are nothing!” Katt sneered, dealing the volewife backhanded blow.

     “You don’t understand it, do you?” Varyg spoke, forcing Katt and Killspear to leave Korie and turn to him. “You vermin are the ones holding the whip, but you’re in our power now, because you depend on us to row your oars for you. Because if we do not, this storm and the Tallrocks will kill you. You can slay all of us, but that won’ help you. You won’t make us row for you anymore.”

     Killspear and Katt exchanged glances. This they didn’t expect. A loud crash sounded from above as the ship was thrown against the rocks, with yells and curses following.

     “I’ll bring Captain!” Killspear whined, taking off running.

     Once he was gone, Davar jumped to his footpaws, waving his forepaws above his head. “Katt, Katt old matey, it’s me, Davar! I know those slave’s little secret plan! Free me and I’ll tell you how to make them row!”

     Katt sighed with relief, hurrying over to where the weasel slave sat. “Davar, my best friend! Of course I’ll free you, just tell me what you know first!”

     “Don’t you dare!” Varyg whispered, but his crippled hindpaws prevented him from stopping either of the vermin.

     Still, Davar winced and moved away from his rowing partner. “Get closer, Katt, so that this vole cannot get you.”

     The searat obeyed, bending close to Davar. “What? Speak, matey, speak!”

     Davar lunged, sinking his teeth in Katt’s throat. The searat gave a shocked gurgle and tried to pull back, but Davar locked his claws on Katt’s shoulders and jerked his head sideways, ripping open a blood vessel. Katt let out a wheeze and sagged, but Davar didn’t let him fall. “That’s for taking my position,” the weasel whispered to the dying corsair, licking his blood off his fangs. “You think I don’t know who told the Heartless about that silver goblet?” The weasel kicked Katt’s dead body away and grinned. “Now, that feels good.”

     The smile was still on his face as the lower deck’s door was slammed open and a throwing knife buzzed, cutting through Davar’s throat and pinning him to the wall. Zekran the Heartless strode in, foreboding as ever. Vinetail tried to charge at the hated Captain as he was passing his bench, but the Heartless just stabbed back with his cutlass, not bothering to look as the blade pierced the mouseslave’s heart. Walking over to where Varyg sat, the fox pushed Katt’s body aside with his footpaw and retrieved his knife from Davar’s dead body, all without a sound.

     Then the black fox turned his gaze on the other slaves. “Stop this, all of you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Get back to rowing. Now.”

     Varyg met his gaze steadily, but it was Korie who spoke. “No, we won’t, and you can’t make us.”

     Expressionless yellow eyes of the Heartless darted from Korie to Varyg, and the fox put two and two together. Turning swiftly, he grabbed the volewife by the scruff of her neck and lifted her off the bench, his knife at her throat. “Your wife, isn’t she?” he addressed Varyg. “And you’re the so-called ringleader. Tell your beasts to start working the oars, or she’ll die.”

     Varyg froze. He was too shocked to give Zekran a proper answer, so he just shook his head.

     Zekran brought his knife down in a violent slash, and Korie cried out through clenched teeth, even though she tried not to show her pain. The blade sliced the flesh on her shoulder and paw, and the wound was quickly welling up with blood.

     “Wrong answer.” Zekran’s voice was even as always. “If you don’t give a command to row, I’m going to skin this one, slowly and thoroughly. The longer you persist, the more she will suffer. Do you really want her to bleed out before your eyes?”

     The ship was thrown in the air once more, and there was a loud crack from above, but neither Varyg nor anybeast else on the lower deck paid it any mind. It was like a nightmare inside a nightmare. When Varyg had planned out his revenge, he knew the death of many, if not all, would follow, and he acknowledged it as the necessary price. He accepted that it would happen. He even accepted his own death. But to see Korie, his beloved wife, tortured and killed and be unable to make a choice that wouldn’t betray his ideals in one way or another?

     He hesitated, and Korie saw that hesitation on his face. “Don’t you dare, Varyg Ratatoskr! Don’t you dare going back on your plan. For our children, for my brother, for your parents! I won’t let you give up!”

     The volewife reached out for Zekran’s diagonal crossbelt and snatched one of the knives from it. Zekran’s paw went up in an instinctive gesture to shield himself, but it wasn’t his heart Korie aimed at. The blade found its mark when Korie plunged it into her throat, slicing it with jerky movement. The blood splattered both her and Zekran’s fur.

     The black fox dropped the volewife that instant, and Korie crashed down to the floor, chains rattling, her eyes already clouding with death.

     Zekran stumbled backwards, his yellow eyes wide in shock – the first emotion he let show on his face for many seasons. “Wh-why?” he breathed out. “Why would a beast do this to themselves?”

     Varyg closed his eyes shut, blinking away tears that streamed down his cheeks. “Because that had to be done.” He had no desire to explain that to corsair fox, and he didn’t expect him to understand anyway. Concepts like ‘love’ or ‘self-sacrifice’ were foreign to him. But Varyg understood. Korie died so that he could make the right choice. She died so that he could finish what they began and give the Heartless what he deserved. And he would not betray her sacrifice. The vole warrior straightened on his bench, his black eyes ablaze. “Slaves!” he roared. “Stand fast! Do not move a paw! Give them blood’n’thunder!”

     All round him, the other slaves straightened their backs as well, determination on their faces. Zekran took that all in with one shifty glance, his left eye beginning to tic. “Th-this is m-madness!” he hissed, suddenly stammering. “Y-you are all ch-chained up! If the ship drowns, you die with her!”

     Varyg met this tirade with a short answer. “We will die anyway, sooner or later. But this way… this way, you die with us.”

     As if to confirm his words, the ship ran into one of the cliffs, and a terrifying crash sounded out, temporary deafening everybeast. Scorched Ground shook as if she was falling apart, and several more crashes followed, accompanied by cries of vermin crew. “The main mast is broken in a half!”

     “It killed half a dozen our messmates, fur’n’fang!”

     “All the railing on the starboard is destroyed!”

     “The ship won’t last longer if we don’t move away from Tallrocks!”

     “Er, Cap’n?” Killspear dared to come near the Heartless and even raise a paw to his shoulder, though he wasn’t brave enough to actually touch the fox. “They are slaves. Why don’t we just kill them all and put the crew on the oars?”

     “Because I need the crew to work the upper deck, fool!” Zekran snarled, backhanding his slave-driver. His emotionless mask slipped, but he didn’t even bother to put it back in place. “We don’t have enough beasts to fill all the positions, up there and down here!”

     Zekran turned to Varyg. “What do you want?” he spat out, as if the words burned his tongue. “Do you want me to free you? Fine, I’ll free you all once we get out of this storm, all to the last oarbeast! I’ll do it if you only get back to oars and row! What else do you want? Treasure? Fine, I’ll give you one! I have a lot of loot hidden on land… Gold, silver, jewels, pearls – everything a beast can wish for, and it all will be yours if you do as I say! You just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you! I can conquer land for you! I can conquer a castle for you! I can even give you slaves of your own! Just row the oars and get the ship out of here!!” Zekran shouted, his voice slipping into a high-pitched wail in the end.

     “You are pathetic,” Varyg said, putting all the disgust he had felt into his voice.

     “Ah, but I like this deal,” Jarnsaxa spoke, surprising everybeast. That wasn’t part of the plan, but it seemed that the volemaid couldn’t resist a chance. “There is something I want from you, fox.”

     “Anything!” Zekran breathed out.

     The volemaid pointed at Killspear, the one who scarred her so badly and took her eye. “Kill him.”

     The burly stoat blinked, somewhat at loss. “Er? Cap’n…” he didn’t get to say what he had wanted because the Heartless thrust out with his cutlass, spearing Killspear’s chest through.

     Pulling the bloodied blade out of his crewbeast’s body, Zekran nodded to Jarnsaxa. “See? I did as you said. Now, row!” There was desperation in his voice.

     “Ask us,” Swald said, her voice unusually soft. “Ask us nicely.” Zekran stared at her, and the old otterwife stared him down, no fear in her pale eyes. “On your knees, fox. And beg us.”

     “We don’t have time for this!..” Zekran hissed as Scorched Ground was thrown into the rocks once more.

     Swald only smiled bitterly. “Then you’d better hurry.”

     Reluctantly, the Heartless sunk to his knees, still glaring at the slaves round him. “Please, get back to rowing. Your lives depend on it as well as mine. So please, please, wise up and get to your work.”

     “And that’s what you call begging?” Swald rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard orders that were more humble. Firstly, bow your back low and keep your eyes down!”

     “And call us ‘sirs’. No, ‘mighty sirs’. That’s even better,” Jarnsaxa stepped in.

     Immediately, all the other slaves joined in the fun, their dire situation forgotten. “Put more wail in your voice! You can even let a tear or two drop.”

     “Down, keep your head down! Don’t you know you shouldn’t look the higher beasts in the eye?”

     “Why don’t you just get on all fours and be done with it?”

     Zekran was less than happy with all of that, as was evidenced by his stiff position and the audible grinding of his teeth, but fear that possessed him was stronger than his anger. The black fox lowered himself on the dirty floor of the oarslaves’ deck. “Please, o mighty sirs, be kind and row! Please, please, I plead you with my life, I plead you with anything dear to you! I’ll do anything for you rowing again! Anything! Please, please…”

     Swald crossed her paws across her chest. “I don’t quite believe you. Let’s rehearse this again.”

     More mocking advice and tips from the slaves followed, and Zekran obeyed them without a word. Almost with each moment new pounding against the hull of Scorched Ground could be heard, together with more terrified cries from the upper deck, and with each moment Zekran the Heartless was losing all his pretence for bravery and cold-bloodiness. He didn’t have to fake his terror anymore. In the end, the slaves had the mighty Captain sprawled facedown on the floor, weeping and sobbing uncontrollably while he writhed in dirt. “Oh please, please, don’t do this to me! Please, kindly, mighty, high sirs! I want to live! I don’t want to die like that! Please, please, please, don’t kill me like that! I’ll do anything, I’ll give you anything!.. I’ll be your slave till I die, just row and get out of this place! Please, please, please!..”

     “Well, that was good,” Swald agreed. “Now tell me, fox, do you remember a day almost twenty seasons ago when it was me groveling in the dust before you? Do you remember what you told me when I begged you to spare the lives of my sick husband and my young son?”

     “And my infant daughters?” Varyg added.

     “Our old parents?” Jarnsaxa spoke up.

     More voices followed. “My brother?”

     “My wife?”

     “My wounded tribebeasts?”

     “My little ones?”

     “My sister and her child?”

     Zekran’s eyes gained a look of a hunted beast. He already knew the answer.

     “You said that they couldn’t row and were useless to you. So they died. Now I, Swald Frostdog, the last of Holt of Frostdogs, say to you: all your treasures and all your lands, all your promises are useless to us. You are useless to us, Zekran the Heartless. And so you die.”

     That was a signal to Varyg. “Now!” the vole warrior shouted as he pushed his oar forward and up in the same time as Mikal, the old otter chained behind him, pulled his oar backward and down. All round them the pattern repeated, the slaves working in pairs. Outside the ship’s hull, the oar paddles clashed and interlocked together firmly.

     “Pull away!” Varyg roared and thrust his weight against the oar handle, pushing it down with all his might. Behind him Mikal twisted and put his shoulders under his own oar handle, pushing his oar up. The life of an oarslave was insufferable, but if it didn’t kill a beast at once, it made them stronger. The oar handle under Varyg’s paws cracked as the oar paddle beside him snapped, breaking Mikal’s oar as well. All around them the sound of snapping and cracking wood resonated in the enclosed space of the lower deck as one by one and by groups, the oars broke.

     Zekran let out a wailing screech and jumped to his paws, but it was already too late. Now Scorched Ground couldn’t be saved even if somebeast tried to. “You!.. What’ve you done, slime-livered mangepelts!”

     Varyg smiled, meeting Zekran’s mad eyes with a level gaze of his own. “Now you’ll pay, fox. Pay for every beast you killed and every life you destroyed. A slave’s revenge is a long-awaited one, but it’s the most terrifying of all.”

     Zekran’s yellow eyes were burning feverishly on his tear-streaked face as they skittishly roved all round the lower deck, before stopping on Varyg. “You,” the fox breathed out. “It’s all because of you. All were fine till you appeared!”

     His last words were a wail as he charged the vole slave with his cutlass in paw. Varyg raised his chained paws in an attempt to ward off the rain of blows that Zekran brought down on him, but the chains did little as the fox’s blade took Varyg’s head off with one of the frantic strikes. Mikal died next, slain with a thrust of the black fox’s cutlass.

     “Die, useless lot!” Zekran yowled, whipping round, no regard for the future of the ship or the crew. “You’ll all die here!”

     “You’ll die, too,” Jarnsaxa noted boldly.

     Zekran lunged at her, but at this moment the ship shuddered as it was thrown upward by a huge wave, and the former Captain fell in the middle of the aisle. The next wave caught Scorched Ground and threw her starboard-first against the massive boulders of Tallrocks. That last blow was more than the already battered ship hull could withstand, and the wood breached in several places, torrents of seawater flooding inside.

     The disaster seemed to bring Zekran back to his senses, as the fox got up and backed away to the stairway leading out of the lower deck. “Stay there and die, flea-ridden oar fodder,” he growled. “But not me! Never me! I’m going to live!” Tossing his heavy cutlass aside, Zekran darted up the stairway as if he had his tail singed.

     The storm continued to rage outside, and each time waves pounded on the hull, the wood creaked and crumbled, more breaches appearing each moment. The freezing seawater was gushing forth, ankle deep already.

     “Oi, friends!” Jarnsaxa called. “Why don’t we sing? If we’re going to die, we’d die with music!” The volemaid threw her head back and gave a cry that turned into a song.



    “Hey, death, the old hag,

     You think you got me in your jaws,

     But I’ll give your tail a tug

     And break your snaggy claws!”



     That was an old Ratatoskr battle dirge, and none of other slaves knew it, but they all joined in, roaring the words enthusiastically and just clapping along when they couldn’t follow.



    “You thought you got me cornered,

     You thought you got me weak,

     You thought the thunder that yesterday stormed

     Today was small and bleak.”



     Swald grabbed the wreckage of the oar before her and pushed herself up, using her strong forepaws to lean on it. Her rowing partner gave her a shoulder, and the old otterwife climbed into a position that resembled standing, no weight on her useless hindpaws. Slowly, a wide smile spread on Swald’s face, and she laughed loudly, overriding the thunder of the storm. She was still laughing when the girder above her head collapsed, crushing on the two slaves and killing them instantly.



    “Little do you know,

     Death, my offender,

     Whatever you at me throw,

     A warrior never surrender!”



     It was a long way from the oar deck to the top upper deck, and Zekran the Heartless could hear the singing as he ran up the stairs. He even paused when he first heard the roaring song.



    “Standing on my paws,

     Eyes open, head’s high,

     Laughing at your maw,

     That’s how a warrior die!”



    Those fools! They are about to die, and they are glad for it? Bloody fools! Well, let them die! Let them all die – the slaves, the crew, the ship! Zekran didn’t care one bit for them. The only thing that mattered was that he would live. Yes, he would live. This storm was vicious, but he could swim. He could get to the Tallrocks and climb one of the cliffs, where he would wait the storm out. That was difficult, but he would survive. And then he would start it all anew. New ship, new crew, new slaves. Zekran the Heartless wouldn’t die there!

    Scorched Ground shuddered again, and the black fox was thrown against the wall. Next moment, half of the ceiling construction crashed down and Zekran screamed as it hit him. He thought himself dead for a second, but sharp pain in his back and shoulders proved him wrong. The dead didn’t feel pain. I will not die! Somebeast else will, but not me!

    Zekran shook the rubble littering his pelt off himself and pushed upward, straining his muscles. He managed to shove away one of the crossbeams, but his hindpaws stayed trapped beneath more debris. The black fox kicked out, but the wreckage held firm. Moreover, Zekran realized that his efforts made no difference at all… in fact, he couldn’t even feel his hindpaws. Panic began to stir in his chest, and Zekran screeched, trashing wildly with his paws. Some of the smaller planks and slabs were flung away from him, but there was still no response from his hindpaws. Were they broken? Was his spine shattered? Or were there simply too much weight on them? As if it mattered anyway!

     Sweat and tears running down his face, Zekran twisted and grabbed the bigger girder, pushing it off his hindpaws. But all he had succeeded in was causing the said girder to cave in completely and bury his hindpaws under the ruins. He was trapped.



    “My heart is bleeding,

     My wounds are raw,

     My death is speeding,

     But I stand on my paws!”



     Ominous rumbling sounded from above. Raising his head, Zekran saw dark water streaming down the stairs, pumping inside through one of the many breaches in the hull. It came at him cascading in a wave, slowly but inevitably.

     The last thing the Heartless had heard was the singing of the slaves from below.



    “My dirge is your last cry –

     That’s how a warrior die!

     My death I defy –

     That’s how a warrior die!”