Chapter 28 – Whatever Necessary

	The office of the 'Seneschal', an odd word in Amurescan that was apparently a title for what we would have otherwise called a 'keeper', in my tribe, was a modest two-room domicile in a large, if nondescript building near the center of the settlement.  It was in the area of town where they bothered to keep up the roads, there weren't very many personal residences, and I'd by now established that this was where the Otherwolves ran their tiny, stranded 'kingdom' from.  A center of government, for governing one isolated, lonely little settlement, deep in enemy terrain, in the midst of a war.
	Nowhere in the city was safe, ultimately.  We'd been here only a week now, and I'd already experienced two more fire-bombing raids from the 'drake' creatures.  I was beginning to associate their distant silhouettes with the same sense of terror and foreboding that everyone here seemed to hold for them.  And that made everyday life immensely unsettling, because they were never far.  I'd frequently see them circling high in the distance, too far for the defensive harpoon cannons to fire at, but just close enough to strike fear into the hearts of everyone on watch.  Which I suppose was the point.
	In addition, I'd been keeping up with Puquanah, who was spending most of his days at the hospital, doing what little the Physician would allow him to.  Despite their first meeting turning into such a clash, they'd apparently since put their differences aside enough that the man. . . Forrest, Puck was calling him. . . was allowing the fox to work with him, at least in some small way.  Enough that Puck seemed satisfied for now, at least.
	And from what little I'd understood from him on the few occasions we'd had to speak since then, the place was badly in need of help.  Aside from the many natural dangers this land presented to the colonists, the 'Cathazra', the native peoples of this place, (whom I was learning bits and pieces about, but had yet to really form a complete picture of) were fond of using poison in their assaults on the community and all outlying residences.  And they didn't discriminate.  Puck had told me a story just a few days ago of a three-year-old child who'd happened to stray too far from the fishery her parents worked at, and had been shot with the same sort of dart that Ransom and I had.  Except this one had been meant to maim or kill, smeared with a mixture made from crushed, poisonous ants found in the forests here.  If you were bit by them normally, they could cause welts that would swell and wrack a man with pain for days, possibly become infected, and in some of the worst cases, cause the loss of a limb.  But the dart mixture was somehow worse, because of the sheer amount of poison.  Even most grown adults would be reduced to days of feverish pain and agony.
	The little girl hadn't made it an hour.
	My sympathy for these creatures had long since worn thin, and I was beginning to understand the anger of many of the colonists here.  Ransom, Magpie and I were often stationed on the walls as part of the watch, since I'd offered our services at the outset of our journey for scouting details.  I didn't mind the work, it was dangerous to be sure, but at least it wasn't boring.  Ransom actually didn't seem to mind it either, or was just so glad to be off the ship and back on dry land that he was more content than before.  He'd also said more than once that despite it being a foreign forest, it was good to be amidst the trees again, even if we could only see them from our side of the wall.  I had to agree.  I'd enjoyed the sea, but the forest, any forest, was more my natural element.
	Although the scent of leaves, of fresh rain on grasses and the floral aroma of pollen in the wind made my mind wander to the past. . . to places and people I'd left behind.
	But, I'd tried to focus on getting to know some of the other men on watch to distract me from dark thoughts.  For the most part, the Otherwolves here were a frayed, if decent lot.  Unfortunately they were far too accustomed to death, to the point where the only way the men seemed to cope with it anymore was through dark humor, and alcohol.  Those in charge of the patrols along the walls didn't keep the drinking in check, I noted, and while that was probably a mistake on one hand, I could understand why they didn't on the other.  Being positioned on the wall was the most dangerous job a soldier could be assigned in this settlement, for obvious reasons. . . and many of these men might not have summoned the courage to come to their post every day, were it not for the poison water.  
	The general rule seemed to be, a man had to stay on their feet.  If they no longer could, they were first replaced, then reprimanded.  There didn't seem to be enough men on any shift to keep as many eyes on the sky as were probably needed, but we rotated, we took short breaks at the guard towers so our eyes and our feet didn't tire, and the whole of the garrison did their best to make it work.  
	As a newcomer, and a crewman from a Privateer vessel, I'd been warned I might not be warmly greeted.  We'd all been warned of that.  Grayson had even given me an out- just me personally, of course, not the other men.  He wasn't ashamed of favoritism, and he was, after all, still doggedly attempting to court my favor.  But I'd declined the offer.  Both of them.  And not just because I wanted to honor the deal I'd made with him when we'd come aboard his vessel.  I'd wanted to stay beside Ransom and Magpie, and all the other men risking their lives for this settlement.  And that fact, perhaps here more than any other battlefield, seemed to weigh with far more importance to the men on the wall than anything else about me.  My allegiance with Grayson's Privateer fleet, the fact that I was not Amurescan, the fact that I was a woman, even. . . once the soldiers here realized I reported to my post on time each day, and we'd weathered one of the bombing raids together and I'd showed I was not afraid to fire on the beasts, or remain standing on the wall when they strafed our lines. . . I'd found acceptance quickly.  Almost more readily than I had aboard Grayson's vessel.  
	The men here, the Amurescan men, were of different stock.  Better in some ways than the Privateers, and worse in others.  Quieter overall, more disciplined- which made sense, they were in the military.  Harder for men like Ransom to warm to, he found them too stoic, too 'stuffy', as he called it.  Whatever that meant.  The word I knew in the Otherwolf tongue seemed to make no sense in context.  But apparently, these Amurescan men were, for the most part, from families with wealth and consequence, or at least all the canines from the Denholme man's fleet were, and they were usually the men he trusted to defend the walls.  So dignity in the face of death meant a great deal to them, especially around outsiders.  The few rats and felines I'd seen along the walls were less concerned with putting up a front, and Ransom and Magpie kept company with many of them.
	All the same, I didn't feel disrespected by these men the way I had aboard Grayson's vessel.  I was still treated as an outsider, to be sure, and spending time aboard one of their vessels would probably be uncomfortable and awkward, but they were civil.  Over time, some of them even spared a word for me now and then.  They were always polite, and a few of them had even asked me if I wanted to drink with them after a shift.  I wasn't fond of poison water, so I'd turned them down, but I took it as a good sign that I was growing more accepted, and that gave me some peace.  I might have been sorely out of my element in this place, but I was determined to fight beside these men now that I was here, and I couldn't do that if they didn't accept me amongst their ranks.
	My original intention in coming here had been. . .  I hardly knew anymore.  It seemed in retrospect, I'd just been swept up in a flood of anger, and a desire for vengeance so furious as to be almost unrecognizable, now that I looked back on it.  I'd even taken it for granted that Shadow would be here, to begin with.  On the word of a madman.  For all I knew, she was still somewhere in the wilderness in my homeland.  We'd honestly lost her trail before we'd even really found it.  The only reason we suspected she was here at all was for the same reason we were.  And I hardly knew the woman, except as some specter who'd killed my lover, and many others before him.
	She could be dead.  In Carvecia, or in the waters surrounding Serwich.  The concept of finding her now seemed so hopeless, and I was almost glad for that fact.  I was here, in this settlement, for a reason.  My path had brought me here to serve a purpose.  But it wasn't the purpose I'd set out for.  
	It was Puck.  It had always been Puck, all this time.   The fox was the only one amongst us who had ever truly had the right goals in mind.  And we were here now to support him.  To keep him safe, and keep these people safe, until he accomplished what he'd come here for.
	Whatever had started me down this path, all the pain and terrible experiences I'd endured, I'd at last begun to accept that it had all happened for a reason.  I was meant to walk it, and finally. . . I felt I truly knew why.  And it wasn't just for the fox.  It was because of what we'd come here to DO.  If Puck could find out why the Seer's Fever was spreading, we could do a lot of good, for a lot of other people in the world who were suffering.  They may not have been suffering the same way I had, or my child had, or Grant had, or even for the same reasons, but that didn't mean righting this wrong was any less important.
	And it was certainly more important than vengeance.      
	Puck's goals here were in jeopardy because of this war, and that was the bottom line.  Whether or not these creatures were in the right to force the Otherwolves off of their land, they were killing their people, cruelly and without consideration for the lives of the innocent.  My sympathy for another tribe of peoples being oppressed only went so far.  I wasn't off the fence entirely about what was happening here, but. . . I was determined to defend myself, and my friends.  And right now, that meant defending this city.
	And ultimately, that's what had brought me here, to this freshly-painted wooden building.  It was innocent enough in appearance, it would have gotten lost amidst the other white-washed structures in this bizarrely 'new' settlement, where everything was less than a generation old.  But, the reason I was here was less than innocent, and I knew it.
	A few days ago, approximately a week into my stay here, I'd been approached while I'd been on wall duty, by Grayson, and a man I'd only met in passing until now.  A tall, grey, wire-furred dog who apparently bore some sort of position amongst the elites in this settlement, because I'd seen him at the side of the Denholme man more than once, especially when he came to visit Grayson aboard his ship.  Which, alas, was where I was still staying, preferring it to sleeping alone in some empty, unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar inn, in the unfamiliar community.  If barely.  I still had to put up with the wolf.
	I didn't know the man well, couldn't even remember his name now if someone had asked me for it, didn't know his position or what it was exactly that he did here in this community, but he'd sought Ransom, Magpie and I out specifically.  Had gone so far as to come to Grayson personally to have him introduce us.  And he'd given me his name again, and I'd, again, forgotten it.  It was ludicrously exotic and complicated.
	He hadn't told us much at the brief meeting except that he wanted to speak with us privately at some point about work he needed done, scouting work, he'd said.  It was certainly something we could do, but I had no clue exactly what he intended, or why he needed to meet with us in private.  Let alone, as he'd later insisted. . . separately.  Ransom was to come and hour after I, and Magpie had come and presumably gone an hour before.  I didn't see him here now.
	It was all very cloak and dagger, and I didn't trust it.  The man had never actually given me any pangs of concern before now, his aura actually seemed more. . . fatherly. . . than anything else.  And he had told me not to trust Grayson, which was sane, rational advice if ever I'd heard any.  So I wasn't certain what this was all about.  But it was odd.  And it definitely didn't feel innocent.
	I sat nervously in the Seneschal's office, feeling once again dirty in the immaculate furnishings the Otherwolves seemed to prefer.  It wasn't especially fancy, like the Mayor's house had been, but the wooden furniture here was all polished and clean, the drapes were white, the desk in the corner of the room neatly arranged with a few stacks of papers, a quill balanced on a wooden peg that seemed to have been made specifically for it, its ink corked beside it.  The shelves were immaculately well-organized and stocked with books, none of which I could read, but. . . it was clear by the colors and sequential, similar writing that they were all in their proper place.  If this was how the Otherwolves kept track of their supplies, it was no surprise they had such an eloquent name for their keeper.
	But I wasn't here to meet him.  This was just the place the tall, grey Otherwolf had told me we'd meet, and when I'd made it here, a woman had let me in and told me to wait.  And so, that's what I'd been doing.  Nervously.
	To say I was out of my element in this place, and this entire situation, was putting it mildly.
	The door suddenly opened, no louder than any other door, but for some reason it startled me to my feet.  I saw the tall man duck inside and tried to calm my nerves, smoothing down my leathers as I attempted to look like standing had been an intentional move.  He barely looked up as he entered, so he hadn't noticed.  I tried to calm down.
	The man took stock of me before long, and cleared his throat, walking into the room and tugging something out from between the folds of his coat, tucked under his arm, settling it down on the desk as he greeted me.  It just looked like a rolled up piece of paper, albeit a large one.
	“Good morning,” he said in that deep, rich voice I remembered from before.  “It was Shivah, was it not?”
	Great.  He remembered my name.
	“Um. . . yes,” I stumbled out.  “Sir.”
	He arched an eyebrow a moment, then said, “Cuthbert.  Johannes Cuthbert.  If the name's too difficult for you, 'sir' is fine, but you aren't under my command so I won't require it.”
	I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding, while the man turned his back on me and made his way over to the desk he'd dropped the rolled paper on, deftly undoing a ribbon that tied it closed, before pushing a few of the things on the desk out of the way, and unfurling it entirely.
	“Oh,” I said, making my way slowly towards the desk.  It was a map.  Well, what had I really expected?  Apparently this was in fact about scouting.  So, perhaps there was nothing sinister going on here at all.  I might have been worried for nothing.
	The Otherwolf traced his paw-pads over the map for a little while, ostensibly to flatten it out, but I could tell he was deep in thought as he did so.  I looked it over, seeing if I could pick out any land-masses and make sense of it.  The mountain and the coastline were obvious, but the rest was a blur.  I didn't know these lands well, and we hadn't left the walls since we'd first entered them.  For the best, considering what lay beyond.
	The canine tapped a corner of what must have been the wall, a dark, red-lined area in the basin of the mountain range Serwich was pushed up against.  There were other scrawled red marks across the map, and several blue as well, punctuated by symbols I could only guess the meaning of.  A war map, perhaps?  I'd never really seen one before, but Grayson was fond of collecting maps, and I'd often considered pawing through his collection, even thought most of it would make little sense to me.
	“This here,” the man stated, “is our line of defense.  These are the few way-posts we have in enemy territory,” he pointed to red triangles spread throughout the map, “and these. . . are the few enemy way-posts we know of,” he pointed to blue triangles, at that.  Fairly simple.  I was following so far.
	“The latter are always in flux,” he said with a barely-hidden edge of irritation in his tone.  When he took a moment to glance down at me, and noticed I was staring up at him vacantly, he explained.  “I'm sorry. . . second language, I know.  'In flux' means 'changing', essentially.  They are always changing where they keep their sentries, their skirmishers. . . their guerillas.  Keeping us on our toes,” he sighed.  “So this map is more guesswork than anything else.  Take nothing for granted.  The blue indicates areas that should just generally be avoided, if possible.”
	I nodded, and silently felt a wave of gratitude towards the man for being so patient with the language barrier between us.  It reminded me again of the 'fatherly' air he'd had about him when I first met him.  Patient, willing to explain, not judging me for not following him entirely.  Again, I was almost unconsciously starting to feel comfortable around him, and I didn't know why.  I usually kept up my defenses around strange men, but he just didn't feel threatening.
	“It seems like these creatures hunt much the same way our people do, so the concept of 'guerilla' warriors. . . my people would call them 'Tokshan', 'stalkers'. . . isn't as foreign to me as you might think,” I said.  “It's your people who fortify with your stone buildings.  These creatures' tactics are almost more familiar to me.  Save the flying.”
	The man gave me a thoughtful look for a moment, then leaned back, one hand still on the desk, as he looked down at me.  “Might I admit something, miss?”  he asked, ever polite.
	I blinked.  “You may.”
	“I didn't know the tribal people of Carvecia allowed female warriors,” he admitted.  “It's strange enough that the Privateer enlisted tribal folk. . . it's been something of a guessing game between the Admiral and I how that came to pass. . . but you're an even stranger anomaly.”
	I stared up at him silently.
	He sighed, “Apologies again.  You're an oddity.  Amongst oddities.  I mean no offense-”
	“No, it's fine,” I said, unable to stop from giving a light, breathy laugh, “I hardly understand how I came to this point in my life, myself.  It's. . . been a long and winding path, that is for certain,” I looked up at him, sighing,  “I was never a hunter in my tribe, but I've experience hunting others who worked. . . similarly.”
	The Otherwolf arched an eyebrow, and for a moment I got a flash of something I hadn't seen from him yet.   Distrust.  And it was intimidating.
	“Not your people,” I tried to insist.  “I mean, I don't think so.  Some of them were Otherwolves-”
	“ 'Other'. . .” he blinked, “ah, right.  That's a term your people use for us, isn't it?  For all non-native canines.”
	“Ah, yes,” I murmured, suddenly conscious of the fact that the term might actually be offensive to these people.  I'd been using it on them since I'd emerged into their society, without even considering that.  Was it derogatory, to them?
	I was about to apologize, when the man interrupted me, “Never you mind, miss,” he said, casually waving a hand.  “I don't intend to pry into your past.  I'd already accepted that any of the men Reed brought in might have. . . colorful histories.  We aren't in a position to be picky at the moment, which is why I'm tolerating him, at all.”
	“You really dislike him,” I said quietly, feeling at once a slightly defensive flare for the wolf, and then a wave of revulsion that I was even considering that.  I was still extremely confused where that man was concerned.
	“Well,” the canine said, running his fingers over the moustache of fur along his muzzle, “he is a murderer.”
	“What?”  I blinked.  General character-assassination, I had expected, but-
	The man gestured towards the window.  “Oh come now.  You strike me as a woman of the world, miss, not some sheltered lily.  You must know what the canons on his ship are for, at the very least.  How do you think the man makes his living?”
	“There's a difference between murder and fighting for your life,” I insisted.
	“Yes, and,” the canine began to shrug off his blue coat, hanging it over a nearby chair.  He looked very different without the coat on, somehow.  The garment made him look older.  I hadn't really any idea how old the man actually was, but I could tell once he was down to a shirt and vest that he was no scarecrow.  The Otherwolf had the bearing and the build of a warrior, if a lean one.  And he wore a chest harness with several hidden, sheathed blades between his shoulders, and one neatly tucked along his left breast, covered by the coat and the cravat he tugged free as he continued speaking. “That difference is. . . what?  How the killing is done?  Killing in the heat of battle, versus killing in cold blood.  Yes?”
	“Yes,” I said, without question.  “I've killed in the heat of battle.  I wouldn't consider myself a murderer.”
	“Grayson Reed is a Privateer, miss,” the man said with a sigh.  “And I'm guessing. . . you simply haven't been a part of his fleet long enough to know what that means.  The man is a pirate with a license.  A thief, who is paid by countries, by men of the law, to steal from others.  Usually enemies of that country.  And merchants don't generally part with their wares good-naturedly.  He spills blood to plunder those ships.  He's sunk more than he's spared, in fact, if the reports I've seen are true.”
	I bit at my lower lip.  I knew, of course- I'd always known what it was the wolf did.  I suppose I just hadn't forced myself to think about it much.  And that's precisely what this man was attempting to make me do.
	Just once in my life, it would have been nice if something was black and white.
	But something in the canine's claims didn't connect.
	“I don't understand,” I said.  “He can't profit from a ship he sinks.  I'd always thought he did his theft more through. . . a show of force.”
	“Oh certainly, for those who haven't the spine to stand against him,” the canine snuffed.  “But many merchant vessels, especially these days, have armed escorts.  Frigates, usually hire-ons to support the vessel with the goods.  Pirates. . . Privateers. . . whatever you want to call them, they're all the same to me. . . have no issue sinking defense vessels.  Besides miss,” he sighed, “cannonballs don't always discriminate.  I know for a fact he's sunk at least a dozen Amurescan navy ships, and three merchant ships I know of in pitched battles, rather than sink himself.  A loss for him, I'm sure, but the man is reckless in his pursuits.  His ships are well-armed, but a hodge-podge of pieces he's scrounged over the years.  Last I saw the inside of that man-of-war, baling out the hold was an everyday necessity, even at port.”
	I sighed.  Having worked below-decks, I could attest to that.  The old vessel was a mess.  
	“Anyone who sails in a decrepit beast like that,” the Amurescan man shook his head,”that sort of attitude leaves a lot of wreckage in your wake.  If you've been with him any amount of time-”
	I ground my teeth, and bit out an irritated, “I know what kind of a man he is.”
	The canine looked mildly taken-aback, but not flustered.  He crossed his arms over his chest.  “Then I'm curious why you'd leap to defend him, is all.”
	“I'm curious why you called me here to talk about scouting, when we've been spending most of our time on a tear about Reed,” I replied, pointedly.  
	The canine's eyes narrowed.  “You're fond of him. . . aren't you?”
	My own eyebrows shot down.  “I fail to see how that's any of your business!”
	“It isn't,” the man said with a wave of his hand, “but you denied it before, so. . . it is a lie, if nothing else.”
	“I am no more fond of that man than I would be a lame horse. . . that bites at me,” I growled.  “He was a means to getting here, and a troublesome one.  That's all.”
	The dog's grey eyes gave me a quizzical look at that, and he murmured, “Interesting.  We'll come back to that.”
	“I fail to see how any of this is on-point,” I reiterated, with more force behind my words.  “You brought me here to discuss a scouting job. . . a job I'm only considering, I'll point out, because of Reed.  So no matter what you think of the man, he's the only reason I'm here right now to help you.  At the very least-”
	“I am grateful that the man came here,” the canine said, surprising me.  “I'm thankful to have him, his ships, and his people, here.  I wish there were some other way we could have requested aid, but. . . he truly was the only option left available to us.”

	“So, then-”
	“That being said, I wouldn't have called him in,” the canine muttered.  “That was Luth-,” he paused, “Lord Denholme's. . . call.  And it was the right call to make.  But I couldn't have made it.  Reed is a wild-card.  As it is, we had to lie to him, and trap him here to even ensure he would still be here when the fighting went down.  The only way we could be certain of that at all is to give him no other choice.  'Flighty' does not begin to describe that wolf.  And he owes my Lord a great deal.  The bastard should come whenever he snaps his fingers.”
	“I don't care if your 'Lord' dragged him from death's door!” I snapped.  
	“You don't know how close you are. . .” the canine muttered.
	“It wasn't right to do that to him and his men!” I argued, over his muttering.  “I have friends amongst his crew!”
	“Who signed on willingly, I can only imagine,” the canine shrugged, then, as though thinking the better of it, asked in curiosity, “. . . or were your press-ganged?”
	“Enough of this,” I growled.  “If you don't get to the point of this meeting soon, I'm leaving.  You called me here, away from my post and apart from my friends, and I took it on good faith that I could trust you.  But all you've done is shown me a map, and questioned me like I'm some sort of prisoner.  I'm here to help you.”
	“Why?” the canine asked, leveling his grey eyes down at me, and suddenly, in the one word, all of the fatherly compassion and concern I'd thought I'd seen there in the man drained away.  This really was an interrogation.
	I began to look for the door.
	“It's a simple enough question,” the man said, not bothering to move from where he stood as I turned my back on him.  I made it as far as the door, but his deep voice somehow compelled me not to leave.  “Your rat comrade found my questioning uncomfortable, as well.  He chose not to hear me out. . . but I figured you for having stronger bones, miss.”
	I turned on him with a venomous glare at that.  “Gabriel has his right to his privacy.  We don't deserve this.”
	The man arched one eyebrow.  “ 'Gabriel'?  You see, and that's not even the name I was given.  Some kind of bird.  I saw it for an alias from the outset, but-”
	I blanched.  I hadn't meant to give that away.  
	“The scouting mission I have in mind, miss,” the canine said, “and. . . the sheer concept of working beside me in my endeavors in general. . . requires a certain level of trust.  The tasks I need completed, more specifically the information I need gathered, is of a nature that cannot be disseminated to the public at large.”
	“Use.  Smaller.  Words,” I snapped, done with waiting for the man to break things down for me, now.  It had lost its charm.
	The tall canine moved towards me, not in a threatening matter, but with his arms folded behind him, taking slow steps.  “I gather information for my Lord.  Information relevant to this community, and more specifically of late. . . the war.  Some of the things we've learned over the years have enabled us to prevent raids, to cut off enemy reinforcements before they reach Zakkra, the Cathazra's leader, and to find more effective ways to defend our settlement.  But these secrets would be no good to us if they got out.”
	“Why?”  I asked, baffled.  “I've seen these 'Cathazra'.  Surely you don't think they're here in your community, spying on you?”
	“No,” the canine said with a soft sigh, “but some of our own people are.”
	“For what?”  I asked, shocked.  “What do those beasts have that your people want?”
	“Gold,” the man replied simply.  “It's what first brought Carvecians here to this land, and then later my own people, and what's kept us coming back time and again.  The lumber is our primary export, but gold is the real reason the colonies here were built.  The Cathazra have it in excess.  They wear it, they use it in their holy vestments and charms, it festoons their temples,” he said it all with an edge of ire.
	“Riches are no good to the dead,” I muttered.  “I just don't see how it would be worth it to anyone who lives here to sell out their own safety.”
	The man shrugged, “Many of them likely think they can escape.  Some of them probably even have.  In all the chaos over the last few years, keeping our trade in check hasn't been high on the list of priorities.  We're happy for any vessels that make it in our out of port, especially of late.  This place is rife with criminals, believe it or not.  Like maggots on a corpse.”
	“You speak like you're giving up on the place,” I stated.
	“We have,” the man replied, stoically.  
	And that's when it all fell into place.
	“Your 'Lord' mentioned something along those lines,” I said, realization dawning.  “You're planning to abandon this colony, aren't you?”