Disclaimer: All Redwall characters do not belong to me, they are the property of Brian Jacques :)
Chapter 1: Servants Fail
A silent figure, cloaked cleverly in a dark hooded cape, trudged along a merchant's path in Mossflower. The shadows of the trees were his friends, the bright sun shining through the few and far between gaps in the foliage above his foe. Not that the fox beneath the black cloth expected to go unnoticed. Rather, Flame mused, he relished in the fact that he wouldn't. Rumor had it in one of the numerous local taverns he had visited (probably while he was still a little tipsy from the one before) that Cluny the Scourge was about. The rat leader intrigued him. The bounty on the vermin's head even more so.
Flame's memory stirred, but he suppressed it. If only he had had all that money when his brother was wounded by that brawny squirrel.. But no. He forced the memory into the back of his mind, and instead tried to focus on what he could do with the money NOW. Like, buy a new place. Fine dining. Funny how all those luxuries didn't seem to matter when you saw the light leave your only remaining blood-relative's eyes, even as you begged for the healers to treat him when they knew you could never pay them back. Only a good beer could solve that problem.
Then he remembered. At least part of the money would go to the gypsies. His friends there needed it. How else were they to afford diamond necklaces for their wives? Flame couldn't help a small snort of disgust. Married couples. Yuck.
A patch of sunlight. Flame grimaced, snarling up at the hot sun. The light made his hangover worse. However, at the same time, the sun rejuvenated him. The heat of it's beams gave Flame new strength in his resolve. Yes. He would find this Cluny, and then..
Ugh...
Flame's thoughts were cut short as his mind pulsed with pain, and he knew it was one of his times again. The world around him began to blur.
Must.. Sit.. Down..
He limped to the nearest tree, and his back crashed into the rough bark before sinking slowly to the ground. Flame held his throbbing head with one paw, knowing he couldn't avoid the pain that would soon come. He couldn't contain it any longer, the hurt was coming.
Flame frantically grasped at the only other living thing he could find, a flower (refusing to die in the autumn air) that had managed to grow on the edge of the shadows on the forest floor, with his free paw.
An image began to grow, consuming him like a wild forest fire. A male arctic fox, crawling through a blizzard somewhere up North. The fox was wounded, a gash in his side the most predominant cut. A trail of red stretched for hundreds of yards, parts of it almost covered by snow. Still, the fox struggled. The fire ran up and down Flame's limbs, and he felt a sudden pain in his side. Looking down, he found his side had been split open. Blood and guts gushed from the wound. In pain, he squeezed his eyes shut. Abruptly, the pain stopped. The image was gone.
Flame opened his eyes cautiously, not surprised to find the gash gone, nor the dead flower that hung limp in his paw. At least the flower's life force had cushioned the pain. He glanced absently at the newly drained tree. Funny how trees never fully died, just weakened. Sighing and wearied, Flame rose shakily. Sometimes, directly after, he wished he was gifted otherwise (or burdened, which was a far better word to describe such.. Fits). It was just the price he had to pay to see the look of weariness leave their faces. For that, he would take the pain three times over.
He pulled the hood back over his face, a bit gingerly, as his ears were still ringing. He was just in time. Flame could hear the scouts long before he could see them. Something about rats and the way they snapped every twig within a 100 mile radius of them and then some made them easily detected.
Flame resumed his trek, setting himself a brisk pace. Doubts clouded his mind. What if they weren't the right rats? What if Cluny wasn't in Mossflower after all? He HAD been drunk in the tavern, was there not a possibility that he didn't hear that fat old ferret correctly?
While Flame was so preoccupied with these thoughts, three rats leaped from the shadows. Flame barely had enough time to draw his one-handed sword, his pride and joy, before the first rat was within gutting distance. Flame swung, his blade whistling through the air. The sound was so sweet for that brief period of time, the sickening sound of steel slicing through flesh that followed seemed like an impossibility. The fox was brought back to the reality of the situation as his attacker's severed head rolled upon the forest floor and another rat, a brown one this time (unlike the late grey vermin), swung his cutless at Flame's head.
If not for his reflexes, Flame would surely have been dead. However, he ducked just in time, and the cutless met only air. Twisting towards his assailant, Flame's knee connected with the rat's stomach. The rat crumpled, and Flame's blade was in the rat's heart before the vermin hit the ground. About then, Flame spied a tattered piece of fabric, a seaman's hankerchief, peeking out of the rat's right breast pocket. He had heard that Cluny's rats were also pirates.. Besides, there was no reason a simple mugger would carry such a thing so far inland.
Flame gasped in realization. He was fighting Cluny's horde! He was so close!
In one quick movement, Flame sheathed his sword and drew a dagger. He disarmed the third rat with ease, holding the dagger to his throat.
"Who sent you? Why are you attacking me?" he snarled, flashing his teeth menacingly. Go ahead. Explain. Even though I already know.
"I.. I.. I don't know what you're talking about!" the terrified rat stammered.
"I don't believe you," Flame whispered, grinning like a madbeast. He increased his pressure on the rat's throat, ever so slowly, until the rat began whimpering in pain.
Flame shivered as his gift began to kick in, his carefully constructed touch barriers beginning to give way. He quickly eased up on the rat's neck, the pain fading away.
"I'll tell you," the rat choked out, "Just please, don't kill me!"
"Fine. Tell me what you know."
The rat gulped. "I come from the camp of Cluny the Scourge. He sent me and the others to keep merchants from getting into Redwall, which Chief is busy besieging."
"Where is the camp?"
The rat pointed westwards, speechless. Flame released him, and the vermin dropped to the ground with a thud.
"I suggest that you NOT go back to camp," Flame sneered, "If you get my drift." The rat's eyes widened. He scampered away as quickly as his paws would carry him, heading East, in the exact opposite direction of Cluny's camp. Supposedly.
Hmmm. Intriguing. The servant so easily deserts his master..
Flame turned, his cape billowing backwards in the cold western wind. Confidently, he strode out in the direction of the camp of Cluny the Scourge.