"Ohbuggerbuggerbuggerbugger…"
A pair of light brown footpaws splashed through the puddles forming on the moist soil. Rain pounded down into the earth, soaking beast and plant alike. Over the constant swearing and panting, war cries and whoops echoed through the copse. Frantically, the pursued creature gulped air in and tried to pick up speed. He'd never been a good runner, in speed or endurance. Have me hold the entrance to a cave or something, he gasped, ducking under a low-hanging branch. I could do that. No sweat. No running.
The roaring of his hunters grew nearer. "Damn," he hissed, and dove behind a drenched log, throwing himself flat. His dirty brown fur blended in with the soil, and he tucked his tail under his body to hide it—brushes didn't appear in nature. Shivering, he held his breath and waited.
The war cries had grown fainter over the past few minutes, eventually stopping altogether. The trampling of at least a dozen footpaws had faded and stopped. The hidden beast exhaled gratefully and slowly stood up.
Flicking water from his pointed ears, the fox grinned to himself. Safe at last. Damn the Long Patrol! They caught sight of one lone fox going about his travels and they were down on him like a ton of…a ton of…rectangular building pieces.
Hunched over slightly, the fox shivered once more. He had never owned a tunic, just a pair of pants. Now, he regretted it. So bloody cold. There had to be a hollow or something he could stay in until the downpour ceased.
Creeping forward, he bumped right into a Long Patrol hare.
"Oh, bugger."
Panicking, the fox shoved the hare out of the way and took off running once more. Two more hares materialized out of the gloom, swords drawn. Drat. Wrong way. The fox turned and saw more hares emerging from their hiding places, weapons upraised. He was surrounded.
Nowhere to go…but up.
Leaping into the air, the fox grabbed a branch and quickly pulled himself up. Squatting on the thick oak bough, he drew his sword, a wavy-edged flamberge, and laughed.
"Yaaaah, missed me," he taunted, sticking his tongue out childishly.
"Hello," someone whispered. The fox turned to see a grey blur zip forward and hit him in the head with a long stick. The blow sent the fox tumbling to the ground with a thud. His sword followed, burying itself half the blade length in the ground.
A gray squirrel, twirling the stick, nimbly dropped to the ground. "You're welcome, Captain."
"I say, you squirrels of the Stick are pretty handy in woods and such, wot?" commented a hare. Dazed, the fox shook his head to clear his vision. Let's not do that again, broomtail. Stay out of the bloody trees. Groaning, he started to push himself up.
A bladepoint pricked his throat. The fox froze. Okay, we'll just stay here.
"Keep y'blade on that ruffian, Windpaw," a hare commented, stepping into the center of the circle. Other than the Long patrol insignia on his tunic, the hare had no medals or symbols of rank. A humble hare? The fox scoffed inwardly. That's a real wossname. Oxymoron. Or just a moron.
"Can I get up now?" the fox asked, eyeing the blade. "And does it really take all thirteen of you to stop just one of me?"
"All right, let him up," the oxymoron hare relented. "And better safe than sorry, old bean. What do they call you?"
The fox slowly got up, and then yanked his flamberge from the ground, knocking away the rapier at his throat. Instantly, another ten blades encircled him. Only the captain and the squirrel remained motionless. The captain seemed thoughtful, stroking his chin and staring at the fox.
"I'm Bayrd," the fox answered, and then laughed. "What a way to treat innocent travelers. So much for the so-called gallantry of hares."
One of the hares, younger than the others, stiffened. "You shut your mouth, boyo, before I shut it for you!"
"Takes a damn lot of bravery, talking when you've got another dozen backing you up, you liddle worm," Bayrd laughed harshly.
"Bad move," someone whispered. There was a tremor of laughter.
"Sounded like a challenge to me," the young hare cried. "Back off, fellows!"
"Hey, kid, I don't want to kill ya," Bayrd warned, lowering his flamberge. The hare charged, saber raised.
"Then that's your first mistake, laddie buck!"
Easily, the fox sidestepped the attack. These hares were known for finesse when they fought; graceful, but ferocious and completely unafraid. Bayrd, however, was not immune to fear, and if he had the chance, he'd run. He had two options. One was to run like a demon when the hares were distracted. He wouldn't get far, but he might be able to hide a while and they'd lose him.
Second option. Kill this little whelp and take his chances with the wrath of Salamandastron's finest.
Forget the first option. Bayrd was pissed. "Get ready to eat some mud 'n' blood, mate," he growled, and attacked. His flamberge chopped through the air, creating a loud whooshing noise when it missed the young hare's head. He swung again, only to be blocked by the hare's saber. The hare easily blocked his attacks easily, with the movements of a practiced, by-the-book swordsbeast. So the hare had perfect technique. Fine. He didn't need technique.
Bayrd leaped into the air, slashing and kicking at the same time. His sword missed, but his footpaw nailed the hare right on his nose. Before the hare could react, Bayrd punched him in the stomach. As the hare doubled over, the wily fox grabbed him by the neck, lifted him into the air, and brought his flamberge up and into the hare's stomach. The point ripped through his insides and out his lower back with a sickening crunch.
The silent bystanders watched in horror as the stricken young hare coughed blood and went limp. Bayrd let the body slide of the sword, calmly bent down, and wiped the crimson liquid onto the grass. "Shouldn't have let me duel him," he murmured. "I told him."
A shriek of rage sounded through the trees. A female hare, probably a tad older than her dead comrade, dropped her blade and charged at Bayrd. The fox was perplexed. Should he kill her or what? Piss those bloody hares off even more?
He stuck the sword in the ground and sidestepped, neatly tripping the enraged hare. Before he could do anything else, something hit him on the back of the head. He let go of wakefulness and drifted into a dark slumber.
And…the fox awoke.
"Why don't we just kill the cruel blaggard? He slew Furny!"
"No, laddo. Look at him. He's a corsair, or was. The Lady will want to question him. He must have information. Besides, he killed Furny in a duel. 'Twasn't murder."
"He's a vermin, sah!"
Bayrd cracked one eye and looked around, ignoring his throbbing head and cold, wet fur. Hares? What were hares doing here? Why're my paws bound? What happened? Then he remembered, and proceeded to swear to himself.
"And Furny was a hare, Sergeant Abram. And your point is? Get them ready to march. 'Tis only a few hours to Salamandastron."
"Sah…Furny's sister…she wants the fox dead, and then some. I don't know if we can control the poor gel."
"You'd better, Sergeant! Just keep her away from him until we get to the mountain. Then the Lady can have a word in her shell-like ear, wot. We march in five minutes. Dismissed."
"Sah." The sergeant sounded dejected. The other speaker sighed. Bayrd heard him quietly stride over to him. He stopped straining against his bonds and lay still.
"You can just stop that, laddie buck. I know you're awake, wot."
The fox opened his eyes and looked up into the cold eyes of the Long Patrol captain.
"Bayrd, is it? The name's Captain Johnathan Sinistra. Feel free to thank me anytime y'like."
"Thanks?" Bayrd rasped. Good grief, he could use some water. He opened his mouth, letting some rainwater fall in. "What?"
"For letting you live, I should think," Captain Sinistra said admonishingly. "After all, the others wanted to kill you. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't complain, but you'll be useful to the Lady."
"Who?" Monosyllabic answers will work just fine.
"The Badger Lady or Lordess. Lady Halligan. We call her the Lady. And she'll be talking to you quite often on account of you being a corsair, so I'd treat her with the utmost respect. It'll be easier on you, laddo."
"Whaddya mean, 'corsair?'" Bayrd laughed, lying through his teeth. "I've never even seen the sea, Cap'n. Sorry, you've picked the wrong fox. If you're looking for help."
"You don't wear a shirt and your fur is lighter than most hues of brown I've seen, indicating you're accustomed to working in the sunlight. Ye've got heavy calluses on you're bally paws, probably from hauling on the ropes and shivering your timbers and suchlike. You've got scars on your back, right where a whip would hit if the bosun took offense. Last, you know how to handle a blade, and most vermin only have paltry knowledge of that. They don't dominate the weak by skill, they do it by quantity and strength. You're a corsair, m'lad, and don't even think of lying to me or anyone else from here on out or it'll be the worse for you—and since you've already killed one of the Long Patrol, it's not looking good for you anyways."
Bayrd silently gaped at the hare, amazed. Very perceptive, that hare. But of course, he'd never lie, not really. He'd tell stories, full of twists and turns, and those would take the place of reality. No one would know the difference, not even a badger lady and her officers.
"Mooooooooooooove out!"
Two burly hares stalked over, hauled the bound fox upright, and started marching him forward. Deliberately, the fox dug his heels into the soft earth. One of the hares cuffed him around the head—hard. Bayrd saw stars and fire erupt in his eyes. Dropping his gaze, he sighed and started walking. Nearby, Sergeant Abrams shouldered his pike and started bellowing orders.
"Burial detail, treat the casualty with respectah! Two to young Furny, that's the ticketah! Two guards at the prisoner? Good—not you, Private Eleanor! You're with Windpaw, get to the mountain h-and tell them the news and get h-away from that prisoner get movingah! The rest of you, fall in and march! Hwun two hwun two! I'll have your guts for garters h-and that's just for startersah!"
"Guts for garters," Bayrd muttered. One of his guards looked at him quizzically. "Just like that dead hare," the fox continued, smirking. The guard punched him again. Bayrd sagged, struggling to stay conscious. Ye gods, these hares had a punch like an iron bar.
"What's the trouble with that prisonerah?!" screamed the sergeant. "Get him movingah you 'orrible little guards!"
"Yes, sah!" shouted one of Bayrd's guards, and kicked him until he stumbled forward. "Come on, ye bally murderer, less talk and more walk!"
Bayrd groaned and shut his mouth. The damn sergeant knew he was getting beaten up back here, and he wouldn't say a thing.
I hate hares.