Vermin's Tale
By Karlin The Warrior

Based on the book series Redwall


Prolougue

The night was cold, at least to the old ferret. Such a contrast to the simmering daytime heat common in Southsward. His still-sharp ears picked up the barely audible creaking noises coming from the rotting dock under his footpaws. He made a rather feeble attempt to breathe deeply, but his wasted lungs would not allow it. He broke out into a coughing fit, steadying himself on the knob of his gnarled walking stick. A young rat passing by shook his head in disgust at the black liquid flying out of the ferret's mouth. It took a moment for the ancient one to regulate his breath and recover from the bout. He was by no means young any longer, and his body seemed desperate to communicate that to him, no matter what the cost. The ferret continued his limp along the docks, heading away from the shoreline toward a large, rather run-down wooden structure about a hundred paces away from where he now stood. Well, it would have been a hundred paces had he been approximately fifty years younger. As it was, he would be lucky to make it in three hundred. As he practically dragged himself along, the only sound to be heard aside from the creaking wood of the docks was the somewhat irritating tapping sound whenever his walking stick made contact with the platform. What was he doing here anyway? He was under no responsibility to contend to the wishes of a common horde lieutenant. Why should he drag himself to the grave merely to impart a tale of olden days to an upstart weasel? Yet he knew he had no choice. Telling the story was nearly as important to his life as was breathing, however difficult that was.
What seemed like hours later, the ferret weakly pushed open the rickety double doors of the Old Wine Tavern. Instantly his ears were bombarded with dozens of conversations from around the common room. At least sixty vermin were lounging at tables or filling themselves with some concoction of grog or beer. However, it took the ferret only a moment to locate the creature he was looking for. Knil Sinuan sat silently in a lone corner of the tavern, staring directly at the ancient ferret, who now quickly made his way to join the lieutenant. Sinuan sipped his wine - he was too high and mighty to even consider drinking beer - and eyed the old one closely, without blinking once. He laid his flagon down and produced a parchment and a quill pen all in one swift motion, never batting an eyelash. The ferret shivered. Those deep blue eyes. So much like... The old one shook his head and banished the thought immediately. He did not want to compare the posterity to his ancestors.
The lieutenant did not move a whisker as the ancient ferret feebly laid his cane against the small oaken table and struggled to sit down without breaking his brittle spine. "I believe you have some information for me." The ferret nearly jumped at the deceptively smooth sound of the lieutenant's voice. The old one swiftly gained a sense of composure and straightened his aching back as well as he could. He decided to take an offensive approach, and even attempted to match the gaze of the weasel. "Information? What I have is far more than mere information, youngling! Do you realize that the stores of knowledge in my possession would give any warlord the power to rule the world?" The next instant the ferret felt the all too familiar feeling of a blade against his throat. Knil Sinuan's expression did not change for even an instant. "Quiet your tongue, fool. A second outburst like that and I will have yet another head to mount upon my wall. You would not be missed. Who would care for an old fool ferret with hardly a mind left to use? Do not think for a moment that your stories are excessively valuable for me. I would kill you in a flash should you give me the slightest provocation. Now, you may begin your so-called tale. And quietly, I'd rather others don't hear." Sinuan's voice was cold as ice and hard as steel, as if another creature's life meant less to him than a head of wheat. That may well have been true. The ancient ferret sighed as Knil Sinuan replaced his dagger into its sheath. So much for the offensive approach, he thought reluctantly to himself. He had hoped to receive some small payment in exchange for his story. Small chance of that now. Ah well. He had nothing to lose by telling it anyway. And so he began to relate his narrative in that wheezy, rasping voice for which many despised him. For an instant, he even thought he saw a small flash of eagerness appear within Sinuan's eyes. But only for an instant.


Chapter 1

The battle raged on ceaselessly. In the west the sun could now barely be seen, just a sliver on the horizon bathed in red light. Suitable. A reflection of the carnage and blood upon the rocky grounds. Thousands faced thousands in insane tides of charges and wild rushes. Corpses mounted into high piles as swords severed arms, legs, and heads. Spears pierced through lungs. Arrows impacted into hearts. Carnage ruled supreme. And that was how Zarreth Rahn liked it. The eyes of the massive wolf glowed as fire, an evil mockery of the badger Bloodwrath. He laughed, laughed with glee as he tore apart his enemies by scores! Rahn used no weapons. His sheer size and strength was sufficient. More soldiers fell to his teeth and claws than to swords and spears. He had a hunger for death. The Greywolf Warlord howled a cry of near victory, rallying his armies to finish the job begun almost two full days ago. Little was left now of the Rapscallion horde that had dared to challenge his supreme authority over the Eastplains. Zarrath Rahn had already seen to the death of their leader, a large but cowardly Greatrat wielding the sea-land blade of the Rapmark. What a piece of worthless metal, the wolf thought to himself. In his twisted mind, only fools relied on a weapon crafted by another. What came naturally to the body was far more powerful. And he proved it. He let out another wild laugh as he pulled arrows from his near-impenetrable hide and snapped them to pieces. Those who had released the arrows did not last very long. The Lord of Wolves found profound pleasure in slaughter.

Captain Ryach Karin moved almost invisibly among the countless hordebeasts, choosing targets from among his adversaries here and there. He only took out the very bravest and strongest of the enemy. The others were far pitiful for him to waste his precious time on. The hunting knives of the silent weasel were swift and deadly. When he stabbed he always killed. When he threw he never missed. Ryach Karin was not one to be reckoned with. He was tall, handsome and proud, but not without reason. None in all the armies of the Eastplains could face him and live. He frowned to himself. Well, perhaps there was one who could. Not yet had he openly challenged the Warlord Rahn who commanded him, and he did not readily anticipate it. Quiet rebellion and the spread of dissension were one thing, but attempting to physically challenge the giant wolf was another. He was not afraid, to be sure. But he would not simply throw away his chance at leadership recklessly. If he was to kill Zarreth Rahn in combat, should it come to that, it should be done in the weasel's time, not the wolf's.
Ryach snapped away from his thoughts momentarily to pierce the neck of an unfortunate enemy stoat crossing his path. He did not enjoy killing. But he did not loathe it either. Killing was a necessity in order to gain power, for the two always went together. So Ryach Karin killed, and allowed himself some pleasure from it.

Aharav the Sabre had once been a prince among the Ash Ferrets, until his father's kingdom was subdued by the Wolf Warlord's armies. To preserve his life he had sworn total fealty to Zarreth Rahn, and was even given the notable position of First Lieutenant. Rahn was one who knew military talent when he sighted it, and did not waste it. He had quickly realized the expertise and craftiness of the ferret and had readily spared him from the fate of the rest of the royal family. Aharav, needless to say, was very grateful.
His sabre spelled silent death for everybeast it touched. Aharav was nearly emotionless; all he felt was a deep sense of duty for his commanding officers. That was all the purpose he had in life, and in a way he was content. He never said a word as he sliced methodically through enemy rats. Then something interesting caught his eye. The formation of the enemy troops appeared staggered, almost random, not the least bit strategized. Quite unusual for Rapmark soldiers. Unless...The answer came to his mind within seconds. Left Wing strategy, second variant. He almost laughed. What pitiful fools! Did they actually expect their obvious tactics to escape notice? Perhaps it would be a powerful move against an inexperienced warband, but really now, did they actually think for a moment that the Hordes of the Wolf would be so easily overtaken and destroyed? Just to be safe, however, Aharav made his way to his Captain, Ryach Karin, who was currently occupied in the process of dispatching several martens. "Captain, have you seen their formation?" Ryach didn't even look at Aharav. He simply snorted in disgust and replied, cutting through random enemies as he did.
"Left Wing? Arrogant idiots. They're outnumbered and outclassed, and they choose Left Wing? Unless they have two or three fresh hordes ready to pop out of the ground, they won't be lasting long enough to see the night-sky stars."
Aharav leaned on his sabre hilt and took a swig of wine from his flask, season's best imported all the way from Southsward. "Shall I give the countermanding order then, Captain?" Ryach Karin nodded curtly and went back to his grisly work.
Within ten short minutes, there was not a single Rapscallion left alive.

Xion Rainjaw, a forward swordsbeast, panted heavily as he sat down upon a blood-splattered rock. "Bloody, flamin' battle!" The fox swore softly to himself. He grumbled in disgust as he wiped the flat of his blade upon the flattened grass. He hated fighting, being the coward he was. He had spent his younger years mostly on the run from place to place, attempting to escape the army recruitment he dreaded. Then one fateful day he had happened upon the Wolf Horde's scouts, and was drafted under threat of death. So as a swordsbeast he followed his newest philosophy: kill or be killed. That was all there was to it.
The fox slowly stood up to get his bearings. His spine tingled at the sight of hundreds of surrounding dead bodies, many of them fellow comrades. Bloody war. Bloody Wolf Lord! He would find a way someday to make Zarreth Rahn pay for forcing him into the army. By 'ellsteeth he would.

By this time, the sun had disappeared completely, leaving a silvery crescent moon hanging upon space. The moonlight gave an eerie glowing look to the corpses piled randomly throughout the valleys. The leaders of the Wolf Horde were reuniting their squads to join the main body of the army. Ryach Karin assembled all those under his command and began the half-mile march to the top of the hills, where Zarreth Rahn awaited with his generals. The soldiers following behind him whispered furtively among themselves in anticipation of the showdown they were almost sure would come. Most of Zarreth Rahn's captains had been killed at the start of the battle, when it appeared that the Rapscallions had the upper hand. Ryach was of the few remaining, and that was where the conflict began. By right of war, his survival would put him in the position of appointing the new captains from among the Elite soldiers of the army. However, Warlord Rahn had put strict limitations upon Captain Karin, when he was first promoted, in order to curb the dangerous ambition of the cunning weasel. One of those restrictions lay in appointing officers. It had never been an issue until this day. Half of Ryach Karin's soldiers expressed their belief that there would be a final showdown between the weasel and the wolf this very night, while the other half believed that Karin would simply rely on his strong influence among the troops and start a small battle to dispatch the Wolf Lord. No one anticipated the generals causing any interference. They were weak-minding imbeciles who were chosen by Rahn because they obeyed his every order without question. The real power of the army had always lain in the captains. And now only three remained. One was Ryach Karin. The two others were loyal supporters of Karin. Things seemed to be in his favor.
Before long the procession of vermin had reached the top of the hill. Captain Ryach Karin allowed himself a grim smile at the simple, non-strategic idiocy of the troops. He had planned the exact order of events that would transpire this night. He did not intend to kill Rahn just yet. His position was not strong enough. Tonight he intended to make it stronger. Make no mistake, Zarreth Rahn would die soon. Very soon. Lieutenant Aharav the Sabre walked silently alongside his commanding officer. Ryach rarely said a word to him, and Aharav didn't give much in the way of conversation either. At least not in front of other hordebeasts. Despite their cold attitude toward each other in public, Aharav and Karin were both together in deep conspiracy, having plotted in secret for nearly two years. Two years of spreading lies and rumors. Two years of establishing fear and respect of Captain Ryach Karin. Two years of preparing to kill Zarreth Rahn, last of the eastern Greywolves, most feared beast in all the known world. Aharav smirked. Rahn was a fool, powerful and commanding, to be sure, but a fool nonetheless. Oh yes, he could strategize and plan with amazing intelligence. He could bring entire empires to their knees just for a bit of personal pleasure. He could summon five thousand vermin with a single message. But he couldn't even see the power that lay fighting him within his very own army. He simply refused to acknowledge Ryach Karin, soon-to-be ruler of all Eastplains, as anything more than a stupid troublemaker. What an idiot the Wolf Lord was.


Chapter 2

It was purely by accident that Captain Karin's party happened upon Xion Rainjaw. The fox was invisible from their point of view, since he sat in four feet tall grass. Ryach nearly tripped on top of the vermin, but quickly sidestepped in his amazing agility. Aharav and those behind him were not so fortunate. There was a major collision, and within ten seconds half the squad was lying on the ground in an unorderly pile. As the hordebeasts started to pick themselves up, Rainjaw leapt from the ground and attempted to escape the sure wrath of the other soldiers for his stupidity. He wasn't quick enough. Ryach Karin almost instantly had him by the collar holding the fox up to match his own gaze. "State your name, rank, and position," the weasel spat out contemptously. The fox whimpered and croaked his answer in a dry voice. "Xion Rainjaw, private, forward swordebeast, captain sir. And may I extend my most 'umble apologies for placing myself in the middle of the flamin' grass and-" "Shut yer trap, you blithering idiot! You're obviously a deserter and a traitor, aren't you?" Ryach hissed, shaking the fox angrily. He dropped the pathetic vermin to the ground and cowled up into a little heap. Captain Ryach Karin turned to face his men. "What do all of you think? How shall he be punished for these crimes?" The vermin all smiled in unison, whispering for a few seconds before calling out.
"Slavery!"
"Yeah, make 'im a lowly slave!"
"Fool like him deserves no better!"
The fox began sobbing at this point, throwing himself at the Captain's feet. "No, sir! Please, I beg ye! I don't wanna be a slave! Mercy!" Ryach Karin smiled wickedly at the pathetic form clutching his leg. "Oh, you shall be my slave all right. From now on, you serve my every will, day and night. Your only purpose in life as of this moment is to make sure I always have everything I wish for." Xion Rainjaw screamed and started sobbing louder and Karin's words. "No! No...please...no..." and he broke off into sobs. Ryach Karin kicked the fox away, losing interest quickly. "Stand up and step lightly, slave. You'll march with the rest of us. And don't even think about escaping. You don't stand a chance running from me. I always hunt to kill." At that Captain Ryach and his men continued their march, the blubbering Xion Rainjaw following behind.

From the top of the hill, Zarreth Rahn watched silently as Karin and his party marched through the blood-stained grass to reach the main encampment. He could smell the weasel all the way from there, and he did not like what he found in the scent. Hints of mutiny floated invisibly around Ryach Karin, though he may not have known it. That was one thing Rahn kept secret: his ability to sense thoughts and emotions through smell and sound. Few fully realized the extent of a Greywolf's power, fewer still understood just how strong and subtle that power could be. Voices crowded Rahn's head. His primitive wolf instincts howled savagely at him to rush forward and tear apart the weasel, to feast upon his flesh and drink his blood, to make a true example of him to other potential traitors. Zarreth pushed back the voices and attempted to clear his swirling barbaric thoughts. Another thing few know about wolves. Their first and foremost instinct in life was to kill. Zarreth Rahn fought a constant struggle for sanity.

By the time Captain Ryach Karin and his men reached the top of the hill, seemingly the entire army was gathered to observe what events might take place upon this night. When his squad had completely grouped at the top, Ryach strode forth with chilling boldness to face Zarreth Rahn, who was standing not twenty feet away, staring coldly but not moving a muscle. When Karin reached the five foot mark, he stopped and returned Rahn's stare. Silence took the entire encampment. The wolf towered at least five feet above the weasel, but Ryach still managed to look forbidding and powerful. Hardly anyone breathed. After what seemed like an eternity, Ryach spoke, loud enough so that all could hear, speaking the words of the ancient vows. "I hereby declare my right of appointment as High Captain of the Greywolf's horde. I will therefore now select five soldiers whom I deem fit to be ranked commanding officers of this army. By my rights, I give the opportunity to anybeast present to challenge me for my rightful authority. That challenge extends to you as well, Warlord Rahn." Tension spread through the army at the speed of light as the fur on Zarreth Rahn's back rose up on end and the Warlord's eye went red in hate. Yet he made no move. All was silent once more as Karin still stood proud and regal in sharp contrast to the near-raging Rahn. After another eternity, the wolf stepped forward unexpectedly and raised himself high, to the full extent of his size and strength. It was an awesome sight, the huge powerful beast showing his full might against the light of the pale blue moon. Then he roared his answer to Ryach Karin. "As supreme Warlord, I restrict you from that right, weasel. From this day forth, let this be known: you are no longer captain, but are now stripped of rank and placed as a lowly hordebeast." The army gasped almost as one. No one had expected Rahn to refuse Karin to this extent! Ryach's expression did not change however. Rather, his evil blue eyes went cold as darkest night in the heart of winter. He pulled forth a long curved dagger from his chest-belt and held it outstretched, only a foot away from the wolf's heart. "And I say this in response, Zarreth. I hereby do not recognize your authority to demote me in this unprecedented fashion. I call you to force me into obedience. In any case, I will continue in the choosing of the new captains." The gasps and cries of astonishment grew louder. Ryach Karin had rejected, actually rejected the authority of the mighty Zarreth Rahn! Never before had anyone of any rank done such a thing. It was unthinkable! To actually reject the words of the single most powerful creature in all the known world was catastrophic! The colossal wolf growled through his teeth at Ryach as he spoke. "So be it. For the moment, I reserve judgment. But when the time comes, I will bring the punishment down on you like a plague from Hades! This I swear, as ruler of all Eastlands and as macronis wolvan. The warning is given."



"And so it was done. The defiance was made, and the judgment had not fallen. The world was changing, and impossible events swept across its surface like waves in the sea. Tides of Power were flooding the earth, and none could stop them, save those who first created them..." - Grissoul, prophetess and seer of the Juskarath, A.W.R. 260


Chapter 3

The following year was chaos. The rage of Zarreth Rahn was so powerfully unleashed that even Ryach Karin dared not to challenge him. The Wolf Lord entered a rampage, a rapid march of vast destruction and carnage, killing anybeasts who were unfortunate to be in the path of his fury. West, he began to travel. Always further west, killing, destroying, looting, and pillaging. The numbers of his horde began to swell, as thousands upon thousands of vermin flocked to his banner rather than face their inevitable death. Prophets and seers, primarily the foxes, began to have visions and foretellings of a black cloud reaking with death, a cloud that covered the skies of the entire world in darkness. And all this time, General Karin watched and waited. He was never idle. Rahn's anger and hatred swelled to the point where he could not even see the obvious treacheries Karin performed. The weasel managed to subdue a very large number of hordebeasts to follow him as leader. By the end of the year, far more were loyal to him than to Zarreth. And finally, the day of confrontation began.
It was raining that day, and the sun was blotted out by dark thunder clouds. A perfect stage for the storm that would follow. Rahn was in a fit, throwing things out of his tent, smashing chairs, and killing any creatures that came near him. It was then that Ryach made his move. He was not afraid. General Karin knew no fear. Rather, he was almost, but not quite, excited. Rarely did he allow himself a smile, but he smiled that morning as he fitted his knifebelt over his shoulder. Twenty-four knives and two gold-hilted daggers, forged in the halls of a master and sharpened as the finest steel. He intended to use every single blade.
Captain Aharav the Sabre was at his side as he began the solemn march toward the Wolf Lord's tent. As they walked, crowds of hordebeasts began to form near, but not to close, to Rahn's tent. By the time Ryach and Aharav arrived, there were a good two thousand troops gathered mottly around the area. Following the plan they had discussed, Aharav stopped short about thirty paces from the tent while Karin walked on. Nearby vermin cringed as they heard they sound of furniture being smashed within the Wolf Lord's tent. The weasel general didn't seem to notice. He simply walked up directly in front of the closed entrance and drew one of his golden-hilted, ruby-crusted daggers. He neatly slice down the entire front of the tent. The only sound heard in the entire camp was the slow rip. An instant later the hulking Rahn charged out of the tent roaring in anger. Ryach neatly leapt aside and was ten paces away before anyone could blink. He chuckled softly. "You've gotten old, Zarreth. Too old, I would say, to be a match for me." The wolf roared again, even louder than the first time, and charged at the weasel, teeth bared and snarling. Almost immediately he grunted and stopped, massive paws on his chest. As he moved a paw aside, the crowd gasped at the deadly knife protruding from his heart, blood pouring out rapidly down his torso. He looked up at Ryach Karin, his eyes glazed a hazy red. The weasel stood leaning against a wooden pole, spinning a dagger in his hands. One blade was missing from the front of his knife-belt. He smiled grimly, mocking the wolf. "You've seen the end, fool wolf. I hope there's a special place in Hades waiting for you. Devil knows you deserve it." His smile faltered slightly as Rahn yanked the knife from his chest and howled at the sky, rain mixing with the blood spilling everywhere. He began charging again, limping heavily this time. Another knife flew forward into the same location as the last. The Wolf Lord still charged. Ryach's smile fell from his face completely. Knife after knife struck in Rahn's chest, till there was barely any fur visible beneath the metal. Still the wolf charged. But as the fourteenth knife found its mark, Zarreth stumbled and fell to the ground. The thud was so loud it could be heard for nearly a mile. Ryach Karin's smile slowly returned to his face as he leisurely walked up to the dying wolf. He pulled forth his dagger once more and leaned down so his mouth was close to Rahn's ear. In a wicked voice barely above a whisper, he said, "Goodbye, Zarreth. I now deal the judgment to you that was intended for me." He thrusted the dagger between Rahn's shoulder blades. The wolf's breathing stopped. Warlord Ryach Karin slowly stood up to face the horde. "Hail, my Corpsemakers! A new era has began. We shall finish what I started years ago, and with our power will shake the very foundations of the world!" Cheers arose throughout the camp. Thousands of vermin took up a shouting chant that caused the earth nearby to tremor. "HAIL TO OUR WARLORD, KARIN THE DEATHBLADE!!! WE MARCH FORTH AS CORPSEMAKERS, HAIL TO THE DEATHBLADE!!!" A new Era had indeed begun. Where the Hordes of the Wolf once stood, now stood the Legions of Death: the Corpsemakers!

Light snow began to fall instead of rain as Xion Rainjaw cautiously emerged from behind the tent wall after the crowd had left to their duties. If Ryach discovered he was not polishing his daggers as he had been told, the weasel would most likely kill him. Not to mention the fact that Xion intended to run away. For two months he had planned his escape, and he had planned well. He carried his sack of provisions on his shoulder and he half-crawled from his hiding place. This was his chance! No one was in sight! As the fox moved along the muddy terrain, he spotted the fly-covered corpse of Rahn, which Warlord Karin had left as a mockery of the wolf. Xion began to form an idea in his wily brain. His mind whirled at amazing speeds as he came up with a plan for a new identity. He would make himself a horde-leader! Yes, that's it. He would start out by rallying what few friends he could find anywhere, then set out as a thief. Who knows? Before long, he might command a small army if he kept recruiting new vermin. It was proposterous, of course. What chance did a runaway slave have at leadership? But he wanted to try anyway. And seeing the corpse, it gave him a brilliant idea. Quietly, he pulled out the small knife he had managed to steal and began his work. The smell nearly drove him away, but he was too determined to let it stop him. He carefully cut along the wolf's hide until he had completely skinned it. He held up the bloodied skin to gaze at it proudly, then stuffed it into his provision bag for until he could wash it. It barely fit, and it hadn't occured to him just how heavy the wolf's skin was. By this time, the light snowfall had nearly turned into a storm. Xion had to hurry before he froze in the knee-deep drifts nearly covering the wolf's remaining skeleton. The fox had turned around to leave, then changed his mind and turned back. Using the knife and the claws on the wolfskin, he pried the skull off of Zarreth's remains. That was enough for him now. He stood up, brushed the snow off his tunic, and broke off in a run, intending to put as many miles between himself and the camp as possible before nightfall. As he ran, he snickered and recited an old poem.


"The fox that lives and runs away Lives to run another day!"

After his little ditty, he began fantasizing once more. He would need a new name, doubtless many beasts knew of Xion Rainjaw, personal slave to Ryach Karin. He began playing with words in his mind. "Jurgo, no not evil enough...Orgaer...Wevren, no, something else...Urgru, hmm....Urgan, maybe....backwards...Nagru. Ah, that's it! Urgan! Nagru! Ugran Nagru, hee hee, I'm evil backwards and forwards. And so Urgan Nagru ran off into the snow-covered wilderness, little aware that two crafty eyes were watching him all the while.


Chapter 4

Morbazan's burning eyes did not miss a thing. He was fully aware of what transpired on the distant hills. Judging by the sounds of battle in the earlier day and the wild celebration, he would wager beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was an insurrection. A new leader had taken control of the horde. No matter. Such small happenings did not affect the designs of Morbazan. His eyes slitted as he turned away from his viewpoint upon the center turrent of Gul'Daniah, that bleak and phantom Fortress of Death that few mortals ever gazed upon. Fewer still survived the sight.
Morbazan swept his ash-colored cloak behind him as he swiftly descended the spiral stairway, leaving trails of hazy mist behind him. Pathetic wretches!He thought of the vermin. They swept across the world like a wave of power, conquering and destroying other fools who happened to be weaker than themselves. They believed themselves to be so great, so mighty upon the face of the earth. Bah! They were like flies before Morbazan, minor annoyances to be swatted away. His plans would transpire as he intended, regardless of this new warlord's intentions.
As he reached the bottom of his Fortress, two of his Asha'ah approached him, pale heads bowed reverently. "Master, your Darkspies have returned from the camp of the Horde. They are most...eager to meet with you. They claim you will be highly pleased with what they wish to say." Morbazan's eyes showed a small hint of surprise for a second. What news could his shadowy scouts carry that they would actually be eager to meet with their master, whom they feared more than death itself. "Fine. You have my leave to go," he said to the Asha'ah, his eternal servants. They were bound to him through an ancient pact, a seal that could never be broken, which they had originally submitted to from lust of power. Now, because of that lust, they would forever be his slaves in life and death. The grave was no hinderance to Morbazan. Rather, it was his ally.

Silvamorde the vixen chuckled at the singing fox tramping away through the snow as fast as his bony legs would carry him. She had already concocted a method to make a fair bit of gold out of the situation. She waited for him to come within three feet of her hiding place behind a boulder before she lept out directly in front of him. The fox yelled and began running the opposite direction, but Silvamorde was too quick for him. She had him pinned to the ground before he had taken five steps. "Please!" He whimpered. "Don't 'urt me! I beg you, m-madam! Let me go!" Silvamorde laughed in his face. She held his throat with one paw while she produced a wicked dagger with the other. "What a fool you are, slave. Skipping away in the snow like you were having a Sunday picnic and leaving a trail of pawprints that a blind rat could follow! In all my years as a thief, I've never encountered such a worthless victim. Now, what is your name?" The fox whimpered as Silvamorde pressed the dagger harder against his neck. "Xio- Urgan Nagru, milady. I swear I don't have no valuables!" Silvamorde shook her head in disdain. The fox was a terrible liar. "Unless I've gone senile and deaf, that's not your true name and you are carrying enough stolen treasures to fill a king's purse. Am I right?" The fox seemed to fidget for a moment, and looked as if he was about to whine again when suddenly he kicked Silvamorde over his head and had her pinned at the point of his sword in half a second. When he spoke, his voice sounded hard and cruel. "You are far less intelligent than you think, vixen. And unless I've gone senile and deaf, you are not a thief, since a thief would not be so stupid as to leave my legs unpinned. You are but a young upstart separated from her tribe. And a former healer's apprentice, by the look of your necklace charm. Am I right? Now, I will have your name, if you please." Silvamorde smiled, looked at the sword aimed for her lower neck, then looked up again at the fox. "My apologies for my behavior, sir. My name is Silvamorde, and most of your guesses are correct. If you don't mind me being so blunt, now that you have the upperhand, what are you going to do with me?" The fox smiled and eased the sword up a bit. He was beginning to like this vixen's insolent yet crafty manner. "Well, since I can't very well leave you to alert the army of my escape, which you've obviously witnesses, I believe I'll have to take you with me. Shall I bring you tied up like a wrapped fish, or can I trust you to obey my orders. I have a fealing a partnership between the two of us would be...profitable." Silvamorde's smile grew wider. "I swear to follow and obey you, good sir." The fox smiled back at her. "Then call me Urgan."

Aharav was uneasy, and he knew something was wrong. Over the years he had learned to trust his rare emotions, as they almost always proved to be for a good reason. If he was uneasy and unsettled, something...undesirable was going to happen. He dared not spoil Ryach's mood by telling him so; the new Warlord was busy having his own personal celebration in his tent. Aharav would deal with the matter himself. He decided the best course of action would be to simply act wary and set his companions on higher alert than usual. He wasted to time in approaching the Captain of Defense, one appointed by Karin on that day when he had first defied Zarreth Rahn openly. He went up and whispered into the stoat's ear. "Set the guards on high alert, Hurim. Something is not right." The Captain nodded without a word and went to follow the ferret's command. Most the entire army trusted Aharav the Saber completely, knowing him to be exceedingly wise and cunning, if not dangerous at times. As Aharav turned to walk away, something very strange caught his eye. A colossal black citadel towering above the land seemed to materialize out of nowhere in the distant hills, then was suddenly gone, as if it had never existed. The ferret blinked his eyes and shook his head, then looked once more to see if he was having hallucinations. The fortress was nowhere in sight. Aharav felt shivers rack his body as a wave of anxiety swept over him. Every one of his instincts told him that what he had seen was connected with the danger approaching the horde. As he stood staring at the location where the fortress had appeared, something very strange happened. Though the sun was shining and not a cloud was in the sky, a massive shadow was spreading over the plains. At first it was only about fifty feet in diamater, but then it seemed to rapidly grow and spread, looking to enroach the entire land. Aharav eyes widened in amazement and fear as mist, black mist rose from the shadow and swept into the sky, darkening the sun and rapidly blotting light. Something snapped within him, and he ran as fast as possible to the tent of Ryach Karin. The uneasy feeling had left his body. Now he felt only cold terror.

Ryach Karin emerged from his tent to the sight of chaos and the sounds of fighting. Thousands of black-robed, sinewy creatures were swarming throughout the camp, slaughtering his troops even as they armed themselves. Instant rage filled his mind at the prospect of an enemy attack on the very day he became Warlord. His eyes slitted as Aharav ran up and quickly reported what he had witnessed. Karin didn't say a word, but turned back into his tent and emerged almost immediately wearing his knife-belt. He pulled both of the long gold-hilted daggers and spun them in his hands with a master's skill as he strode silently into the melee, lashing out nearly invisible at the grotesque shadow creatures. Aharav quickly followed his example and lept to join him, saber whirling in a cyclone of death. The sky turned black above the battleground, and a new war began that day upon the Eastern Plains.


Chapter 5

Ryach's strength was beginning to fail him. His arms were weary from constant stabbing motion, and he was close to the point of being driven down. These dark warriors seemed numberless, pouring over the hills by the thousands. No matter how many he killed, more flooded in to take their places, and all the while his Corpsemakers were being slaughtered by the score. There had to be some way to stop this creatures! Suddenly the weasel felt a searing pain in his left shoulder. He turned to see a black arrow burrowed deeply into his flesh. He had to fight hard to keep from crying out in pain. The arrow was poisoned! He could feel the instant sickness spreading throughout his body. As he stumbled to the ground, his strength draining rapidly, he saw his his attacker. It was huge robed beast standing on a small hillock twenty feet away, similar to all the others, except that this one was at least 3 feet taller than all the rest! It held in its skeletaly thin paws a sinister longbow, arrow notched and ready to fire. As the shaft penetrated Ryach's chest just under his heart, everything went black. The last thing Ryach saw was Aharav, launching himself at the gigantic creature, his saber reflecting the billowing clouds of darkness.

When the warlord awoke, he found himself lying on his back in total darkness upon what felt to be a smooth stone floor. His body felt as if it had been torn apart and pieced back with great haste. Every joint in his body was ablaze in a fire of pain, and every muscle seemed racked to the tearing point. Ryach attempted to sit up, but immediately fell back as searing torment overwhelmed him. He let a soft groan escape his swollen lips. It was a mistake. The feel of air through his throat brought more pain, and he realized for the first time how utterly thirsty he was. Thinking of thirst led him to realize his hunger. How long had he been unconscious? Why was he not dead from the poisoned arrow? As he pondered these things, he suddenly felt a change in the room. The air had suddenly grown very cold, and impossibly enough, the room seemed to become even darker. He shivered as he heard a soft rustling noise, like that of a snake slithering through a bed of grass. The thought of a snake brought a new fear to his panicked mind, and he shivered rapidly. Though not because of the cold. Suddenly a cold paw touched his left shoulder, exactly on the spot where the first arrow had found its mark. Ryach Karin was unprepared for the instant greater pain that filled his body. He screamed in terror, his body convulsing upon the cold stone. Such torment! Never in his life had he experienced such pain as this! He had taken great wounds, enough to kill any lesser creature, and he had endured in silence. Nothing had ever compared to this. The claws began to dig into his flesh, and the pain grew even worse. Searing, scourging, gorging. Every imaginable type of pain filled him. He screamed even louder, and suddenly it was too much. Everything went black once more.

Aharav was panting hard as he finished off the gigantic creature. For nearly half an hour he had been fighting with this horror of a creature. At first he had taken it by surprise, cutting off its left lower arm and giving it a gash along the side of its body. Yet the beast had shown no pain. It had almost immediately thrown away its bow and produced a sinister half-moon blade axe from its cloak and engaged Aharav in bloody combat. Aharav had proved to be the better warrior, though the creature had not died easy. Its strength and stamina had seemed limitless, shrugging off every blow inflicted upon it. Finally Aharav, relying on all his ferret cunning, had feinted perfectly and neatly sliced off the creature's head. As he turned to aid his warlord Ryach, he was dismayed to see there was no trace of him. No time to think. He was quickly involved in fighting three of the smaller dark creatures.

Morbazan watched in cold pleasure as his Asha'ah tortured the weasel. What a pathetic creature! And this was the leader of the hordes. The battle would last no more than a few more hours before the wretched vermin could no longer withstand his dark minions. No one could match his power. In all his thousands of years as ruler of Gul'Daniah, he had never suffered a single defeat. Never. Morbazan was distracted from his thoughts as the weasel let out an especially loud cry, and then fell silent. What a pity. He would have to wait for it to wake up once more. Small matter. Time had no meaning within his Black Citadel. The battle on the hills had gone on for years, or mere seconds, as far as he was concerned.

Urgan Nagru and Silvamorde studied the fortress carefully. Curiously, they had not even seen it until it loomed directly in front of them. Silvamorde shivered. The blackened stone of the walls filled her with inexplicable cold fear, and she did not like it. Fear was not something she felt very often. She watched Urgan as he placed his paw upon the stone and ran it along edgewise. He was wearing the wolfskin over his body, the skull resting upon his head and the claws protruding from the ends of his arms. He looked far more fearsome and deadly in this new attire than when he wore the simple slave's tunic. He was also very handsome. Silvamorde found herself wondering what he thought of her. Did he find her beautiful? Merely attractive even? Silvamorde had never had a mate, but if she were asked by Urgan to be his own, how would she respond? He had made her sleep twenty paces away from him on the previous night, but he had seemed slightly hesitant. Suddenly she realized what she was thinking and shook her head to clear her mind of such thoughts. What was she doing? She was a sly and intelligent vixen, not one to fall lovestruck and bedazzled by a handsome face. Yet he was such an attractive and wonderfully cunning young beast, in his mid-twenties she guessed.
She continued to watch him silently as he bent low and sniffed the mist-covered grass. He startled her by growling viciously and leaping up from the ground. "Death. Decay. This entire place smells of nothing but death and decay. Let's get out of here quickly." Silvamorde did not object to this. She very much wanted to put as much distance between herself and this citadel as possible. Suddenly she heard what sounded like a soft rustling noise behind her. The vixen whirled around and screamed as a hideous misshapen creature launched itself at her neck, clawing and biting and hissing ferociously. Urgan was at her side in a second, scouring the creature deeply with the claws of the wolfskin. In just a few seconds the thing lay dead upon the ground at their feet. Silvamorde's paws flew to her neck, feeling deep gorges and tear-marks along her entire upper body. Her paws were red and dripping as she drew them away. She looked slowly up at Urgan. "My sack...Use the herbs...in....my sack. The red forkstongue...root...only thing that can heal this." She collapsed upon the ground in a bloody heap.


Chapter 6

Aharav the Saber stealthily limped away from the raging battle within his Warlord's camp. Time was running out. Defeat was invevitable. His only reasonable course of action was to make an attempt to locate and rescue his leader. For what seemed like hours he walked, half-dragging his wounded leg as he began to pant. He wondered how much longer he could go on like this, wandering blindly within the cold, deathly mists. For all he knew, he was walking in endless circles. But he would never give up. That was against his nature. The ferret was made of frozen steel, harder than anybeast alive. He would never give in to defeat, even at the point of death. Suddenly the mist disappeared and Aharav found himself merely a few strides away from Urgan Nagru, leaning over a seemingly unconscious vixen. It was difficult to tell who was more surprised, the ferret or the fox. Aharav reacted quickly, however, and leaped the distance between himself and Urgan, thrusting his saber just an inch away from Urgan's shocked face. "My, my my. What have we here?" the ferret hissed under his breath. "I believe I have found runaway slave and what appears to be his new mate." Urgan didn't move as Aharav circled him slowly, taking in the full measure of the fox. He tapped the wolf skull with his saber point. "What an intriguing attire you have, Xion. I must say I am most impressed. I didn't believe you had the gall to do something to devious as strip the hide from your dead warlord. I would have thought you too much of a coward for that." The fox snarled and bared his teeth, but Aharav quickly had the saber against his throat. "Don't attempt anything, slave, or I'll see to it that your pain is far worse once I return you to Warlord Karin. Unfortunately, that return must wait a bit. You see, our camp is currently engaged in battle, and our Warlord has been taken prisoner by the enemy. You wouldn't happen to know of his whereabouts, would you?" To Aharav's mild surprise, Urgan laughed aloud and shook his head, turning to look at the ferret for the first time.
"Fool. For being Ryach's right paw, you certainly are an idiot. Or perhaps you've gone blind in my absence." The fox continued to chuckle as he pointed directly behind him. Aharav turned to look, keeping his saber pointed at Urgan's throat. He nearly dropped it out of shock when he saw the fortress. It was colossal, a towering citadel with towers stretching beyond view into the unnatrually dark sky. The fox laughed at the expression on Aharav's face.
"I'd bet my left paw that's where they've taken your puny leader. You might as well go back to the army, ferret. You don't stand half a chance trying to get into that place." He turned back to the ground where the vixen lay as he began to wrap a bandage and strange red herb around a deep gash in her shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to aiding Silvamorde. She really is a lovely one, isn't she? I don't want her to die just yet." Aharav whirled around, the shock gone from his face. He eyed Urgan for a moment more before speaking. "Indeed. Perhaps you do possess some measure of intelligence." Urgan cocked an eyebrow and paused from his bandaging as the ferret continued to speak. "I wonder if you would be interested in a proposition of mine, fox. As you can see, I'm slightly wounded and I'm in no real condition to be storming a fortress on a rescue mission, much less keep my saber at your throat all the while." Urgan smiled. "Go on."
Aharav withdrew his saber and sheathed it in his belt. "Suppose we make a deal. If you'll give me your aid in finding and rescuing Warlord Karin, I'll ensure that you go free and that no one is sent to hunt you down. Do we have a bargain?" With one paw on his belt, the ferret stretched out the other to the fox. Urgan looked warily at it for a moment, then shook it firmly.
"Very well, ferret. I'll join you in your mission as soon as I've taken Silvamorde to a safe place. But I warn you: don't even think about double-crossing me! I'm not the cringing slave you once knew." Aharav smiled darkly to himself as Urgan turned his back and walked off toward the west, the vixen held gently in his arms.

Ryach was near unconsciousness once more. The toturer was showing him no mercy as he lanced the weasel's body with searing pain. The Warlord's thoughts whirled in utter chaos at the unbearable torment. Concentrate. He had to concentrate. He could not be broken like this! He was Ryach Karin, Lord of Corpsemakers and unchallenged Ruler of the Eastplains. He could NOT let himself go down! Something snapped within the weasel's mind. He roared in fury and launched himself from the cold stone at the torturer, snapping ropes with strength brought on from sheer adrenaline. His claws went around the huge creature's neck, and almost instantly there was a loud CRACK and a scream of agony from the torturer as he fell to the floor in a mangled heap.
Morbazan watched through the panel of the prison door in complete shock as the weasel tore off the last of the ropes from his footpaws and threw himself at the wooden door, pouding with unbelievable strength. The Lord of Gul'Daniah swiftly moved to the side as the former prisoner smashed it down and tore off into the dark hallways with tremendous speed. Morbazan seethed inwardly with cold anger. "GUARDS! After him! Find him and kill him immediately!"




This book is not done yet, please be patient and i will print more when the next chapter is done.