~ Chapter 08: Three's Company ~

Breeze sneezed, cursing the pawful of woodchips and dust he'd just snorted from the air. He shook himself, again raising the axe, and again bringing it down on the errant log blocking the path.

Kunk. The sound bounced off the log, vibrations shaking up the wooden handle. Breeze wrinkled his nose, wishing his fur would hurry up and dry. The rain had eased a few hours ago, but his thick coat always took its time drying off after a downpour.

“Would you like me to have a go?" Erasmus piped, his hesitant tone suggesting that while he'd rather not, he felt obligated to at least offer his help. Breeze looked over his shoulder, licking his lips. The otter was perched on the driver seat of the small wagon, Marlough's reigns clasped loosely in his slender paws. The royal bastard, who Breeze had to keep reminding himself was named Abigail, was swaddled in warm linens and secure in a small sling strapped to Erasmus's chest. Her tiny whiskers twitched slightly as some dream crossed her soothing-addled mind.

“It's fine." Breeze grunted, turning back and slamming the axe down once again. Bloody Inquisition, bloody south.

They'd left Hieron nine days back, but travelling by wagon was slow-going at the best of times, and both Roland and Claude Morgan had insisted they take the back roads, steering clear of the Merchantway wherever possible on their way to Niverron. Second Inquisitor Marsh, the one Erasmus claimed was responsible for the ambush Breeze fought his way out of in the city, had spies everywhere, and if he caught wind the two were heading towards the old Union capital they'd have mercenaries breathing down their neck the whole way. According to Inquisitor Morgan, if they could make it to Niverron unmolested, he had a smuggling contact that would ferry them through the trade blockade and into the neighbouring country of Lyskirk.

Kunk. There was no telling how long the log had laid across the narrow and rocky path, though Breeze saw small patches of moss crawling up from the bottom, so it had at least been a while. Good for them, a road less travelled. Nearly there.

With a cry he brought the axe down one last time, smashing through the wood and burying the axe-head in the dirt. He tugged it free with a huff, putting one boot to the log and shoving. It rolled away, and with a few kicks had been shifted clear off the road.

“Well done Master Breeze!" Erasmus exclaimed, clapping without a hint of irony as the wolf returned to the cart, flopping into the back. “You make it look easy."

“You don't have to grovel with me." Breeze replied, staring out behind them as Marlough resumed her plodding pace.

“Well… er," The otter said, flicking the reigns. “I was just saying."

“Don't bother."

“Right then." And the young soother shut it. They hadn't talked much since leaving the city, focusing instead on the journey and the tasks of each day. The atmosphere was awkward at best. Breeze didn't mind so much, and he let his mind wander, staring back at the retreating woods and wondering what he'd do with this supposed fortune Morgan would give him, once he ended this war.

It was an amusing fantasy.

Breeze may hate the south more than a boil on his balls, but even he couldn't deny the foxes made damn fine road. In the Northwest Madlands – save a few exceptions near larger settlements – roads and paths were made by frequent use, they were beaten into the landscape by dozens of horses and boots simply because it was the most efficient way through. Here however, things were much different. The path they used now was only a backroad, and still Breeze was impressed. It was mostly free of potholes and mud-spots, a few rough patches of it even lined with cheap crushed rock. The hilly woods were dark and gloomy, and yet there were few overhanging branches, and barring that log Breeze had chopped up earlier, no dramatic obstructions.  

After an hour or two of quiet travelling, Erasmus cleared his throat, calling over a shoulder. “Abigail is starting to fuss, she's getting hungry I wager. Shall I look for a clearing to stop?" Seemed the girl was never not hungry. Breeze had suggested they feed her more at each sitting, but that was apparently ridiculous. At least the pissing soothing kept her from crying; Abigail had spent most of the journey so far fast asleep, so long as Erasmus carried her.

“We were making good time." Breeze said after a moment, clumsily repositioning himself in the wagon bed. “Pass her back to me, so you can keep on." He cast about near his legs, paws passing over the sword the Inquisitor had given him and finding the small sealed package of mostly plain broth. According to her mother, Abigail had quite a sensitive stomach.

Bloody southerners.

“Uh, are you sure you're good with pups?" The otter said back. “We could switch, and you--"

“What if you die?" Breeze snapped. Or get so tired and worn out that you just can't keep up anymore? “You might not always be around, no good reason I shouldn't be familiar. Besides, ain't like it's that complicated." The otter hesitated, finally relenting.

“If you say so." He muttered. Breeze watched as Erasmus carefully extricated the small bundle of fox-pup from her makeshift harness. She blinked groggily as she was passed back, and Breeze took her with ease. She weighed so little; like holding a leg of ham.

In fact, Breeze realised with some amusement, if someone had offered him a cut of meat that meagre back in the Madlands, he might have taken offence. Especially in the old days. He shivered, watching the pup blink herself awake, nose wrinkling at the universal displeasure of waking from a good nap.

“Mep!" Abigail exclaimed, eyes now wide and staring. They were so round and shiny, and Breeze found himself supposing the entire world was reflected back in them. He wouldn't deny she was cute, there was no point fighting that battle. He pulled her closer, rocking her gently in his paws, and gave a sniff. He was expecting something foul, but instead he got a faint whiff of lavender and orange.

“Did you put perfume on her?" He asked, tilting his head and looking to Erasmus. The otter shrugged, ducking his head under a particularly low-hanging branch.

Just as Breeze was about to pull away, a tiny paw wormed out from Abigail's bundle and planted itself flat on his nose. She squeezed once – her grip comically weak – and belted out a short giggle. The sound was squeaky, high and pleasant. Breeze's ears went up and he snorted, shifting her into his lap and pulling open the cask of thick broth.

She ate readily, mouth flapping open expectantly with each swallow, eyes always on Breeze's face. It was calming, the rhythmic pattern of spoon-to-broth followed by spoon-to-child, the trees around them rustling with the soft push and pull of the wind.

Look at that, the scourge of the north feeding a pup her afternoon snack.

“Master Breeze?" Erasmus interjected, as the pup was finishing her meal. “I think perhaps we should find a place to stop soon, I see clouds in the distance and they don't seem the merry type."

“Huh?" Breeze stuck his head up, realising they'd left the thick wood behind some time ago, and were now moving down a gentle hill. Across the landscape he saw stretching fields of tall, shiny grass, wavering in the draft, long shadows blown across the soil by the near-to-setting sun. To their right was a winding river, shallow and clear, even from this distance. On the horizon Niverron was silhouetted against the orange and purple sky, thick black storm clouds gathering above it like ruffians spoiling for a fight. “I s'pose." He huffed. They were so close to the city, it would take barely a third of a day to reach it, he was sure.

Erasmus pointed. “There's a small patch of trees down there, near the river bend, I suppose we could make it in the hour?"

“Very well." Breeze replied, rocking the sleeping Abigail. Then, feeling he was a little too short with the otter, added: “Yeah, good idea."

It ended up taking closer to an hour and a half to reach Erasmus's clearing, and by the time Breeze clambered down from the wagon bed – Abigail still clutched in one arm – thunder had begun to grumble and complain overhead. He passed the pup to Erasmus, and then, as he had every night, set about doing all the actual work. He used the axe to hack apart loose bits of wood, then used that wood to build a fire, and then used the fire to cook them some food. An angled tarp strung between two trees made for a shelter, and the wools made them each a pithy excuse of a bed. The soother mostly watched.

“Thank you." Erasmus said as he settled down cross-legged on the linen, adjusting Abigail's swaddle. He flinched as something poked into his arse, shifting to one side. He forced out a short, awkward chuckle. “Shame about the weather, but at least we made it under shelter before the rain this time. I tell you Master Breeze, I'm looking forward to renting a bed when we reach Niverron."

Still standing, Breeze pushed a pawful of dried fruit in his muzzle, chewing noisily and enjoying the supple sound of the river lapping at the bank. He felt he should probably say something amicable. He and Erasmus would be travelling for months to come, and he didn't think sulking the entire way was an entirely smart plan.

“I'm more comfortable out here than the city." He said, around the fruit.

“I suppose that makes sense. I guess we get used to whatever life brings us." The otter mused, staring down at Abigail. “But she's a pretty thing at least, don't you think?" He stuck his tongue at the little fox and cooed. Breeze bit back his first reply, tried again.

“Seems like any other pup to me." He coughed, drawing his sword and setting down to oil it. The blade was long and lean, well weighted, and expertly tempered. The Union's standard was etched at the base of the blade, placed right before a conservative cross-guard, without any flourish but the brushed steel surface. The grip was wrapped with firm brown leather, and the pommel was a spiky metal star. It was a bastard too, just like Breeze – the grip just long enough he could swing the sword with two paws if desired, without the weapon being so large it demanded it.

“Mm, it's a fine thing alright. Inquisitor Morgan must like you a lot." Erasmus added, eyeing the blade. “It's almost hard to imagine so much is riding on this, feels like any other journey really." He set Abigail down next to him, nestling her into a comfy pile of wools. The otter splayed out lethargically, legs before himself, propped up by his arms. It nettled Breeze to see the younger man relaxing as if he'd gone through a hard day of work.

I chopped the log up, I fed the pup, and I set up this pissing camp. You managed to keep an experienced horse on a path, truly we're the heroes of legend. He squeezed his eyes shut a moment, trying to let the irritation bleed away, and refocused on the blade, smoothing the oil along it. This sort of rhythmic chore had always been a comfort, and back on campaign with Slaugh, Breeze would care for his blades before he did himself. Some men laughed at the way he doted on the weapons, calling them his darlings, but most of those men were dead now.

Up, down, up, down, up, down. The steady pace was relaxing, a simple tempo to which he could gather his thoughts.

“May I ask something?" The otter blurted suddenly, as if he'd been building the courage to it.

“If you must."

“What's a battle like?" Breeze paused, glancing up. He frowned, considering how best to pose the melee to someone who'd never even come close to it.

“You ever been in a drunken brawl, Erasmus?" He said eventually, laying the sword across his knees and eyeing it. It really was a fine piece of weaponry.

“Thankfully not."

“Ever seen one?"

“Once or twice."

“Well, ain't nothing like that, like most men assume." Breeze muttered. “See, in a tavern, you usually have an idea of who your friends are and aren't. Once a proper battle really gets going, there's no tellin' up from down. There's boots and mud everywhere, blood in your eyes, sweat and shit and piss in your nose. The stink of it, the sound of it, leaves barely any time for checking which colours the man you just gutted is wearin'." It was harder still in the north, since most armies didn't bother too much with standards and uniform. “Your clothes are wrapped around you, and everything is ten times harder."

“That sounds awful."

“Ain't pretty." Breeze agreed, standing with a groan and returning his sword to the sheath. He looked at the otter, tunic stained with mud, furry round face watching the wolf intently. His thick tail ran out from his rear, like a snake curling in the sun. Above them, thunder cracked, and rain began to patter on their heads, Erasmus and Abigail shielded by the tarp. Breeze tilted his and sighed, the small cool droplets a welcome relief. “In the north least, the time's never right. Imagine we had a group of boys here, led by some men with bones." He turned, gesturing out at the riverbank.

“Men like Nail, or Empty-Heart?" Erasmus asked innocently, and Breeze winced. He'd done a terrible thing to Nail. That fucker deserved no better, but a part of him wished he hadn't sunk to the same level.

No regrets, just better next time.

“Sure." Breeze said, gesturing around the clearing with his paws. “Let's say you got six of them, an' each one has a dozen or two lads underpaw, and you're camped here. I used to run with a warlord by the name'a Slaugh – if he were to attack, he'd start by positioning archers across the river. Then, while our named ones took turns sleeping, he'd light fires on this side. Then the Carls and Thralls would come in with spears, soften us up. With us bloody-nosed and weak, he'd sent in the lads with axes and swords, shieldmen with strong bodies and armour to match. We'd be pullin' up trousers and wipin' our shit while they opened our necks. They'd push us into the water. The archers would catch us, and Slaugh's Thralls would drown the ones that didn't get stuck through. You and I, as the commanders, would have our guts pulled out through our backs, and get left to rot in the sun." He glanced up at the moonless sky, pitch-dark. “Or to soak in the rain, I guess."

“My word." Erasmus swallowed audibly, and Breeze turned back to see his eyes had gone a little vacant. “That's... well, I, dare say, that's terribly unpleasant."

“You got more sense than to ever get mixed up in that." Breeze replied, the words coming out before he could stop them. The otter smiled, pulling his tail into his lap.

“I wouldn't ever think to--" He stopped dead as a figure stumbled through a nearby shrub, tripping over himself and falling to his knees a few feet from the campfire, a slew of muttered curses following the cacophony. With the grinding flash of metal-on-metal, Breeze's sword was out and up, as he put himself firmly between the newcomer and his own meek companions.

“No sir, please, halt!" The sinewy Doberman cried, his stick-thin arms crossed over his face defensively. “Please don't stick me! I ain't meanin' no harm!"

“Why not?" Breeze asked, though he had to admit the dog made for a poor scout. He was unarmed, and his trousers and tunic were both stained with grass and dirt. In the old days, Breeze would have split the man's head without another word, but these were different times, and a different place. “Who are you? Speak, mutt."

“Name's Fenton! Goodman Fenton, at yer mercies!" The Doberman exclaimed, glancing between the two, each word trodding over the next. Erasmus snatched up Abigail, the fox pup tutting unhappily as he scuttled further behind Breeze. “I'm sorry, I's fleein' Niverron, ain't got no food or nothin', and I's heard voices out here… I was hopin' to beg a scrap'a food off you, but I see that was a mistake, yes, a-a right mistake indeed!" He clambered slowly to his feet, wincing as he put pressure on his knee. His paws stayed up and splayed, his body trembling, pointed ears as flat as they could go. Breeze sniffed. Fenton stunk of fear and week-old dog, but not much else.

“Fleeing Niverron?" Erasmus asked, stepping closer to Breeze. The wolf kept his sword up, ready to react at the slightest hint of aggression, though he admitted the Doberman seemed no threat. The otter went on, and he found himself wishing the fop would shut it. “But, by the Triumvirate, why? Arch Brigadier Audric saw a fresh company of men off to reinforce the city just two weeks back!"

The Doberman shook his head, his skinny build gaunt and wasting in the dim firelight. “They ain't ever made it. That comp'ny was camped a half-day out I heard, too yellow t'come any closer and bleeding help us!" He spat.

“Out with it then." Breeze snapped. “What happened?" The dog paused, licking his lips as he met the wolf's eyes.

“Nurjan is upon us." Fenton whispered, his paws clutched before him. “Astmoor's newest Cleric-General. Niverron is under siege, and if the Emperor don't got the city by now, he sure soon will!"

“Oh no." Erasmus breathed into Breeze's ear, the otter almost pressed up against the wolf's back. “What do we do now?"

“Would y'be so kind as t'put that sword down sir?" Fenton asked, taking a step back, eyes like saucers. “I ain't even got a weapon! Swear, on me mother!"

“Master Breeze…" Erasmus muttered, placing a paw on the wolf's shoulder. Breeze bit his lip, neck tingling from the warm touch, some of his rage sapping away. Damned southerners.

“You better not move an inch, boy." He warned the dog, slowly lowering the blade. He sheathed it reluctantly, but kept tight hold of the weapon regardless. “And you stop soothing me." He hissed at Erasmus.

“How long has the siege been going on?" The otter asked Fenton, voice wavering.

“Started up a few nights back, we ain't never saw 'em coming." Goodman Fenton replied soberly. “When I left, they hadn't taken the walls, but those blasted purple banners seemed to go on fer miles and miles! Scores, the old Union capital, in the clutches of those savages! Makes me sick t'my stomach!" The dog wiped rain from his brow, the darkness behind him all encompassing. Breeze rolled his eyes.

Erasmus hesitantly returned to his place in the shelter, covering Abigail with a small heap of blankets.

“My companion and I need to get inside the city." The otter explained, resting on his knees and looking back to Fenton. “It's rather important."

“You should think better of it, friend. A siege ain't no place for two fellas such as yourselves." The Doberman replied, making signs of the Triumvirate with his paws. Breeze frowned, disliking how familiar the dog had become already. He'd been in sieges before, had time spent both as the poor sod stuck behind the wall, and the one forced up shaking ladders to take them. Neither side was anything but miserable. The waiting was the worst, the crushing pressure of that wait followed you everywhere, a constant timer lasting weeks or maybe months, ever ticking towards the most brutal kind of skirmish Breeze had ever experienced; men tumbling from walls, screaming, burning, dying all around. Crowds of soldiers pressed so tight you could hardly swing a sword, let alone protect yourself. Blood, so much blood, showering down like rain. Shuddering at the memory, he touched one of the three knives tucked into his belt.

How far are we from the city now? A day, half-day's travel? Maybe less. He looked into the distance, imagining he could again see that hazy silhouette. There was no moon tonight, and the night was pitch-dark. Perfect for dark work. It's been a long time.

“There must be some way in. No wall is totally impenetrable." The wolf said aloud, crossing his arms and scowling as he felt the wind pick up. “We've an appointment with someone inside, not going isn't much of an option." Breeze was willing to bet the smuggler was still inside the walls, opportunists like that tended to make the best of a bad situation. He wished they could skip over the city entirely, but both Inquisitor Morgan and that smarmy cat Roland had sworn that the Lyskirk blockade was no trivial matter – nothing and nobody was getting through as it was. Breeze could have probably done it alone, he was famous for sneaking, but with a pup, wagon, horse, and then an inexperienced fool like Erasmus?

Fat chance. We need that smuggler, ain't no way round it. A plan began to hatch in his mind.

Fenton blanched, looking Breeze up and down. “You look more'n capable friend, I'll say that. But rugged northman or no, last thing I saw were foxes w'thout their pelts, strung up on posts by their heels. Nurjan, he's doin' the work of devils."

“Niverron will fall then." Erasmus mumbled, shaking his head. “Their walls are almost as high as Hieron. What's to stop them going there next?"

Breeze growled. “I'm sure your mighty leaders will send a fresh few companies to clean up." The war had lasted a hundred and ten years already; an end to it now seemed an unlikely coincidence.

“Better do it soon, I say." Goodman Fenton said, edging closer to the meagre fire and rubbing at his sides. He looked on alert, his posture that of someone bracing to fight, a practiced stance that Breeze recognised – it was one drilled into fighting men, beaten into them so often it was taken by rote.

“You came from within the city, aye?" Breeze asked, cocking his head. The Doberman hesitated, but nodded, rainwater dripping from his ears. “What'd you do back there?"

“Er, well, that is… I mean t'say…" He shifted and muttered, squirming in place.

“A soldier?" Breeze asked, stepping closer, letting the shadows obscure his features. “Right? You're a blackguard then, deserting your post? Your king? And you called the new company yellow?" He didn't care a whit if the guy had shit in King Niven's lap, but he needed the man riled up and indignant, people were a lot easier to push when they got emotional. His words clearly got under the Doberman's pelt, and Fenton snapped.

“You'd run too, fat-headed northman!" He growled, getting up in Breeze's face, spittle flying free. The wolf remained still, one paw resting on the hilt of his sword. “I did the only thing what I could! You didn't see! Fuck Nurjan, and fuck his savage, blood-crazed wolfs, what with their smoke prayers and false gods! Killin' our farmers and wearing their tails 'round their necks like we were jewellery! You'd run too I say!"

So they do that in the south too. Breeze wanted to laugh.

“You done?" Breeze asked. Fenton opened his muzzle, caught a glance at Breeze's sword, then thought better and shut his mouth, teeth clicking resolutely. Around them the rain created a soft blanket of sound, both the men dripping wet.

“Yes." The Doberman mumbled, shuffling back. “Apologies, good sir. It's been a hard night'n day; I left me brothers back in the city like a coward, aye. I ain't got nothin' but the clothes on me back."

Breeze looked to Erasmus, then back to the deserter. “And you got out of the city with your hide intact, huh?" The dog nodded slowly, looking around as if he were thinking to make a run for it. “Don't you go anywhere just yet. Way I'm thinkin', you got out once, you could get back in, with us too I reckon."

Fenton's jaw dropped, and even Erasmus gave a cough of surprise. “No, what? You didn't hear me 'fore? Nurjan'll have the walls within the week!" Fenton exclaimed. “Niverron is done for!"

“They're high walls Goodman, and with the Merchantway, Hieron is only a week's quick-march off." Erasmus added, his voice as cheery as always.

Breeze shook his neck, trying in vain to get the wetness out of his filthy fur. “Besides, we'll be in there less than a day, sieges take weeks, if this Nurjan got any sense he'll bide his time." He stepped forward, leaning close so the Doberman could hear his low speech. “You'll take us back Fenton, either inside the walls or close enough we can make it ourselves."

“No way, no how!" The Doberman gasped, taking another step back and tripping over, falling on his arse. Breeze loomed over him, just holding the sheathed blade, letting his size do the negotiating. Fenton looked between them. “I dunno what you two're about, but that ain't no place for no pup! If yer friend is even there, he'll be gone 'fore long! Ain't no way I'm going back, if Nurjan don't have me killed, the Union will sure's shit!"

“You've got no food, and no money, right?" Breeze asked, going to the wagon and pulling out one of the small – but generous - pouches of gold hidden in a discreet compartment. He tossed it at the Doberman, who caught it by reflex, tongue lolling as he tugged it open. “Half. The rest when you get us out. We go now."

~ X ~

Nurjan's army coated the land like a bad rash. Breeze shifted his weight, glancing at Fenton and Erasmus. The three were knelt at the top of a hill a half-kilometre from the city edge, their bodies shielded by some jagged boulders, eyes trained keenly on the mass of torches and tents before them. Purple banners flapped in the wind, the Emperor's standard as intimidating as it was expensive. After their hurried trek here it was well past midnight, and the rain had yet to let up. Breeze shook his head as he looked on the dark city itself, thinking again on how foolish southerners could be. A few flickering lights could be seen inside the walls, but otherwise all was still.

“No moat?" He whispered, and Fenton shrugged.

“We never expected Astmoor to be so bold. Moats're expensive, no one likes taxes." The Doberman replied sourly, slipping his hood up and shivering into the wind. “Gonna find a problem with allavit then northman?"

Breeze ignored that. “Not too late to stay behind." He said to Erasmus, eyes flicking to Abigail, her sling now secured against the otter's backside. Fenton had a point. “A city under siege is no place for a pup."

“We don't know what the smuggler will demand of us." Erasmus whispered, even though they were far enough away there was no need for it. “We may need to leave immediately, and besides – without you, there is no mission. Best to stick together."

“It ain't gonna be pleasant." Breeze muttered. “I've been behind walls like that before; life ain't much but meagre rations, short-tempered men, and waiting."

            Well maybe not ones quite like that. He considered, letting his gaze drift along the tired, crumbling walls. At least the ones I hid behind felt like they might stop the wind. Sieges were typically an engagement measured in months, but judging from the state of Niverron's defences, this one would be counted in days. Breeze gave them fifteen, and felt generous.

Fenton snorted. “We do things a bit differently down 'ere." He paused as Breeze offered up a hard look. “But, er, things aren't too good. There was lootin' and what, when I left."

“I can be brave." Erasmus muttered, and Breeze sighed. Damn fool boy was in for a rude shock one of these days. “Inquisitor Morgan told me to stick close to you, that's what I aim to do."

“You can see, Nurjan has most'a his bastards on the other side." Fenton said, pointing out at the darkness. Breeze nodded, seeing the orderly columns of campfires and tents. As Fenton said, this side of the city had sparser camps placed across the ground, though they were still packed too close to try sneaking by on foot – at least with a group of three. The other side however, was packed too densely to even consider an approach, almost a small town unto itself, bonfires and soldiers covering the ground like grass. Breeze rolled his shoulders, smelling the wafting scents of an army stalled on the wind. He imagined that Nurjan wanted to use the city as a kind of bulwark, putting it between his forces and any potential reinforcements headed there from Hieron. The Doberman went on. “First thing we did was drop Westgate, not much t'speak of left but rubble I say."

“Well if you say it, it must be true." Erasmus mumbled, and Breeze gave him a surprised look.

“Best way in'd be the canals, that's how I got out, but going back we'll be fighting the current." Fenton explained. “It ain't strong, but we'll still be paddlin' some." He glanced at Breeze, the wolf's brows furrowed as he stared down the hill. The Niverron walls were not dissimilar to the ones back in Hieron, capped by ramparts, with small chutes built about halfway up for archers to fire out.

Good for arrows, better for oil. Breeze thought, half-remembering his last campaign with Slaugh. He remembered Marco, a decent friend, stumbling back drenched in pitch, lifting a paw to beg Breeze for help as flesh slid off his bones.

“They'll be barred." Breeze said, his attention focused now on the myriad of canals flowing from the city. It seemed the Ferrin Union couldn't get enough of their damned waterways. Just as the narrow sluices reached the walls, they went up a level and let the water pass through wrought-iron grates. The water was runoff, likely too filthy to drink for any great stretch of time, meaning Niverron must be equipped with wells within the city walls.

“They look barred, aye." Fenton replied smugly. “But us a'those that know, know, eh? Canal five an' seven both got wide spaces just beneath the surface. Easy-as for a lone man, just duck below and there we are."

“How do we get close without them seeing us in the water?" Erasmus asked nervously. He was putting on a brave face, but it didn't take a master of deduction to work out the otter was shit-scared. Breeze considered forcing him to stay back, but Erasmus had made a good point.

Boy'll be useless in there, but he's not wrong. Breeze thought, thankful they at least had the rain to shroud their noise. Leave the him here and he's half as likely to get caught, better to have him where I can see 'em.

“Oh my weasel friend, you quit your worrying, I got out didn't I?" Fenton exclaimed, clapping the soother on his back and climbing to his feet. Erasmus sneered, shaking his head at Breeze, who stifled a growl.

The three men agreed upon the plan, and set to putting it in motion. They covered the wagon with a tarp, and tied Marlough to a tree, a small bag of grain left within easy reach of her. Breeze strapped his sword to his back, and begrudgingly passed over his worst knife to Fenton. Erasmus had another knife tucked in his belt, and the sleeping Abigail clutched against his chest.

“Should leave the pup behind." Fenton growled, right before they were to set off. Breeze laid a branch filled with leaves over the wagon, turning in place. “What if she wakes and decides it's snack time? That's us done for, 'tis."

“Let me worry about the pup." Breeze said through clenched teeth. He gave Erasmus a nervous look however, and the otter shrugged.

“I'll do my best Master Breeze, she should keep if I stay focused. Pups are… particularly susceptible." He whispered, and Breeze figured that would be the best chance they got, and that was more than he could ask for.

“Oh, got you a soother then, eh?" Fenton whistled, nudging Breeze with an elbow. “Well, fancy. Ain't guessed I was sloshin' it with nobility." Breeze huffed, leading the way.

They descended the hill one at a time, each slipping into the far bend of the narrow canal with a shudder, the icy runoff deeper than it looked, reaching near to Breeze's shoulders when he stood still. Erasmus had to tilt his head up to remain above the wash, hefting Abigail in his paws. Fenton swore as he got in, cursing out his own gods and others, the Emperor, and briefly Breeze too.

“Pissin' wolves." He whispered, before Breeze hushed him. “You don't feel this? Must be fuckin' nice, you walkin' wet blanket. I ain't got such luscious furs on my sorry arse!"

“Shut. Up." Breeze hissed in his ear. “Or no pay."

Fenton shut it.

The going was slow and cold, even for Breeze. As the Doberman had promised, the current was against them, but it was weak, and the trio had no trouble pushing through. They moved from floating trash heap to floating trash heap, using it as cover and desperately praying no half-decent patrol would pass them by. The wind was freezing this close to the water, picking up both the chill and downpour and carrying them right into the group's squinting eyes. Not far from the canal, the besieging army's voices carried; Breeze caught the drunken laughter of off-duty soldiers, the barking commands of an over-zealous sergeant, and the keen sheering sound of weapons being sharpened. Every few minutes he stuck his head up and glanced over the stone canal bank, spying the early stages of siege towers and battering rams. Astmoor clearly wasn't messing about, they meant to take Niverron, and soon.

“Nearly there!" Whispered Fenton, glancing back from his position at the front. Erasmus's arms were trembling, struggling with the effort of holding the kid above chest-height for so long. She hiccupped and coughed in her sleep, licking her tiny vixen lips.

“Master Breeze, are we--" Erasmus began, his words cut off as Fenton whirled, a black and brown paw slapping over the otter's mouth. Breeze froze as a broad accent brayed over the canal.

“I swears!" The voice exclaimed in some viciously mutilated version of Union Common, the tone indignant. Breeze sunk a little lower into the stinking water, looking up and seeing a tall wolf in black armour swaying at the canal edge. His head was tilted back listlessly, calling to someone out of sight. “Born'n Istren's worst whorehouse, how th'fuck he's ended with us I ain't got no goes!" He was drunk.

Fenton pulled slowly back from the otter, letting his body sink beneath the surface, only his nose poking free. Erasmus pressed himself against the wall, his piercing blue eyes wide and frightened as he met Breeze's own. He clutched the bundle of fox-pup to his head, visibly shaking, brown fur slick and shiny.

“Stay. Still." Breeze mouthed, letting himself drift into the wall, as the soldier above them loudly undid his belt.

“Realms alive," He huffed, the words barely intelligible, as if he were talking around a huge mouthful of mashed potato. He was heavily armoured, the steel plate clinking as he shifted himself in place, sighing. Breeze wrinkled his nose as piss hit the water, the sound echoic in the sunken canal, the sour stench assaulting his nostrils. The soldier above groaned deeply, swaying his hips and spraying his stream back and forth. Errant droplets landed on Erasmus and Breeze, as the otter tried his best to shield the pup.

Breeze watched the quivering otter, who looked as if he were staring down the Triumvirate themselves, his eyes peeled wide, chin shaking like a pup about to cry.

Keep it together Ras. Breeze felt calm, he knew some drunken soldier pissing in the canal wasn't going to notice them - so long as they didn't do anything stupid.  That knowledge didn't stop his guts from trying to drop out his arse when Abigail's eyes suddenly popped open, her tiny head turning in place, little pink tongue licking at her lips.

Without thinking, Breeze reached out and took her from Erasmus, the frail otter instantly pulling his shaky arms in close and biting his lip, nodding his thanks. Breeze dunked Abigail's bottom half in the water, holding her tight against his chest and rocking her slightly. The pup watched intently, a tiny paw again wrestling free of her wrap and again grabbing his snout. Breeze nodded slowly, wishing her back to sleep. He gave Erasmus a glance, and the otter seemed to be concentrating intently on the pup, tongue pierced between two teeth.

Finally, thankfully, the steady stream of piss drew to a close, the last few droplets dribbling over Erasmus's cringing face. Breeze let out a tight breath as Abigail's eyes closed once again, and he heard the soldier's belt buckle up. The black-armoured wolf swayed in place, and for a moment Breeze thought he might topple drunkenly into the water. He prayed Erasmus was ready with his knife.

The tense silence was broken by a loud cry from the pisser. “Lo-fer-oh, merry 'tis the girl from gracer... eeeeee!" The fat wolf sang; stumbling away with his boots slipping on the grass, mud kicking back into the canal. When Breeze was certain the guard was away, he relaxed, resisting the urge to laugh as Erasmus splashed disgusting canal water in his face, rubbing at his eyes.

“Here." The otter snapped, offering his open paws. Breeze passed the pup back, poking Fenton's mostly-submerged body and motioning for them to continue on. The three slunk to the end of the sluice without another incident, pressing up against the rusted grate just as the sky began to pale. Dawn was just around the corner now. Fenton whispered his instructions to Erasmus, then simply pointed a few times at Breeze, expecting the wolf to get the gist. Without another moment wasted, the deserter dove beneath the murky surface, splashing up on the other side a few seconds later.

“Sorry, little one." Erasmus said in a hushed tone, pressing one brown paw over the fox pup's mouth and nose. Her eyes opened in protest, but he quickly ducked beneath the water. It took the soother a little longer, and at the end Fenton had to reach down and drag him up, but then he too splashed into air, gasping, wiping at Abigail's scrunched up face. She gave one solitary cry of protest, which was quickly eased by Erasmus's whatever-he-did. Breeze glanced once behind himself, sucked in a deep breath, and dunked his head.

It was impossible to see underwater, and he had to rely on his paws to fumble his way down to the widest grate, pulling his body through with a bubbling grunt. His shoulders refused to go at first, and he was forced to tug them through so hard it hurt, careful not to catch his sword. He eventually came up, heaving, and found Fenton and Erasmus had already swum to the concrete bank. He followed after, and picked himself up, dripping wet on the stone platform. Erasmus winced as Breeze shook himself, water spraying from his thick coat, a grin on his muzzle.

“That went well, eh?" Breeze asked.

“Maybe for you." Erasmus replied, spitting into the canal. “How long'll it be before I get a bath now?"

“Too long." Fenton replied, glancing around. “I say we wait a few hours, let ourselves drip-dry, then creep up into the streets an' find yer friend jus' after dawn. You got that gold big fella?"

“Not yet." Breeze growled. “You leave our sight and it's through."

“Alright, alright!" Fenton exclaimed, holding his paws up. “I say don't worry none, I'm a dog of my word."

“Except when it comes to king and country…" The otter mumbled.

“Hard words from a talking piss-post." Fenton snapped, turning away with a snort. Breeze ignored the two bickering idiots, taking himself to a corner and retrieving his sword from its place on his back – wearing a sword like that was good for travel, and it looked intimidating, but it was pretty useless in a fight. He undid the treated hide from around it, satisfied the blade hadn't gotten too wet during the excursion. He laid that and himself against the wall, settling in for a lengthy wait. Patience was a powerful tool in the right paws, and one that few men learned to master. Breeze figured he could wait there all week, if he'd needed too. The brick was cosy enough, his coat kept him warm, what more did a wolf need?

Fenton was flopped on his back, one arm draped across his eyes, a large stain of canal water spread out around him. Erasmus was cautiously feeding Abigail a quarter of the broth-baggie he'd brought along, cooing to her through their mutually drooping eyes.

They waited there, dozing until the tendrils of light began to poke through the grate. Sounds of life started up from within and without the walls, the city stirring.

“Time we'd be movin'." Breeze said, kicking a snoring Fenton awake. The Doberman started, clambering to his feet and looking around, massaging his ribs.

“Ready, ready, I'm ready." He winged, wiping at his eyes, one ear inside out. Erasmus looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept a wink in days.

Breeze let the deserter lead them through the tunnels, following along until they came to a set of slick stairs that he promised took them above ground, the bricks stained with moss growth, the walls dripping some unnameable moisture.

“What's it like up there?" Erasmus asked hesitantly, Abigail slung against his back, sleeping peacefully.

“If it's anything like any other siege?" Breeze asked, weighing up the truth against the comforting lie. “Rough. Rations, water limits, the weak starving, hangings for the pettiest crimes… keep your wits about you." The otter nodded, looking to Fenton.

“Er, what he said." The Doberman whimpered. “You know, rough things. Most'a my time was spent on the wall watchin' Astmoor, what do I know?"

“Better to do it." Breeze muttered, pushing past the two and pressing on up the stairs. He came to a sturdy door, which was unlocked, swinging it open with a sharp whine of unoiled hinges. He stepped into the light squinting, the alley they'd found themselves in stinking of piss and grog. He checked the other two were close behind, then hurried up the end of the side-street, one paw resting on the hilt of his sword – now tucked at his waist.

Breeze had been in a pawful of sieges over the years. He'd seen hard times; he'd gone to sleep with a spiking empty belly more than once. He'd seen commanders take too-old fathers and too-young sons for the effort, and petty thieves executed like rabid ferals for something as simple as stealing bread. None of this however, could have prepared him for Niverron; the state of things was almost unthinkable, and he felt his jaw drop in abject shock at the sight.

Erasmus came to his side, flinching at a nearby cracking explosion.

“What… what is going on here?" He muttered, as Fenton came up behind.

Breeze shook his head, still unable to believe what he was seeing before them. “Fucking southerners." He growled, watching the thick crowd march before them. “Fucking southerners."

They were having a damned festival.