Charder hoped that Storm would have the good sense to stay out of the fighting. A pitched battle between creasia was no place for a ferryshaft. However, he was pretty sure that saying so would only make Storm more likely to join in, so Charder just turned and made his way back up the hill towards the cave.

He met a wave of creasia coming in the opposite direction-slipping through the forest like shadows, pouring down the hill to Arcove's summons. Charder felt a mixture of apprehension and relief. Let it be over today, he thought. One way or the other. At least we won't starve slowly in these caves.

All of the wounded who were able had come out of the cave and sat on the top of the hill, straining to get a view of what was happening below. Charder could see a good bit of Chelby Wood and the sh.o.r.e of the lake, but not the sh.o.r.e of the island. He imagined the female creasia out beyond the wood in the long gra.s.s of the plain, creeping closer, hoping their message had been received and that their mates were prepared for whatever a.s.sistance they could give. If both groups don't attack together, the group that attacks first will be slaughtered.

Cubs were pacing around the silent adults, asking questions that no one wanted to answer. Charder saw Sharmel hesitate. Don't go, thought Charder. It'll be your last battle if you do.

Sharmel had not been steady on his feet since the avalanche. Charder didn't feel entirely steady himself. His left hip sent a deep, aching pain through his hindquarters whenever he moved, and the run to Kuwee Island had pushed him to his limits. I really am too old for this. Arcove should have replaced me a long time ago.

Sharmel started down the hill.

Ah, well, thought Charder. There's no such thing as an alpha creasia who can't fight. What's left for him when this is over? He'll never keep his clutter. Charder had always a.s.sumed that death would be his own fate whenever Arcove decided to replace him. It was the creasia way. Was I wrong about that? Things that Roup had said niggled in the back of his mind. I never asked. Maybe I should have asked.

Charder wanted, more than anything, to see Arcove proved wrong about the ferryshaft herd. But he's probably right.

A disturbance in the trees along the far sh.o.r.e marked the beginning of the battle. Charder heard the wailing cries of fighting cats and then a cacophony of snarls and screams. There was shouting from the far sh.o.r.e, cats running along the bank.

Storm had not appeared. Something brushed Charder's leg, and he looked down to see Storm's cub. Teek's eyes were dilated, and he was breathing quickly. "Charder," he whispered, "there are dead things coming up the back side of the hill."

Charder blinked. "What?"

And then the lishties attacked.

Storm crouched on a thick tree limb a little way up from the western sh.o.r.e of the island. He had a clear view of both Kuwee's bank and lakesh.o.r.e, and he did not think the cats below were likely to notice him. As soon as the sounds of fighting began to carry from the far side of the wood, Arcove's cats launched themselves into the water.

Storm could see some of Treace's cats pacing the bank in antic.i.p.ation, but many of them had disappeared to deal with whatever was happening in the wood. The first of Arcove's cats to reach shallow water met determined resistance, but, as more arrived, it became clear that Treace did not have the numbers to focus on the bank that he'd previously possessed. Storm saw a blur of fighting cats shoot out of the trees-undoubtedly some of the females who'd come with Caraca.

Arcove reached the far sh.o.r.e, Roup and Halvery right behind him, and they cut a swath through Treace's cats. Then there was fighting in the water and fighting on the sh.o.r.e and fighting beneath the trees, and Storm could no longer tell who was who or who was winning. It was all very noisy.

It took him several moments to realize that some of the noise was not coming from the far sh.o.r.e. It was coming from the top of the hill.

Arcove moved through the fighting like a fire through dry leaves. He had one clear purpose. Find Treace. He did not expect it to be easy. Treace had not dashed down to the water to meet the enemy. But he can't just hide, either. His cats need to see him. If they think he's dead, they'll falter.

Arcove fought his way through several knots of combatants. Treace would prefer to meet me after I'm injured, thought Arcove. He's counting on it.

A little voice in the back of Arcove's head muttered, If he only knew.

Arcove spotted his opponent farther along the sh.o.r.e. He was impressed to see that Lyndi had found their enemy first. She was going round and round with Treace and two of his subordinates in the shallows. Arcove lost sight of them as he met a snarling opponent head-on. He lunged with both paws and struggled for a moment on his hind legs while his enemy tried to lock his jaws around Arcove's throat. Then Arcove's greater weight sent the other cat over backwards. Arcove felt the hind-claws graze his belly, but he was too experienced a fighter to be disemboweled that way. He landed cross-wise with his teeth buried in the other cat's throat. There was a crunch and a spray of blood, and then he was up again, shaking red droplets out of his eyes, turning to swat as another cat lunged at him.

He caught a glimpse of Roup barreling into a cat in the water, trying to help Lyndi. Arcove couldn't see Treace. Halvery had disappeared in a snarling tangle of fur on the edge of the trees.

Then, over the noises of fighting cats, Arcove heard the unmistakable, chilling sound of telshee song. It was not the song that Keesha had been singing to Arcove. It was a song that Arcove a.s.sociated with telshees who were calling for help.

Keesha was still asleep in the cave when Shaw emerged to see what all the screaming was about. She found injured creasia and half-grown cubs desperately trying to defend the entrance to the cave from an ever-increasing swarm of what looked like lishties in creasia and ferryshaft hosts.

Shaw had not been truly surprised in decades. She had swum strange waters and tasted the air of foreign worlds. She had walked in the skins of other beasts and spoken forgotten languages to creatures who were probably long dead. No species of creature had surprised her for as far back as she could remember.

Until now.

Lishties! In four-legged hosts? That cannot be.

Most of the cats had been above ground when the attack started, and many of them had been cut off from the entrance to the cave. Those still inside were obviously unwilling to shut the door and abandon their companions.

Shaw shouted for Keesha and then joined the struggle around the entrance. She added her song to the cacophony, hoping it would have the same effect as it had on lishties in Syriot. It did seem to slow the creatures.

Shaw managed to knock a pair of awkward ferryshaft lishties from the ramp and darted out of the cave. She found the hilltop in a b.l.o.o.d.y uproar. The cats had formed protective circles with the smallest and weakest in the center and were trying to defend themselves from the onslaught of ragged, broken, green-eyed monsters that were coming up the hill from the western sh.o.r.e of the lake.

The sun was spreading its first rays across the sky. And that will help, thought Shaw. The four-legged lishties seemed less coordinated than those to which Shaw was accustomed. Some were almost comically awkward, and the creasia were able to knock them down and crunch into the backs of their skulls. Shaw's lightning-fast reflexes were more than adequate to deal with those around her, but she wondered at the numbers. How many are coming? Has the entire ferryshaft herd been colonized?

Out of the corner of her eye, Shaw saw Storm's cub, Teek, land on the back of a black-furred cat. It was a brave thing to do, but doomed. The cub could not possibly crunch through the neck of a cat that size. The black cat turned to snap at him, and Shaw reacted. She scooped the cub out of the air and flung him clear.

And then the lishty-creasia sank its fangs into her neck.

Shaw bellowed. She felt pain, but, more than anything, surprise. She heard Keesha's most aggressive battle song throb in the air. She struck out in every direction, trying to kill as many of the lishties as possible before...before...

Shaw felt hot and cold. The world was too bright. She could tell that she was slowing, even as she tried to move faster. She heard Keesha calling her name, and she tried to answer. I'm here. I have been Shaw. No, no, not that. Not yet. I'm still here.

And then she wasn't.

Chapter 26. Howl.

Storm got just close enough to the top of the hill to see what appeared to be enemy cats attacking the most helpless members of their party in front of the caves. He was certain that Arcove would want to defend the cubs and wounded, so he raced back down to the sh.o.r.e and began shouting, "We've been flanked! Attack at the caves! The cubs! The wounded! Help!"

He thought he'd gotten the attention of at least a few creasia closest to the island. This done, Storm turned to run back up to the caves to give whatever a.s.sistance he could. However, he found himself face-to-face with a pack of curbs, wet from their swim to the island.

His heart sank as he recognized a familiar tan and black female. "Ah, Storm," she murmured. "How fortunate. We a.s.sumed you'd be hiding."

I would have been, he thought and cursed his own carelessness. The curbs rushed forward, but Storm gave a mighty leap and clambered into the boughs of the tree nearest the water. He heard their jaws snap in the air behind him.

"Treed like a squirrel," he heard Quinyl say. "But you'll have to come down sometime."

Arcove caught s.n.a.t.c.hes of news trickling through the ranks of fighting cats. There'd been some kind of attack on the cave. Enemy creasia were killing the cubs and wounded. I should have made them go inside and shut the entrance, he realized. Arcove was unaccustomed to having such an option, and the chance for a successful strike had come so quickly that no one had thought of it.

The fighting on the riverbank had slowed a little. No one could maintain that furious pace for long, and the sun was strong now above the trees. Arcove could tell that, while the females who'd come with Caraca had fought savagely and bravely, they were not numerous enough to tip the outcome of the battle. Treace's superior numbers were beginning to tell, and his cats were working to isolate Arcove's. We need to rally and put our backs against a defense.

In addition, the rumor that their cubs might be dying would sap the morale of any cat. We have to go back to the cave.

Over the heads of the fighting creasia, Arcove spotted Treace, still maddeningly out of reach among the trees. Treace caught his look and leered at him.

Arcove swallowed a snarl and bellowed, "Fall back to the cave! Roup, Halvery! With me, creasia!"

Storm was working his way east through the trees towards the top of the hill. It was hard going for him, while the curbs moved along easily below. They called a steady stream of insults and challenges, which Storm tried to ignore.

"Do you think you'll find help up there, stupid ferryshaft? They are all dead! Lishties fight for us. Better to die between our teeth than theirs. Your cub is already dead. Or perhaps a lishty wears his skin."

Storm paused to look down at them. "When the telshees get hold of you, they'll bite you in half," he snarled.

"Telshees!" mocked Quinyl. "Telshees are nothing but hosts for a clever parasite. And now it has found new hosts."

Storm didn't know what they were talking about, but he didn't like it. He tried to move faster, jumping from tree to tree, inching along the branches.

"I hope you're not expecting help from highland curbs," said Quinyl slyly. "Eyal died thrashing in his own blood two nights ago."

Storm stopped moving. It's a lie. She's trying to make you lose your nerve. But he looked down anyway.

Quinyl seemed delighted by his reaction. "He died because of you. Strange, isn't it? That a highland curb would die trying to help a runty, outcast ferryshaft? Truly, you are bad luck to all your friends, Vearil."

No, thought Storm. Eyal... No. But something about the way Quinyl spoke made the knot in his belly tighten. She's telling the truth.

The look on his face only seemed to goad her. "It wasn't quick. I think he was all night about it-dying, I mean."

"I'm only bad luck to hunters," whispered Storm. His heart was hammering wildly. His hooves were shaking.

"I intend to keep your tail," said Quinyl. "I wonder what kind of luck it will bring."

Storm sprang down on her.

Nothing could have prepared Arcove for the sight at the top of the hill. Dead creasia lay everywhere-far more than he thought had been left in the caves. More baffling still, some of the bodies smelled as though they'd been dead for a long time, while others were clearly members of his party. He knew, without understanding why, that some of the creatures lurking around the edges of the hilltop were wrong. His mind immediately cla.s.sified them as other. Not creasia, not ferryshaft, not any animal he had ever encountered, but definitely enemies.

Keesha lay in the middle of the carnage, his body laced around Shaw, who looked quite dead. Keesha was looking down at the other telshee, his eyes vacant, singing. The monstrous creatures on the edge of the clearing seemed to be cowed by his song, and a collection of surviving wounded creasia and cubs had taken advantage of the fact to crowd around him. However, Treace's creasia were certainly not cowed.

As Arcove arrived on the scene, he saw one of the enemy cats race in to tear at Keesha's snowy coils. The cat ripped out a mouthful of fur and pink blubber. Keesha didn't even flinch.

"Get in the cave!" Arcove roared at the defenders. "Back! Get back!"

As more of Arcove's creasia arrived to drive off the strange, stinking monsters, the exhausted defenders were able to reach the cave's entrance again. Still, Keesha did not move. His coils lay everywhere, and Arcove saw another enemy cat leap in to tear at them. Blood was running freely in the white fur, and still Keesha did not stir.

Arcove remembered the telshees that his cats had found sleeping in the caves when they'd attacked Kuwee long ago. They'd ripped those telshees to pieces, and the telshees hadn't even woken. This is torpor, Arcove realized, or something like it. He can't pay attention to his surroundings and create a new song at the same time. That's why he was asleep for sixteen years.

More cats were arriving every moment-both friends and enemies. "Keesha!" Arcove shouted in his face. "Syra-lay! Get in the cave!"

Keesha's stare did not flicker.

Arcove got hold of Shaw's thick pelt behind her head and tried to drag her. Finally, Keesha reacted. The rising and falling notes of his song stuttered, and he blinked. His eyes focused on Arcove, and his black lips peeled back from white teeth and pink gums in a huge, gleaming snarl. Arcove let go of Shaw. In the same moment, Keesha darted forward, and his great jaws snapped shut just over Arcove's head.

Arcove went flat on the ground. "Keesha, please! You want to hear me beg? Please don't die here. We need your help." We need all the help we can get.

Keesha blinked again. His snarl dropped away. He looked around as though seeing the clearing for the first time. Then, quick as a summer snake, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up Shaw's body behind her head, whipped away towards the cave's mouth and disappeared, still dragging her.

Arcove tried to put the whole episode out of his mind as he turned towards the western end of the clearing. Roup and Halvery had been keeping the enemy cats at bay as Arcove dealt with Keesha, but more and more were arriving. And too few of mine.

Arcove knew that at least some of his supporters were trapped, fighting enemy creasia by the lake. If we go into the cave and shut the entrance, we'll starve to death. If we make a stand here...we may be finished either way.

This fight was poor odds from the beginning, he reflected. You can't be lucky every time.

Storm knew that tackling an entire pack of curbs was a foolish thing to do, but he was beyond caring about foolishness. He made them respect him; of that he was certain. His flying hooves connected with heads and shoulders and hips, and his teeth ripped through fur and muscle whenever he managed to get hold of skin. The curbs were not easy targets, though. They latched onto his legs and belly and shoulders. Each time, he managed to throw them off, but he was losing ground, slipping back down the slope towards the water.

On the very edge of the lake, they surrounded him. They were all panting. Storm could feel blood trickling down his neck and face, but he felt no pain, only the doomed exhilaration of battle. His attackers were bleeding, too. Some of them might not see the sunset.

"This is for my friend, whom you killed," panted Quinyl.

"This is for mine," snarled Storm.

Quinyl lunged at him and landed on his back. Storm felt her teeth graze his spine. He reared up to shake her off, and a curb hit him in the belly. Storm leapt into the air, twisting, and fell backwards into the water. The spot where he landed was deep.

Charder stood at the mouth of the cave with the exhausted remnants of those who'd stayed behind from the battle. Arcove's creasia made a crescent around the entrance, while Treace's creasia gathered all around the edges of the clearing. Both sides were panting and growling at each other, dripping and muddy, scratched and bitten and bleeding.

Treace came through the center of his clutter. He was scratched and muddy, too, although Charder was certain that Arcove had not gotten hold of him. He'd be looking a lot worse than that.

Charder could tell by the way Arcove's shoulders bunched that he was thinking about dashing across the clearing and going for Treace's throat. However, it was obvious that the other cats would attack him together if he did so.

"h.e.l.lo, sir," said Treace in a mocking sing-song. "Your luck seems a bit played out today." He c.o.c.ked his head. "Perhaps the moon is not right." His followers t.i.ttered behind him.

Treace waited for silence. "I would hate to begin my ruler-ship appearing less generous than my predecessor. So, I am offering you a chance to live, Arcove. You may take any cats who wish to follow you and go south. Find some tick-ridden patch of woods along the southern sh.o.r.es of the lake or in the mountains and..." he gave a little chuckle, "rule over it. I'm sure you'll find adequate colonies of rats and crayfish to feed your dens."

Arcove did not respond.

"No...?" murmured Treace. "Well, it is puzzling to me why anyone would reject such a magnanimous offer. Did I mention you will be king on your little patch of ticks? Of course, I will require some token of your submission. You are currently hostiles in my territory. Your tails, I think. All of them. My creasia will remove them forthwith, and you may go your way. My cats may be by in the spring to shorten the tails of your new cubs, as well...a.s.suming you survive. I wouldn't want anyone to confuse the cats from our two Leeshwoods."