Chapter 1: Ghosts of the Past

The half-moon cast a soft silver light on the tranquil beaches of the Eastern Sea, giving them a pale, ethereal appearance. For late Spring, it was pleasantly warm. A welcome change from the harsh winter storms. The waters were calm; black against the white sands as the waves rolled up gently on the beach with hardly a sound.

The eerie silence could have unnerved even the bravest of creatures.

The evening beauty of these beaches was marred by the crumbling ruins of an abandoned fortress. No crickets sang their nightly song near its dirty gray walls. No frogs croaked in the nearby marshes and the feathered hunters of the night kept their distance, making a wide berth around it in their flight patterns. The once formidable wooden gates were charred black by fire and broken in, hanging on their iron hinges, exposing the fort's skeletal inhabitants to the outside world. Signs that a great battle had once taken place there and those defending it had lost their lives. It was a place that had produced nightmares and strange tales.

Marshank!

No creatures, whether they be honest woodlanders or vermin from the seas; would venture near it after hearing of its downfall by liberated slaves. None had dared to set a footpaw on the surrounding beaches in passing.

Until Verang the Vile, a corsair stoat arrived that silent late Spring night.

The Vile One, as Verang was known to good and evil alike, captained a great vessel that he named the Black Swallow. It had once been part of a convoy of merchant ships that had been raided by the stoat's large army of pirates. Unable to resist such a well-built ship, the Vile One took it as his own and had it painted black to blend in with the sea at night and the white sails had been switched to black ones to match. It was this ship that had helped fuel the Vile One's reputation. Because of its dark colors and Verang's agile mind, the Swallow's victims never had a chance.

But now, after seasons of being a living terror of the seas, the Vile One's reputation was threatened. And he was hellbent on preserving it.

The ship stayed anchored out to sea, hardly visible and silently waiting while one of its longboats slowly made its way towards the spectral shores. A small crew of weasels, ferrets and rats; led by the Vile One himself, occupied it. Strapped down at the stern with thick rope was a blue painted trunk, its edges had been plated with gold and recently polished. The stoat stood at the front of the longboat, a clawed footpaw up on the stem. He leaned forward on his bent leg with his forearm resting on it, bright yellow eyes staring intently at the ghostly edifice.

A broad-shouldered brown rat stood behind him, leaning on the shaft of his spear. Unlike his leader who was clad in the fine silks of a wealthy corsair; he was dressed in a ragged, filthy tunic in spite of his higher status as captain of the ship's crew. He gripped his weapon tightly, gulping down the growing lump of dread in his throat as the great fort loomed ahead; a silent monster bearing down on its prey.

The longboat hit the damp sand with a soft thump. Leaping ashore, Verang the Vile put his paws on his hips and gazed at the smoke-stained walls, admiring their well-made structure. He scanned the silent shore, ears twitching left and right as he listened for anything out of the ordinary. To his amusement, he caught a whiff of the fear scents of his crew behind him. They pulled the longboat further up the beach, out of reach of the tideline and staked it down so the waves didn't return it to the sea. Without turning his head, Verang signaled with a claw for them to follow and headed up the sandy slope, silently laughing at their terror as he adjusted the leather belt around his waist that held his most prized possessions: eight throwing daggers, their hilts gold metal with deep red rubies set into them. These were much admired and coveted by his crew.

Clamjaw, the big rat with the spear, let out a breath and jerked his head in the stoat's direction. "Come on, lads." He whispered hoarsely as he gathered what was left of his courage. "Let's get it done and over with before his Lordship slits our throats."

A silver furred ferret sniffed the air, straining his ears to listen. "I don' like it, lads. Hear that?"

There was an uneasy pause as they heeded the elder's words, pricking their ears. Clamjaw tilted his head, scanning the dark forests beyond Marshank, then raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Hear what?"

The ferret shook his head, his paws were trembling with barely suppressed terror. "Nothing! Don't you realize? There's no noises at all. There should be crickets or frogs over in those marshes but there isn't." When the others didn't reply, he muttered darkly to himself as he pushed past his captain and followed the Vile One's tracks up the slight slope, the fur on the back of his neck standing on end and his tail bushed out, trailing behind him in the sand.

Two black furred weasels, a wild-looking pair of Verang's personal servants, untied the trunk and hauled it out of the boat between them, following their terrified comrades from the rear.

The small group of nervous pirates paused just inside the fire-damaged entrance, gazing about them in stunned horror at the bizarre scene before them. Dozens of skulls smiled at them grotesquely, gleaming in the moonlight. The open ground was a literal boneyard. Many of the skeletons had died where they had fallen. Some still had broken spear shafts and arrows stuck in their ribcages. Others were half buried in the sand. Many of the bones had been scattered about by scavenging birds and the elements.

Stepping into the sandy courtyard, Verang stared about the decaying fort with keen interest. He pulled out a worn, folded paper from his fine blue tunic and looked it over, comparing it to the decrepit mess before him, turning it in different directions and whispering to himself, his thick-furred brown tail swishing side to side.

Curious, Clamjaw looked over his leader's shoulder at the hand-drawn diagram and raised his eyebrows in confusion. Being illiterate, he could make no sense of the intricately drawn shapes and lines, complete with handwritten notes.

Satisfied, the stoat folded the diagram back up and tucked it in his tunic. He turned around to face his frightened crew who hurriedly stood to attention, paws quivering at their sides.

Verang grinned, showing a row of sharp white teeth. Their fear amused him. "You lot of jellyfish can stay here if you're too scared of a bunch of old bones." They didn't say a word as he left them there in the entrance, walking around the skeletons without a care like a maid in a posy garden. He kicked the skull of a fox, sending it flying across the courtyard. It hit the wall with a loud clatter and broke into pieces. He turned back to them. "See? They won't hurt ye!" He winked at them cheekily before continuing on, strolling confidently over the scattered skeletons. The entire crew outwardly relaxed as the stoat turned his attention to the damaged palisade at the opposite end of the fort.

The silver-furred ferret, by nature, was highly superstitious. He shook his head disdainfully and snorted. "No respect for the dead. This place is cursed, I tell you! If we disturb it any further, our bones will be joining them." He pointed a claw at the grinning skulls.

A white patched weasel snorted scornfully. He seemed to be the only one who wasn't frightened by it all. "This place is cursed, my foot! We're still breathing, aren't we? And there goes the boss without any fear." He spit on the ground. "Yer bein' ridiculous."

Another ferret shook his head, his voice quivering. "But didn't you hear the stories about this place? The mouse with the magic sword?"

Clamjaw couldn't help but chuckle even though he was nearly scared out of his wits himself. "Magic sword? I suppose this mouse could fly as well?" He scratched his ear.

"It's true!" The ferret insisted, clenching his fists. "I heard it can slice through iron chains."

"Aye." The silver furred elder nodded his head in agreement. "And steel bars."

"Oh, shut up all of you!" The white patched weasel swung his sword towards his terrified companions, making them jump away from the sharp-edged blade. He returned the deadly weapon to its sheath about his waist and crossed his arms moodily as he watched the stoat continue alone across the courtyard. "We don't need the Vile One hearing all this nonsense!"

The outside walls of the palisade were still intact. Verang peeked through the thick slabs of what used to be the slave compound, according to his drawn diagram. He inspected them for a few moments, pushing against it, finding it solid. Unsheathing one of his prized daggers, he sawed at the frayed cords that held the wooden beams together, grunting with the effort, chipping away the blackened wood between the planks. Putting his dagger away, he braced his back against one of the slats, pushing against it with all of his might until the flame-charred wood started to creak and groan as it gave way. He was able to make a sizeable gap large enough to slide through. He squeezed his wiry brown and white body through the opening and stepped inside. He flinched, cursing and lifted his right foot. Gritting his teeth, he yanked out a sliver of wood and tossed it away. There were broken pieces of wood sticking out of the ash covered sand. The palisade darkened slightly and he looked up at the crescent moon above his head. A small cloud had drifted across it. Looking about the circular compound, he saw that the palisade used to have a sheltering roof overhead, but this had been broken in as if a great force had jumped down onto it; which explained the broken pieces.

Dropping his head, he went a few more paces and then stopped in his tracks. The fur on the back of his neck stood on end and his eyes widened. In the middle of the compound, the sun-bleached bones of a stoat lay sprawled, its empty eye sockets facing the star-studded sky above.

He edged over to it, stooping down next to its head, staring into those black, sightless holes as if the stoat was still living.

Verang shook his head wonderingly. "The crazy old fool was right. He left you where you had fallen." He touched the skull reverently. "After all these seasons of searching, I have found you at last."

He sat there for a few more moments, staring at the rag-clad skeleton before he stood up and walked over to the gap he had made in the wall. He stuck his head through the opening and whistled to his crew. The sound reverberated off the walls eerily.

Clamjaw waved to show he had heard him. "Off you go lads. I'll bring up the rear."

The crew hesitated, staring down at the scattered bones nervously.

"Get your barnacle-crusted behinds over here!" They all jumped as Verang's voice echoed around the deserted fort. "Bring that trunk with you."

Clamjaw pointed his spear at them and bared his teeth. The older ferret was the first to make a move. He sighed and picked his way around the dead creatures, muttering under his breath. Encouraged by his example and Clamjaw's spear point, the others followed reluctantly, stepping over the bones to where their leader's face was sticking out from between the slabs of wood. The black weasels brought the trunk with them, careful not to tread on any skeletal limbs.

Verang shook his head as they approached, his yellow eyes gleaming with annoyance. "You are the worst bunch of lily livers I've ever commanded. Are you afraid of a curse that doesn't exist? Afraid that those bones will stand up on their own and attack?"

There was an awkward silence.

He rolled his eyes. "Well don't just stand there gaping at me!" The Vile One pointed a claw behind him. "Knock this wall down and get this trunk in here!" He disappeared back into the palisade. Not wanting to anger him any further, the vermin went to work, unsheathing their weapons.

It took them the rest of the night before they were able to get the rest of the wall down. The creatures who had built this place had shoved the thick slabs of wood deep into the earth, intending the stockade to be unbreakable. Eventually, they had to cut the charred poles down like trees with their swords and hatchets, leaving the 'stumps' in the sandy earth. The sky had lightened to a pale lavender by the time the entire crew gathered in the compound, staring down at the sprawled skeleton with wide, terrified eyes. The trunk carrying weasels placed their burden to one side and stood by it quietly, waiting for the stoat's orders.

"So, this is the Tyrant himself." Clamjaw broke the stunned silence, his eyes unable to look away from the skull's eye sockets.

"The builder of Fort Marshank." Verang replied with a slight nod. Pulling a key from his tunic pocket, he undid the lock on the trunk and opened the lid.

It was empty.

He reached in, unfolding a pale pink silk cloth and spread it along the bottom. "Make sure you gather up every single piece." He chuckled, enjoying every minute that he had to tease them. "If there is a curse," He turned his head, a mischievous grin on his face. "You don't want Lord Badrang coming back for you for leaving some of his parts behind."

Verang smirked at the terrified whispers as they knelt reverently and began to gather up the stoat's remains.

It was mid-morning when they finished their intimidating task. With the Tyrant's bones safely locked inside their 'coffin', the weasels lifted their slightly heavier burden between them to exit the compound. Verang was the last one to step out of it. He looked up at the pale blue sky, narrowing his eyes at the sun's brightness. Clamjaw stood next to him in the sun's warmth, waiting for his leader's orders. They watched the others hurry across the sandy, bone strewn courtyard to the main gates, eager to leave the shore and return to their ship.

The stoat scratched the side of his face as he thought. "Do you hear anything, Clamjaw?" He asked the big rat. Clamjaw tilted his head as he listened. There was a soft rushing sound in the distance. After a moment, he shrugged when he remembered the same question the older ferret had asked the night before. "I can hear the sea. But that's it."

Verang smiled knowingly, putting his paws on Clamjaw's shoulders and shaking him slightly. "Exactly! Silence breeds terror. Not once have we heard crickets or a bird sing its song since we came here." He nodded his head at the retreating crew. "They believe in tales and superstitions that make no sense." He looked down at the skeletons by their feet and kicked at the legbone of some unknown vermin. "Stop those ninnies and tell them to get back here and start gathering up these bones."

Clamjaw widened his dark eyes. "B-but..." he stretched out his paws in protest. "Lord Verang-

The stoat unsheathed one of his deadly pointed daggers and placed the point at his captain's neck. "Do you want your own bones joining them?" He bared his teeth.

The rat shook his head vigorously. A low growl rumbled in the stoat's throat. "Then gather the others and get going!"

Verang kept his vivid yellow eyes on his crew from the shade of the battlements above his head as they gathered the rest of the bones into a large pile in the middle of the courtyard. As he sat in an old chair Clamjaw had found for him, he twirled the key to the trunk between his long claws as he oversaw the bone gathering. As he turned it over and over absentmindedly, scenes of past events flashed in his mind. Images that would never cease.

Several seasons earlier...

Verang followed the fat, limping ferret down the stairs to the brig of one of the ships in the large fleet he commanded. Old Bentback hadn't sailed in seasons but he still laid claim to this vessel. The Red Vixen stayed in port most of the time, only going out to sea when the other ships weren't available and if Bentback was willing to part with her. This time, however, the ship and its crew had returned with a startling piece of cargo.

Verang pointed a claw at his host, annoyed.

"This had better be important, Bentback. I have other business to attend to this morning."

Bentback chuckled, unconcerned. He had never feared the Vile One. He only saw him as a young hothead. "Keep yer tail on, M'Lord. You'll be wantin' t'hear wot this scoundrel says."

They paused in front of the first cell door at the foot of the stairs. All of them were empty.

Except one.

Verang narrowed his eyes, paws akimbo. "Let me guess. A plea for forgiveness or-

"Amember ol' Clogg; yer father's shipmate?" Bentback broke in.

The Vile One's jaw dropped. "...How?!" He pointed disbelievingly at the far end of the brig where they heard raspy coughs coming from the only occupied cell.

Bentback shrugged and patted the stoat on the shoulder. "Jus' mind ye keep yer distance from 'im. The old seadog's completely lost 'is mind. Y'don' want 'is teeth embedded in ye." With that, Bentback headed for the stairs but Verang grabbed his sleeve and stopped him. The old ferret turned back with a questioning look.

Verang pointed a claw at his face. "If word of this gets around to the others, I will slit your throat! Its none of their business!"

Bentback pulled his shirt free, unconcerned. "Even if'n I did, I 'ave nothin' t'lose." He waddled back up the stairs, leaving Verang in the dimly lit brig, staring after him incredulously.

He jumped when a raucous bout of singing broke the silence; the reddish-brown fur on his spine stood on end. Verang stared nervously at the far cell, seeing a hulking shadow on the wall. He stepped quietly towards it, gripping the hilt of his sword. The words of the song were unintelligible but he recognized the tune. It was an old searat ballad that was popular in the taverns. He stopped a few tail lengths away from the iron bars and peered inside at the wild-eyed, filthy clothed stoat, sitting on the now torn apart bunk. Scraps of cloth and feathers from the mattress littered the wooden floor. The creature had once been overweight but now the extra skin sagged from his starved frame. His red fur had been parted in braids all over his body but these were dirty and matted. Verang wrinkled his nose at the awful stench that came off of him in waves. He stepped backwards, turning his head away slightly. The sudden movement alerted the prisoner and he turned his wild gaze on the Vile One. He smiled, showing blackened, rotting teeth sitting in swollen green gums.

"Badrang." Clogg's voice was hoarse from his outrageous singing and coughing. Verang stiffened at the name. The prisoner came forward, walking unsteadily on his mangled footpaws. The yellowed claws were overgrown and some were imbedded in the bottoms of his infected feet. He gripped the bars of his cell to keep his balance, still grinning from ear to ear. "Yer not dead a'tall." He reached out to touch him and the Vile One jerked backwards until his back hit the wall. The stoat laughed crazily, gripping the bar once more. "Afraid a me? Harr harr! Jus' like that mousey feller that killed ye." He broke out into another fit of cackling that caused him to choke.

This statement piqued Verang's interest. "A mouse? What sort of... mouse, old friend?"

Clogg doubled over, coughing painfully from laughing so hard. He finally straightened, leaning on the bars wearily. In what little light there was, Verang could see the elder stoat had a nasty skull wound that had never healed and had probably caused his insanity. His green eyes were glazed with fever. That's when it hit Verang why Clogg smelled so bad. It was the rotting flesh.

"Ow cudd ye forgit 'im, matey? 'E was ''ellbent on killin' ye. And wouldja ye know, he succeeded. Yer jus' a bloomin ghost, ye are!"

Verang's eyes narrowed and he grinned maliciously. "What's this mouse's name again, old friend?" He asked, playing along with Clogg's delusion.

"Sire?"

Clamjaw's voice broke into Verang's thoughts. The stoat looked up from the silver key in his claws and glared at the trembling rat. "What?" He growled.

Terrified at disturbing his leader, the rat stammered out a reply. "I-I'm s-sorry to interrupt... but the b-bones have been g-gathered." He pointed behind him and Verang tilted his head to see around him. The pile was a revolting collection of skeletal corpses. Verang left the cool shade, stepping out into the hot sun. He walked around the bones, looking them up and down. The crew stood nearby, eyes glued to the sand as they waited for his approval or fury.

Verang paused. "Well done."

The vermin pirates sighed collectively in relief but the stoat wasn't done yet. "Now burn it." Verang folded his paws behind his back.

"Burn it? But why?" The silver furred ferret protested wearily.

Verang gave him a menacing stare. "You have a better idea?"

"No, my Lord." Came the quick reply.

The flames continued to burn throughout the day. Verang kept the small crew there to make sure the fire didn't spread and destroy what was left of Marshank. He wanted the ruined fort for himself, but he kept this hidden from them. He wanted the bones reduced to ash and the fire extinguished before he allowed them to leave. A hot day faded into a cooler night once more when the Vile One and his pirates finally left, turning their backs on the smoldering ashes in the middle of Marshank's courtyard. Verang was the last one out. He turned back once more to stare at the now empty fortress. Someday, he thought. I will return this place to its former glory. No matter how long it takes.

The crew didn't relax until they were half way out to sea in their longboat, letting out sighs of relief as they thought of a good meal and a decent rest after being up all night and most of the day. Verang sat on top of the trunk, eyes still on the smoke-stained walls as he fantasized about his plans for the future.

As they boarded the Black Swallow, the rest of the crew that had been left behind to watch the ship greeted them expectantly, leaving an aisle way between them to allow passage. The two weasels carried the trunk through the parted crowd as Verang led the way to the captain's stateroom and opened the ornately carved doors. As the weasels walked inside with their burden, Verang turned to the waiting vermin with a small smile before turning away. With a wave of his paw, the weasels put the trunk down on a raised platform at the end of the room. It had been covered with dark blue velvet to give it a more elegant appearance. Unlit candles stood in their golden sconces, waiting to be lighted. He quickly dismissed the trunk carriers and the rest of his crew except for Clamjaw and a growth-stunted, disfigured ferret named Marshfoot, shutting the doors on his crew.

The silver ferret snorted. "How d'you like that? That's gratitude fer ye." He turned away from the stateroom and pushed his way through the crowd. The white patched weasel sighed. "I'm off fer a few winks afore the boss gets anymore bright ideas." He said scathingly. Whispering amongst themselves, the crew dispersed, shooting anxious glances at the stateroom doors, wondering what exactly was in the trunk and why their leader had made such a quick trip to Marshank, of all places.

"I trust your expedition to Marshank went well, Sire?" Marshfoot addressed his leader with a nasally toned voice as the stoat locked the doors. Verang turned away from them and looked down at his personal servant.

"Yes. Now that I have my father's remains, I can put the rest of my plans in order." Verang replied. He took the diagram out of his tunic and set it down on the desk along with the silver key. "Old Tramun Clogg was more helpful than I had expected. He perfectly described the fort's designs."

"Funny that the old fool kicked the bucket soon afterwards." Clamjaw remembered. Verang sat down in his large redwood chair and propped his feet up on the desk and folded his arms behind his head.

"Yes," he mused. "Lucky for us, he lived long enough to give me the information that I needed." Verang was pleased with himself. "Now I just need to find out where that Noonvale place is."

Clamjaw and Marshfoot exchanged confused glances. "Noonvale, Sire?" Marshfoot wondered. He popped the cork off a bottle of wine and poured his master a drink.

"Clogg told me that my father was killed by a young mouse during the slaves' rebellion. When the word spread about what had happened at Marshank, I became a laughing stock. Imagine what that piece of knowledge has done to his reputation, as well as mine! This Noonvale place is harboring my father's murderer!" He sat up and banged his fist on the desk. Some wine splashed out of its beaker and onto the desk. Both the rat and the ferret jumped and looked down at the floor, nervously. Their lord's good humor was now replaced by anger. The Vile One's temper was something to be feared.

"A powerful corsair such as Badrang the Tyrant, brought down by a little mouse! That showed other corsairs that I- his son, wasn't one to be feared after all!" A basket of fruit sat on the corner of the desk. Ignoring the wine, Verang selected a red apple, stood up from his chair and stalked over to the trunk that now served as his father's coffin.

He tossed the apple in the air as he paced, venting his frustrations on his silent, terrified servants. "The mouse, Martin the Warrior, they call him, has not only tarnished my father's name but mine as well! For seasons, I've worked hard to get where I am. I'm not letting this Martin ruin it for me! When I have him brought before me in chains, do you know what I'm going to do?"

He spun around, waiting for his servants to answer, still tossing the apple in the air impatiently. Clamjaw shook his head slowly, too nervous to answer.

"I will kill him with his own sword!" The stoat plunged his claws into the apple's red flesh, making a splitting noise; its juices spilled down its sides and Verang's claws.

Marshfoot scratched his head apprehensively. "But Sire, what if this Martin isn't living? What would you do then?"

Verang the Vile walked over to them and grabbed the ugly ferret by his shirt collar with his other paw, lifting him up to his eye level. Marshfoot had difficulty staring into his leader's bloodshot, mustard yellow eyes. He fought for breath as his lord's grip tightened his shirt collar.

"I know he lives. I can feel it. I'll find him and when I do…" He paused and turned his yellow eyes to his captain. "Clamjaw!"

The rat stood to attention, saluting with his spear.

Verang dropped Marshfoot unceremoniously to the floor with a loud thump. "When we arrive at port, I want you to find Stoneclaw for me."

"Stoneclaw?" The rat repeated warily.

"Yes. He is the only beast I know of who might have a general idea of where this Noonvale is located. It's not on any maps that I have studied or mentioned in any manuscripts. The mercenary fox has traveled great distances and dealt with many creatures. He must have heard or seen something about it."

He took a vicious bite out of the punctured apple.

"Anything else, my Lord?" Marshfoot asked the furious stoat carefully as he picked himself up off the floor.

"Get the crew ready to sail now. I want to be in Kamwe as soon as possible." He ordered with his mouth full. When the ferret and the rat had left to carry out his request, he tossed the half-eaten apple aside and walked back over to the trunk on its special platform. He stared down at the trunk in helpless fury.

Using an already lit candle, he walked around and lit the other ones slowly, one by one before returning the candle to its holder. They cast a soft glow about the room. He knelt down in front of the trunk, digging his claws into the wooden floor.

"Soon Father, your son will avenge you and find that mouse who did this to us!" He promised, putting a paw over his heart.

"I, Verang the Vile, son of Lord Badrang the Tyrant, make this solemn vow…" He paused, trembling with barely suppressed rage.

"Martin the Warrior will die!"

His anger finally boiled over and the stoat opened his claws and struck the candlelit sconces, knocking them to the floor. The hot wax doused the flame of each wick and spilled across the room. He tore the blue carpet covering the dais into shreds. Turning violently, his eyes red with bloodwrath, he dug his claws into the bottom side of the table and tipped it over, sending the objects on it crashing loudly to the floor. He roared and slammed into every single thing in the room except for the trunk holding his father's body. Finally, the light of murderous rage left his blood red eyes. He stood in the middle of the destroyed room, raggedly breathing and trembling with fury.

Marshfoot and Clamjaw had their ears pressed to the doors outside the room, listening to the Vile One rave and stomp about. They flinched at every boom and crash. Marshfoot slowly pulled away, shaking his head, his dark eyes wide with terror.

"I'm afraid we're in for a long summer." He told the big rat in a quivering voice. "This won't end well."

Clamjaw shivered. "Huh! I'm glad I'm not that mouse. I wouldn't want someone like Lord Verang on my tail."

"I agree, but I don't envy you!" Marshfoot motioned for him to come away from the doors. Clamjaw tilted his head to one side and followed him. Satisfied that they were out of Verang's hearing, the ugly ferret continued. "You have to convince Stoneclaw to meet with him."

The fur on Clamjaw's neck rose. "I don't know who to fear the most. Verang or the fox!"