Author Note:
For those that don't know, I added a scene in chapter 50 that explained what happened to Chief Bugfoot and the water rats. I advise you to read it for yourself, but if not, I can basically just summarize it by saying that Bugfoot heard about Bertvar losing his slaves, and decided it was time to cut and run, taking the boats with him.
Review responses:
Grey: No redemption for poor Lagworth? Well, I wanted to get the point across that he's annoying, so I'm glad that you think he is.
I agree 100%. He's not good at coming up with very good excuses. Then again, maybe I just don't understand him, as he would say. XD
A lovely chat to be sure. :-P However, keep in mind that Bertvar was quite young when his kin got murdered. And… You know what, I'll probably be able to clarify more on it later. Evil spoilers…
So, like a back flash showing his wife's death? Hmm. I see your point. I dunno though. It might've been jarring unless I handled it correctly, but I still like the idea.
Happy reading to you!
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SALAMANDASTRON
"I say, wot wot, we've got a blinking group of beasts coming our way!"
Hares began to flock over to the northern side of the crater as the sentries stationed there began to yell out excitedly.
"They're woodlanders!" One of the hares said, hopping up and down. "It looks like they're being chased by a horde of those bloody vermin. Celery and fiddlesticks! Do you see the size of that one cad leading the chase? Even from this distance he makes the others look tiny!"
A sergeant came running up to Major Phillip – who was the highest ranking officer on the crater currently – and saluted hastily.
"Requesting permission to lead a squad to help those beasts down there, sah," the sergeant said.
"Righto!" Major Phillip nodded his head. "Permission granted. We'll cover your backs."
The hare patrol climbed down the crater and half-ran half-climbed down the steep slope, armed and ready for anything. The otters and slaves gave a scattered cheer when they saw them. The small hare patrol guided them up the last few steps. Their presence alone was enough to inspire the woodlanders to force their weary bodies up the last lap.
Tragg gasped out encouragingly to the mouse he carried in his arms, "Help is here! We're safe now, laddie."
Flugg and Tilda were also helping the other young children along.
"We've made it!" Flugg exclaimed. "I knew we would!"
Tilda rolled her eyes and snorted. "That's not how I remember it. Weren't you the one who was saying–"
"Ach… Less talk more walk, that's what I always say," Flugg quickly interjected, speeding his pace.
The other beasts wove up the jagged mountain slope until finally, after what seemed like an eternity they had all made it to the top of the crater.
The hares crowded by the parapet and helped the exhausted creatures. A messenger had already been sent to the lower levels and the news about the woodlander group spread like wildfire.
Chief Askarr Bonecrusher came running up onto the crater. Seeing Baglarr, he went over and clapped the other otter on the back.
"Hoho, me bucko, ye made it! Congratulations! Say, where did all of these other creatures come from? They look pretty beat up."
"Mind if we explain over a bowl of hotroot soup?" Baglarr asked, grinning wearily, "Haven't eaten for a while."
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"Tragg, Flugg, you both have got to see this!"
Tilda ran up to Tragg and Flugg and gestured for them to follow her. They both shot each other confused glances, but followed her.
The three shrews went over to the southern side of the crater. A few of the sentries sent them curious looks but didn't stop them.
"See," Tilda said, indicating the shore below with a nod, "Take a look at that."
Tragg's jaw dropped open, and Flugg let out a gasp when they both caught sight of the vermin army's camp. Judging by the tents alone, they could see that there were easily thousands.
"Where did they come from?" Flugg asked aloud.
"I asked a guard. He said that Salamandastron's has been under siege for a while now. He said we all were very lucky that we got past their lines."
"By thunder," Tragg grumbled, "Ye'd think that we 'ave a big old cloud o' bad luck hanging o'er our heads or something! Isn't there anywhere we can go tae wit'out bad things happenin'?"
Flugg scratched the fur on his chin slowly as he looked down at the combined force of snowlanders and corsairs. "Hmm… It seems that we jumped out o' the frying pan 'n' fell right into the fire."
"Hey you three, what are you jolly-well think you're doing over here? Eh, wot?"
As Tragg, Flugg, and Tilda were looking down at the vermin camp, Major Phillip caught sight of them and walked over, a curious expression on his face.
"Well?" The black hare pressed. "Why aren't you fellows stuffing your faces along with the others, eh? Put some meat on those skinny bones."
Tilda took another look down at the vermin camp. "Thank you, sir, but a sight like that down there doesn't exactly give you an appetite."
"Balderdash, my girl! Food is just what a beast needs in dark times such as these!" He glanced from Tragg's eye to the bloody scratches on Flugg's arm. "Maybe you should all tootle pip on down to the infirmary."
Flugg glanced down at his wounds. "Yeah. We had a run-in wit' some toads. Though, I might pass about going tae the infirmary. I'm sure there are beasts in much worse shape than me."
"We wouldn't want tae be a bother…" Tragg added.
"Nonsense! Besides, I hear that the Head Cook is preparing food like crazy for all of you newcomers. Once you're all done seeing the Doc, they'll be some prime scoff! Heh, Ol' Cookie won't let any of us get close to it, though. He wouldn't dream of it. Fiddlesticks… That beast can sure swing a ladle. And I would know." He rubbed a bruise on his left paw. "Lord Rockfur should put him in the front lines. He'd sure send those vermin scoundrels running for their bally lives! Wot wot. Hitting an innocent starving officer's noble paw… The audacity of that fellow!"
Flugg touched the tip of his forehead in a polite gesture. "Thank ye, mister. Say, would ye be able tae lead us tae the kitchens? None of us have been here afore. An' I don't have a good history wit' finding mae way through underground tunnels."
"Hah!" Tragg grinned. "That's the understatement o' the season."
"Of course I can escort you," Major Phillip said in response to Flugg's question. He turned and indicated for them to follow him. "Come on, my dear shrew chappies. Let's go! The vittles await!"
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Major Phillip led them down the infirmary. The head healer, Old Ben, was working like a maniac, snapping out orders to his fellow healers. He put a paste on Flugg's arm. For Tragg, they did their best to clean whatever they could around his missing eye then patched it up with an eyepatch made from a black cloth.
Once they were all done, Phillip brought the three shrews down to the Mess Hall. The Head Cook had prepared a meal of vegetable soup, along with some bread and pear cordial.
The mountain was still under siege, so the food wasn't as plentiful as it could've been. However, the newly freed slaves didn't seem to mind. Most of them wolfed it down like there was a ten season long famine coming their way, while others closed their eyes and ate slowly, savoring every bite.
Major Phillip showed them where to line up, and the three shrews were given their food. The four of them sat down by one of the empty tables.
Tragg sat down and began to spoon in his food. He paused eating for a moment as he caught sight of something. "Psst. Hey Flugg," he whispered, nudging his cousin. Once Flugg looked up from his food, Tragg pointed at a pair of nearby hares. The two creatures had depressed looks on their faces as they walked past. "Look at 'em," Tragg said, "Ye'd think they just got back from a funeral or something."
"The entire Long Patrol is grieving," Major Phillip explained. His sharp ears had heard their words. His eyes filled with sadness as he went on, "We lost one of our bravest fighters today, not long before you chaps showed up. He was a brave young badger." He sighed and shook his head. "Ah. He would've grown to be a great beast had he lived to a ripe old age."
"We're sorry to hear that." Tilda's eyes were full of sympathy. "He sounded like a good creature."
"Thank you."
They remained silent for a while, each with their own thoughts as they ate.
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They had finished their food – Flugg had gone and asked for a third helping from the Head Cook, and it hadn't gone very well – so they asked Major Phillip if he would show them around the mountain a bit.
"Sure thing!" the hare replied when he was asked. "I have a few spare minutes up my sleeve. Wot wot."
Tilda announced that she wanted to go find a room to take a nap in, and for them to go on without her. "I'm sure you'll all have fun!" She said. "We'll most likely be cooped up in here for a while. I'll see the sights eventually."
Tragg and Flugg bid her farewell then followed Major Phillip as he left the Mess Hall, both struggling to keep the lanky hare's pace.
He showed them the cellars, where they stored barrels of wine and water. He explained that while they had access to their very own inbuilt underground spring (Legend said that Urthwite the Mighty had been the one to install it), Lord Rockfur didn't want to rely solely on it for fresh water.
They wandered around, peeking into the infirmary and dorms. Phillip mentioned how it was likely that many of the empty rooms would be used to house the newly arrived woodlanders.
They were on their way to the kitchens when the major received word that he was needed elsewhere. Bowing, Phillip left.
"So… what do ye want tae do now?" Flugg asked Tragg once the hare had gone.
Tragg shrugged. "Explore some more I guess." He winked. "At least this time, I'm here tae hold yer paw in case ye get lost. Eh, cousin?" He waggled his eyebrows and grinned.
"That only happened one time, for Fate's sake…" Flugg mumbled. "Honestly."
Tragg punched him on the shoulder. "Come on now. Cheer up! I'm only jokin'. Now…" He rubbed his paws together. "…Where should we go first, eh? Th' kitchens?"
"Nae... I think that cook would do somethin' truly wicked if I showed up on his stompin' ground. Ach… Ye should've seen th' glare he gave me when I asked for more food. Hmph. Doesn't he know that creatures have a right tae eat."
Shaking his head slowly, Tragg smiled. "Come on then. Let's find someplace else tae explore."
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EAST OF SALAMANDASTRON
The ermine scout captain led Bertvar and his slaves through the dunes east of the mountain. Their footpaws sank into the soft, hot sand as they plowed on, weapons held at ready.
"My master's forces should just be over the next few dunes," the ermine told Bertvar.
At first, the ermine hadn't been too keen on the idea of bringing the wolf into his Master's camp, but after seeing his hesitation, Bertvar told him that he only wanted to meet with Baro and that, if everything went well, he could prove to be quite a powerful ally. It also helped when Bertvar pointed out that he could have him tortured until he gave in.
"Good." The wolf drew his scimitar. "I'm glad that you decided to be so helpful."
The white-furred vermin spat on the ground then kept walking.
Bertvar held up his paw, indicating for the band to halt. He beckoned Furgly and Grunner over to him.
"Go over the next couple dunes up ahead and tell me what you see. Make sure you're not spotted."
"Aye, sir!"
"On it!"
Eager to impress their master, the two captains almost tripped over each other as they began to half-run, half-crawl up the hill, keeping low.
"That ermine scum had better not be lyin' 'bout all this," Grunner scowled, losing his footing and tripping. "Fer all we know, he could be leadin' us into a trap of some sort."
"Just sharrup an' keep quiet," Furgly shot back. He scoffed. "Honestly, how you managed t' become a captain is beyond me."
They were almost at the top now. Moving forward as slowly as possible, Furgly poked his head up. His eyes widened with surprise at what he saw.
"By the fangs of Cluny!" he hissed under his breath, "That ermine was right! There're thousands of 'em!"
The camp sprawled out in front of them seemed to go further than the eye could see. Some of the soldiers were milling about idly, others drilling, or fighting over a cup of grog with their mates.
"Didn't think there would be so many," Grunner gave a low whistle, "Let's go tell th' boss."
They began to make their way carefully back when Furgly's ears suddenly twitched.
"Wait!" He glanced around. "Ye hear that?"
"Hear what– 'ellgates!"
A spear seemed to fly out of nowhere and grazed Grunner's left footpaw. The weasel let out an undignified screech and leapt into the air, yelling out a whole list of curses in his panic.
White furred creatures appeared on the top of the dune to their right. Leading them was a massive wolverine.
"Don't let them get away!" Baro roared to his creatures, "They might be spies!"
Furgly and Grunner didn't know what the wolverine and his beasts were doing this far from the camp, but they didn't intend to stay and ask. The fox and weasel scrambled to where they knew Bertvar and the others were.
"Help!"
"We're under attack!"
Baro, who was leading the charge, suddenly stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the wolf slavemaster. Bertvar and his slavers had heard the cries and had jumped up, preparing their weapons. Baro's soldiers also ceased charging when they saw their emperor hesitate. Eyes grew wide and jaws dropped open as they laid eyes on a creature who looked as large and fearsome as their own master, if not more so!
There was a pause as both sides stared at each other, uncertain what to do. They were roughly even in numbers, and it was assumed by both leaders that a fight between them would lead to much bloodshed for slaver and snowlander alike.
Bertvar, ever one to grasp hold of a situation, said, "Ah. You must be the beast I was looking for. Fear not, we come in peace."
Now that the silence was broken, the snowlanders calmed down slightly. Their bristling fur relaxed and they glanced to Baro, waiting to hear his answer to the wolf's question.
The wolverine let out a low growl as he took a step forward. "I'm assuming those two are your creatures," he said, indicating Grunner and Furgly. Bertvar nodded.
"Yes. They're my creatures."
"On our way back to camp, we spotted them skulking around like a pair of no-good spies. Care to explain that?"
"Ah. So you're the infamous Baro Steelclaws, hmm?" Bertvar pursed his lips. "I think we have something that belongs to you…"
He gestured for his slavers to bring the ermine captive forward. The scout inwardly winced as Baro's hard gaze fell on him.
"One of your scouts, I believe?" The wolf rested his scimitar's point in the ground. "It's seems that we've both misunderstood one another. My name is Bertvar the Slavemaster. I wish to employ my beasts and I into your service." He ended his statement with a small bow.
Baro looked momentarily confused. "Wait. Let me get this straight. You want to work for me? Are you mercenaries? How can you be if you call yourself 'The Slavemaster?' I've never heard of slavers being fighters. The ones I meant are slinky scoundrels. I wouldn't trust them with a wooden spoon."
"Well you haven't met this slaver." Bertvar replied smoothly.
The wolverine and the wolf held each other's gaze, neither unwavering. Studying, assessing.
"…Well, Slavemaster Bert," Emperor Baro finally said, "You strike me as an… intriguing fellow. Perhaps we should see if we can help each other. Follow me. It seems that we have a few things to discuss."