Tailchaser's Song (31 page)

Hissblood’s tone suggested imminent, painful death, but Skinwretch recognized his opening and plunged in: “Only thisss, most wonderful Lord, only thisss: sssomething hass tunneled
in
to Vassstnir! Ssssome thing from the sssun-world! I found the place where the thing entered, above the Greater Gate!”

Hissblood approached, until the heat of his breath raked his cowering subordinate.

“And why ssshould
I
care?” the leader of the Toothguard spat—but now there was a subtly reserved edge to his voice. “I sssuppose you have told everything that walkss, crawlsss or digsss between here and the lower Catacombss?”

“No, great Massster!” whined Skinwretch, pleased that he had guessed correctly. “I came ssstraight to you!”

“Fetch me Nuzzledark. You are
sssure
it wass an entrance tunnel? If you have misssled me ...!”

“Oh, no,” hastened Skinwretch, choking with fright. “I’m posssitive, Lord. Absolutely sssure.”

“Then I shall call on Basssst-Imret,” said Hissblood in a cold, satisfied voice.

“You will involve the
Boneguard?”
quailed Skinwretch. Hissblood’s teeth snapped, drawing blood from the furless skin.

“Imbecccile!
How dare you even draw
breath
in my presssence? Get out of my ssmell, you lick-ssslobberer. Get Nuzzledark, then go and crawl under a ssstone sssomewhere until I have forgotten that you exissst!”

Gasping, Skinwretch fled back into the lesser darkness. Hissblood licked his naked chops.

 

Trudging back from the excavations in the company of the other tunnel slaves, a bone-weary Tailchaser looked up to see the dark figure of Scratchnail pacing beside him, cruel smirk thinning his black lips.

“Mre‘fa-o, star-face,” said the Clawguard mockingly. “How are you getting along in your new home?” Tailchaser did not answer, but continued walking. Scratchnail did not seem offended.

“Still have your pride, do you? Well, that, too, will be attended to—I haven’t forgotten you. Not at all.” Scratchnail stopped for a moment to stretch, his mottled belly touching briefly on the cavern floor. Finished, he caught up to Fritti again in an easy lope.

“We’ll have plenty of time for a chat later,” he grated. “I just thought I would come by to make sure you were still getting your daily constitutional. Wouldn’t want you to get fat and complacent, would we, my little slug?” Scratchnail stared hard at Tailchaser’s stoic posture, then continued, in a lower tone: “Something is going on just now. All of Hissblood’s little blind salamanders are dashing about as if their nasty little tails were on fire. I just wanted you to know that I’m going to keep an eye on you, no matter
what’s
happening. I have a feeling this may involve you—I don’t know why. Don’t bother to look innocent, just remember this: I’m going to find out about you.
I’m going to figure out your secret.”
Scratchnail turned. “Good dancing, sunworm.” The Clawguard trotted off.

Fritti stared at the ground as he heard Scratchnail’s heavy feet padding away. He could only wonder what he was going to be made to suffer for next.

 

In his cave, only the motionless, unconscious form of Eatbug for company, Pouncequick was in the throes of a waking dream. Although his eyes were closed, he felt as though he were seeing as clearly as ever he had in the world above.

He felt himself standing once more upon the Slenderleap Ford, the Caterwaul roaring and thrashing beneath him. From his vantage point on the rock span he could see the mound in all its squat oppressiveness. A hole appeared in its side, and a line of dark shapes emerged. They moved in a strange dance, stiff with malice and alien purpose.

Pouncequick heard a loud, trumpeting sound, as if the sun had found a voice. The dark figures broke apart; they scurried in disarray, then fell to the ground and passed into the earth. The rushing of the Caterwaul became louder now, and from out of the waters stepped a great white form whose outlines were shifting and unclear. It walked across the valley. Where the black dancers had fallen and been swallowed up, trees and flowers burst full-grown from the earth. The white figure moved to the mound, and at its touch the vast cairn opened up, revealing itself as a great black rose, petals shot through with the colors of sunset. In this glowing light the white figure dwindled—no, did not dwindle, but was transformed into a mist, and rose upward.

Suffused with a sense of peace, feeling himself lifted with the dream-mist, Pouncequick did not realize for some time that he was being shaken. He unwillingly opened his eyes and saw the bony, sullen face of Longtooth, mouth asnarl.

“Oh, no, not you too. Bad enough the other one,” the Claw rasped, indicating Eatbugs. “Get up—let me have a look at you.” He gave Pouncequick a cursory nose-to-tail inspection. Longtooth looked over his shoulder, then turned to the youngling with a sour face.

“Scratchnail wants me to keep a close eye on you. The whole mound’s in an uproar because someone got in who wasn’t supposed to. I feel sorry for the stupid me‘mre when they get their claws on him.”

With a look of ignorant pleasure over the probable fate of the intruder, Longtooth settled down on the cavern floor. Pouncequick, although he closed his eyes again, had lost his inspiring dream. Dimly, he heard many creatures passing in the tunnels outside his prison.

 

Tailchaser looked uncomprehendingly at Pawgrip.

“What?” he asked groggily.

“One of the new Folk wants to talk to you. Don’t ask
me,”
said Pawgrip, shaking his head. “Over by the entrance shaft.”

Pawgrip wandered back to his sleeping spot. Fritti, stretching, felt the ache in his shoulder and the thin pain of hunger in his belly. Stepping as carefully as his tired legs would permit, he made his way through the clutter of sleeping, groaning bodies. Near the front of the large prison-cavern, squeezed against a wall near the tunnel entrance, a small, gray cat was huddled into itself. As Fritti approached he could hear commotion drifting down from the upper levels. The small cat seemed to be shivering.

“Mre‘fa-o,” he said to the newcomer, with weak amiability. “I’m Tailchaser. I heard you ...” He broke off in midphrase, whiskers twitching. This new cat looked very familiar, even in the near-darkness.

“Roofshadow!” he gasped. His mind whirled. Had she been here all along, working in the mound? Was it really her?

“Quiet!” hissed the fela.

Still marveling, he leaned forward and scented her nose, her flanks. Roofshadow! As he dreamily sniffed, she flicked him on the nose with her paw. Like an embarrassed kitten he straightened up, looking wildly from side to side. None of the other prisoners were paying the slightest attention. Nevertheless, he hunkered down so close that his whiskers tangled with Roofshadow‘s, and began ardently grooming her. Quietly, and with a tongue full of fur, he asked :. “How did you get here?”

“I dug into one of the tunnels,” she said. Though she spoke with composure, her sides heaved.

It must have been terrible for her
he thought—
lost in this place; searching for one cat in the midst of countless others.

“How in the name of Meerclar did you find me?” he asked, still grooming.

“How did I what? Find you? I don’t really know, Tailchaser, I just knew that I had to. I can’t explain right now ... I can’t even think ... Would you stop that?” She bristled, and he ceased cleaning her coat. “We don’t have time!” she continued. “We have to get out of here—I think they’re looking for me.” She stood, and her legs trembled a little. Tailchaser did not comment, but rose also.

“We can’t leave without Pouncequick,” he said.

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, he thought of Hushpad—the object of his quest, for whom he had left the Meeting Wall so long ago. Could she be here somewhere, also? Was she still alive? He thought of Hearteater’s grisly throne, and felt suddenly small and helpless.

“Do you know where he’s being kept?” asked Roofshadow. He turned to look at her. She
was
exhausted, and he was no better off.

“Pounce?” he said. “No, I haven’t seen him since they separated us.” He looked apprehensively up the shaft.

“I’m afraid we don’t have the time to look for him, then,” the gray fela said calmly. “We’ll be lucky to get out ourselves.” She started toward the shaft.

Tailchaser was shocked. “But we can’t just desert him! I brought him here! He’s just a kitten!”

Roofshadow looked back over her shoulder and snarled: “Tailchaser! Don’t be stupid! It might take us days to find him. We have to get out and warn the Folk at Firsthome—otherwise it will be too late for all of us! We’ll do him more good if we bring back help than if we’re caught and killed ourselves. We have to tell Fencewalker and the others. Come on now!”

Fritti tried to object, but he knew he could never explain the truth to her: about Hearteater, or the Toothguard, or the leagues and leagues of tunnels crawling with hideous earthspawn.

Roofshadow was not waiting to hear, anyway. She was slinking up the inclined tunnel, toward the flickering, sickly light and the sound of harsh voices. Fritti followed her.

 

 

The mound was alive with activity. Clawguard bunched in groups, conferring in dull snarls, then broke apart to range down tunnels and storm into prison caves. As Tailchaser and Roofshadow reached the main corridor outside the shaft, the Claws had moved in force into the holding cavern adjoining the one they had so recently quit. Growls of rage and weak cries of pain could be heard echoing up into the tunnel in which they stood. They broke into a run, staying in the deeper shadows close to the corridor wall. Passing several other prison caves, they found an apparently disused tunnel, dark and musty-smelling, and darted in. The din behind them faded a little, and they stopped for a few moments while Roofshadow tried to orient herself. Eyes closed, she let herself be commanded by instinct, reaching into her sense-memory for the way to her entrance hole. After a moment’s deliberation, she led them down the tunnel.

They stayed away from the main thoroughfares, taking advantage of spur tunnels and niches and unfinished shafts. Out and up they went, spiraling toward the surface, toward the place of escape.

Several times they were almost caught. Once, on hearing the pad of approaching footsteps, they had to force themselves into a shallow, unfinished tunnel, and then stand frozen in terror, holding their breath, while two Clawguard debated whether their hiding place was worth searching. When the beasts finally decided against it and loped off Fritti found he had trouble catching his breath again.

Finally, they began a last, steep ascent toward Roofshadow’s entrance. Peering around a corner, they found the last tunnel completely dark. As they moved quietly forward they caught a glimpse of starlight—the way out, at the far end of the corridor. Fritti had not seen the sky in so long that he felt silly with excitement. Despite the oppressive wet heat of the mound, a chill arched down his backbone and curled his tail. He bounced forward joyfully; for a moment he felt there was grass beneath his feet again, and cool wind in his fur. He heard Roofshadow call his name, softly but urgently. He paid no heed.

Then, the starlight disappeared.

At once something struck him, catching him completely unaware. Roofshadow’s admonitory call became a yowl of fear. Something was on top of him—some snapping, biting thing.

“Nuzzledark! Don’t allow the other one to essscape!” slashed a voice in the dark, and he heard Roofshadow cry out again. The thing atop him drove for his throat with spiny teeth, and as he twisted desperately he felt furless skin squirm beneath his claws. Toothguard! He struggled to pull loose from the grasping creature, and managed to sink his own teeth into flesh for a heartbeat. He was rewarded with a hissing squeal of pain from his attacker. He drove his back legs up and heard the gasp of lost air. In the moment’s respite he pulled free, and then dashed back toward where he had last heard Roofshadow’s voice. His eyes were finally adjusting to the profound darkness, and he saw another form rear up just in time to avoid the worst of the blow, which still sent him spinning. He came to rest against the cringing mass of Roofshadow.

“Ssssslitbelly! Help Nuzzledark with the prisssoners.” Fritti could now make out the owner of the voice, its elongated, hairless body crouched beneath what was to have been their escape hole. Its eyeless head nodded approvingly.

“Sssso,” it said. “Asss expected, you return to your point of entrance. How niccce. Ssssince you are ssso interested in traveling, now we shall take you to sssee our domain, yesss?”

The other two dark shapes now flanked Roofshadow and Tailchaser, and one of them said: “Why do we not end their livesss here, Massster Hisssblood?”

The Toothguard lord let a long second of silence hang in the dark, damp air.

“You should know better than to quesssstion me, Sssslitbelly—esspecially since you yoursself have proved ssso
inefficient.
These creaturesss have causssed uss all great problemsss, and we shall have to work hard with them to repay the bargain. They will live awhile longer becaussse I wisssh to learn certain thingsss. However, I can learn
nothing
from
you.
Do you sssee my meaning?”

Slitbelly was gagging on his answer when a dark shape hurtled out of the tunnel from behind Tailchaser and Roofshadow, knocking the two Toothguard sprawling like sticks. Not waiting to discover the identity of their mysterious benefactor, Fritti and the fela sprang to their paws and raced back up the corridor. Behind them they could hear snarls and cries, and the sounds of vicious combat. Above it all, the mad voice of Hissblood was screeching: “Sssstop them! Sssstop them!!”

 

Time expanded into one dark and everlasting moment as Fritti and Roofshadow fled through the lightless outer halls. Away from the Toothguard, away from Roofshadow’s tunnel, away, away—they could think of nothing else. Tailchaser was bleeding from new wounds, and his shoulder throbbed and flamed with each stride.