Chapter fourteen

To Be a Warlord.

Vaniska could not believe his good fortune. The fates were surely smiling upon the young fox this night. A wicked grin crept across his muzzle as he thought of what the future may bring. He would have a proper army at his command, with the strength and numbers to overcome any force that dared oppose him. Then the smirk broadened as he thought of the vixen Nicara. Vaniska had never really thought much of females before, but this one was different. As he returned to camp he vowed he would have her for his own.

Wayta busied himself sharpening sticks with stones. Since their weapons had been robbed, he tried to make some sort of alternative. He greeted Vaniska, eager to hear any news from the port town.

"Did you find anything else about their numbers? Any more sightings of those accursed weasels?" he eagerly inquired of the fox.

"No, even better, Wayta. I found an ally to our cause, somebeast who will help us raze the place to the ground without starting an alarm. And things will only get better after that."

Rakam the weasel had been listening in on the conversation while he gnawed away at some roots he'd collected for his supper. "What makes you suppose that, Vaniska?" he said doubtfully.

Scowling Rakam's way, Vaniska turned to his ragtag gang, announcing excitedly, "How and why I know these things are for me alone to understand. The rest of you are to lie low until a fox that calls himself Konnal comes to us. When he arrives, be ready to strike."

Lowering his voice, he sneered at Rakam, "I am growing tired of your lack of faith, weasel."

Rakam shrugged and spat out the roots. "Well, I grow tired of living in this squalor, fox." Getting to his feet, he pulled himself up to his full height. "An' I 'ave a feeling I'm not the only one."

A mutter of agreement came from some of the gang.

Smirking, Rackam advanced on Vaniska. "We're sick and tired o' living in filth. Yew promised us food for our bellies and enough plunder for all o' us. And since we started with yew, we haven't seen anythin'. So why should we believe yew, Vaniska? I think it's time for a new leader."

Wayta snarled. "And who are ye suggesting, Rakam? Yerself?"

Turning on Wayta, he nodded. "An' why not? Seems t'me I could do a far better job than Vaniska has."

Vaniska looked upon his gang, concern flooding his features as he saw the nods of agreement. "So ye would follow Rakam instead of me. Rakam, who cowers in the corner and does nothing but complain."

Rakam laughed, turning to his fellow gang member. "And what 'as Vaniska done for us? Are we living the high life? No, we're nothing more than a load of beggars in the streets, worse off than we was when we even started. If I was leader…."

He didn't even get a chance to finish. Wayta crept wordlessly behind Rakam and ran him through with one of his sharpened sticks. The point erupted from the weasel's middle, dark blood oozing down his stained tunic. Pulling the bloodied branch from the weasel's back, he held it aloft for all to see, kicking the corpse aside.

"Anyone else fancy getting lippy this night?" There was not a sound from the assembled creatures. "I didn't think so. Get rid o' that body and wait for this Konnal creature."

Vaniska looked stunned at Wayta, who seemed unfazed by the cold-blooded killing. "Ye didn't have to go to that extreme, Wayta."

"Didn't I? Vaniska, the gang is ripe for a rebellion. Rakam was the first to try anything, but all of them feel the same way. I 'ope for yer sake this scheme of yers works. If not, I won't be around to protect your hide any longer."

Saying nothing more, Wayta went to find himself a comfortable sleeping spot on the ground, leaving Vaniska alone in the cold of night to wonder whether another of Wayta's sticks had his name on it.

It would be a long night for Vaniska. The cold air bit into the young fox's flesh as he curled up wrapped, in his cloak. "Hardly a fitting state for a warlord," he muttered under his breath.

Shutting his eyes tightly, Vaniska tried to think of all the good things that would come to him. More importantly, about the vixen Nicara. Dreaming of riches, the fox slowly drifted into slumber.

…

Sleep was the last thing on Nicara's mind. There was still a lot of work to be done if her plan was to work out accordingly. By the light of a single lantern, Nicara and Konnal plotted up in Nicara's chamber. Konnal still harbored reservations about the vixen's plans, and didn't hesitate to voice his concerns openly.

"Nicara, there is no way you can get rid of your father and this de'Gorge fellow the same day."

"Oh, ye of little faith, Konnal! Not only will I rid myself of them, I will move us off this forsaken coast to a more fitting abode." She smiled wickedly, unclasping the bangles and beaded necklaces she wore and replacing them into their wooden box. "All I have to do is call in a favour or two. When de'Gorge arrives, Father will no doubt invite him to greet me. I want you to steal one of Father's blades and sneak it to my chambers."

Pacing around the chamber, she tried to find a good hiding spot for the weapon. Turning her eyes to the lavish four-post bed with the mountain of silk pillows, she grinned. "Put the blade under the pillows. I'll invite de'Gorge up to my champers for private introductions. I have yet to meet the fox who could resist such an offer."

Konnal snorted lightly, to which the vixen frowned. Ignoring his wordless remarks she continued outlying her plan.

"Once I kill de'Gorge, I need you to collect the body and follow me to Father's study. I will then dispose of Father and we will lay the blame on de'Gorge. Something about him not agreeing with the terms and poisoning him. With his dying breath he slays de'George." Going to a small chest, Nicara took out a scroll. "I've taken the liberty of drafting a new will on Father's behalf, one that will bequeath to me alone all of his holdings."

"That's all well and good, but de' Gorge isn't travelling alone, Nicara."

"That's where that half wit fox comes into it. We'll have him set some of the storehouses on fire and lay the blame on de' Gorge's crew. Once word gets out, the crew won't want to put up a fight; we number far too many for them. They'll put to sea and try to outrun the fleet. This is where I call in a favour. You remember Bittail the Searat, whom I discovered was selling my Father's goods and claiming they were lost at sea?"

Konnal nodded slowly.

"Well, I saved his hide from dangling on the end of a noose so he is greatly indebted to me. I'll have him and his slimy crew bore holes in de'Gorge's ship so that when they try to flee they won't be getting too far. By the time that vessel clears the harbor, she'll be halfway to the sea bed."

"But what if they don't run?"

"Then I'll have my father's creatures kill them then and there. Or if I have to I will cut them down myself. Although, if on the odd chance they don't sail off, I'm sure a visit from a beautiful vixen and a barrel of strong Sampetra rum will please them. Pity the whole lot will be poisoned."

Konnal attempted a laugh, but his mouth had become dry with talk of treachery and destruction.

…

After a barrage of well wishes and congratulations, Tutsan and Peony were finally given the opportunity to retire. The two infant leverets had drifted in and out of sleep during the journey back to their chambers. Peony tucked them into the cradle together and lovingly drew up the blanket. While the new hare mother fussed over their babes, Tutsan went straight to the washbasin. Removing his travel-worn uniform, he washed the grit and grime from his neck and ears. Satisfied with his state of cleanliness, he changed into his nightshirt. Pulling back the blankets on the bed he shared with his wife, Tutsan stretched, smiling at the luxuries of sleeping in his own bed tonight. From where he lay he watched Peony groom herself for bed. She was as beautiful as the day he first was introduced to her. He wondered if she even knew how beautiful she was, as he watched her sitting at the vanity brushing the velvety fur of her ears. The way she fussed over any stray whiskers, the way she twitched her nose as she concentrated. Perhaps she did, perhaps that was why she always took longer getting ready for bed when Tutsan was home.

Smiling her perfect smile, the one that could melt Tutsan and perhaps any other male hare in a heartbeat, she settled into her side of the bed

With a heavy sigh of contentment, Tutsan gazed up at the ceiling and drifted into sleep. But this wasn't to last long, for a short hour later the shrill cry of infants welcomed him to the other joys of parenthood.

…

Nicara had not taken a pause in her preparations to sleep. All her most valuable belongings had carefully been packed up and made ready to move at a moment's notice. She had taken careful inventory of everything in her father's storehouses. Dockpaws were ordered to move the expendable goods to the buildings she planned on burning. The vixen carefully calculated the number of fighting creatures and seaworthy vessels at port; double-checking the cargos, she determined the space in the holds, and how many creatures would be able to be taken aboard. Nicara had no intention of staying at her father's dockyards; she had her eye on far better things, beyond the realms of the coast. She had listened to her father's creatures speak of fierce wild lands to the north. Creatures there would follow any beast's banner for the right price. With a taste for the exotic and dangerous, Nicara stole her father's charts and took to studying them, learning what she could about these strange lands and how they might benefit her.

While she read over the charts by candlelight, Konnal intruded upon her studies. The silvery fox panted hard as he crossed the threshold to her chambers.

"They have arrived, Nicara. de'Gorge's ship has arrived."

Turning, the vixen surveyed her lover's exasperated appearance without the slightest hint of emotion. "Call on Vaniska. He must prepare his band for their task. Tell them to light the storehouses only when I give the signal. They are to start their attack when I appear on my balcony tomorrow night."

Peering back at the charts, she allowed herself a small smile. "And, Konnal - if you make a mistake, I will not be pleased."

Konnal approached Nicara, kneeling at her side and taking the vixen's paw. He kissed it tenderly then he spoke. "I would never let you down, my lady. When de'Gorge is disposed of, it would please me if you would honour me…."

Nicara cut his proposal off abruptly. "Konnal, I have had a change of heart about the events to take place. Instead of the charade where Father slays de'Gorge, I want Vaniska to be the hero."

Rising to his paws, Konnal gritted his teeth at his beloved's coldness. "But, why?"

"Because he's a half-wit. Do you honestly think I would accept you as a mate, Konnal? I don't need males who pretend they are my equals at my side. Now be gone, and if you must mope, do it quietly. There is far too much at stake now."

….

Romlan de'Gorge was well known amongst his kind for his snobbery and eccentric tastes. His ship was a floating palace designed for comfort above all else. There were detailed carvings on every inch of deck rail and entryway. In order to add to the ship's splendor, Romlan commissioned three vixen figureheads to grace the bow of the ship. The crew had been picked by Romlan's paw - none noted for their fighting skills, but every member of the fox crew had some family connection to the de'Gorge clan.

Romlan de'Gorge looked upon the town for the first time, sniffing with disdain. "Well, it isn't much to look at. But if this Nicara is anything like her reputation, I shall forgive this homely port of its shortcomings." Tapping his silver-tipped walking stick on the deck, he greeted his cousin Reginald Goregeo as the younger fox swaggered towards him, fussing with his silk waistcoat. Reginald's approach was preceded by the strong smell of his sickly perfume.

"So this is the filthy little village you have dragged us too," Reginald complained in his shrill voice.

"I'll admit it wasn't what I expected," Romlan sighed. "But look! They have sent out a welcome party."

Fixing a golden monocle to his eye, Reginald sniggered as he viewed the party on the wharf. "Not much of a greeting, Cousin. Oh well. Must we go greet these commoners?"

"If you have no wish to come ashore, I'll not force you. I have no intention of staying long myself. Just long enough to make the proper arrangements and sail home with that vixen at my side." He gestured to Nicara, who stood alongside her father on the pier. She was dressed in an elegant blue gown that made her stand out amongst all others. The fabric flowed freely as if it was a part of her, as the gentle breeze picked up the long sleeves fluttering behind her, giving her an almost heavenly appearance.

Reginald pretended not to be amused. "She looks more like a peasant to me." But the remark fell on his Cousin's deaf ears as Romlan went to greet his future in-laws.

Jallgo made a half bow, which Romlan politely returned. "Lord de'Gorge, it is an honour to have you here with us."

"The honour is all mine, I assure you," Romlan replied, unable to tear his eyes away from Nicara.

This obvious and instant attraction pleased Jallgo immensely. Skipping further introductions, he nodded towards Konnal. The silvery fox was doing all he could to resist strangling the visiting lord with his bare paws.

"Konnal, why don't you show Romlan de'Gorge to our manor? I'm sure he does not wish to continue our conversation out here."

Without a word, Konnal started for the estate, not caring if Romlan was following or not.

Nicara walked beside Romlan, glancing back at the ship and noting that only Romlan came ashore. "Do none of your crew travel with you?" she asked, her voice carrying a childish innocence that made Romlan's heart melt and Konnal cringe.

"Why should they, my sweet? I have nothing to fear from a beautiful vixen like you, and I don't wish to involve them in my personal affairs."

Nicara allowed herself a sweet laugh. Oh, what an idiot Romlan was proving to be!