Part Eight
Noontide
Chapter I
Ghost wiped his brow and glared up at the noon time sun that was beating them from overhead. The day had turned into a hot one, making the hike to Scarstripe's camp a slow and weary one. Granted there was tree cover, but the patchwork shade offered by the canopy did little to dispel the heat. Ghost wiped his brow again and waved for the group to stop.
"Too hot to go on much more without a rest. Solace, break out the drinks and get a small meal ready. Montel, Arkain, and Lady Flynt, you stay and watch camp. Mantis, Myriad, you come with me."
Blackstrike tapped the ferret on the shoulder. "And me?"
Ghost stared at her blankly for a moment. "Oh, yes, sorry. Help Solace with the meal."
The otter chuckled and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "It's alright. We'll have somethin' nice waitin' fer ya when ye get back."
Ghost nodded and motioned for Mantis and Myriad to follow him. Together, the three ventured ahead into the forest.
"What is your plan, Ghost?" Mantis loosened his black robe and allowed the air to stir the white fur hidden beneath it. "I hope it involves a good swim."
"Sorry. I didn't plan on that, unless we happen upon a lake or stream. How far would you say the camp is?"
Myriad scratched her head. "Well, by my reckonin', little less than half a day's march yet." She shook her head. "Heat's slowed us down plenty."
Mantis nodded. "I agree. We had planned, and hoped, for ideal conditions and weather. This is far from it."
Ghost looked around and spotted an arrow sticking up in the dirt. Curious, he walked over to it and started upon spying something else. "Mantis, Myriad, come here. Who are they?"
Mantis followed Ghost's pointing finger and frowned at the two dead stoats. "Scouts. Looks like one had a run-in with a dagger. The other," he knelt to examine the neck, which was bent at an odd angle. "Lost to either brute force, or grim determination. I'll guess the latter simply because of that." He pointed to the dried blood that covered the stoat's blade; then to the trail of blood that led off through the trees.
Ghost frowned. "Wonder who it was. Are there bound to be more about?"
Myriad nodded. "Scout group was about one score. If this' only two, then figure eighteen more."
"It would be wise to move." Mantis retrieved the dagger from the stoat's body and wiped it clean. "Before they come."
Mantis suddenly howled and pitched forward, dropping the dagger to the ground. Ghost and Myriad both snapped their heads in his direction, and noticed, with the same startled reaction, the arrow protruding from his left shoulder. A harsh cackle rang through the area, and Myriad gasped as three of the scouts, a two weasels and a rat, stepped out of the bushes, one of the weasels loading a new arrow onto his bow.
"Mantis, Myriad, fancy meetin' ye here. Yer traitors, ye know. Ahm s'posed t' kill traitors." The weasel brought his bow up, sighted down the shaft, and drew the arrow back to fire. "Sweet dreams."
A streak of black struck the weasel in the head, and he fell dead with the familiar dark arrow half buried in his skull. The loaded arrow was released, but flew off in a wild path that ended with a soft thud against a stout elm. The other weasel and rat hardly had time to comprehend what had happened, before they too shared in their partner's fate. Ghost drew his dagger and motioned Myriad to stay back.
"Well, if it isn't Ghost. And is that Myriad? My, my, it truly is a mall world."
Myriad gulped. "I recognise that voice."
"Me too." Ghost growled. "Trent! Enough of the cowardly hiding, come out and fight, if that is your intention."
The fox, flanked by Khale and the all black vixen, Slyver, stepped into view and passed his bow to Khale. "If I wanted to kill you, Ghost, then I would do so. You are lucky my scout," he motioned to Slyver, "caught wind of those three," he pointed to the dead vermin, "and reported back in time."
"I know that tone of voice, Trent. What do you want?" Ghost sheathed his dagger, but kept a ready paw on it.
"I have an offer, if you will hear me out."
Ghost glanced at Khale, then Slyver. "Do we have a choice?"
Trent shook his head. "Get the ermine, Khale, and take him to our healers. Ghost, Myriad, come. We have much to discuss."
"We discuss it here, or back at my camp, Trent." Ghost crossed his arms. "Which will it be?"
"My camp. Here is too open; there are more scouts about, and if I went to yours, Montel would kill me and my comrades in an instant." Trent sighed. "I mean you no harm, Ghost. What I have to say will benefit you and your task."
Ghost glanced back at Myriad, then down at Mantis. "Fine. But these two never leave my sight. Also, Trent, bear in mind that I will have my revenge."
"Not now. Revenge is a game of patience. Let me have mine with Scarstripe's scum first."
"Why do you seek revenge against them?"
Trent narrowed his eyes. "Aside from the fact that he is trying to kill me, one of my dear comrades is currently on his deathbed. I trust you know how that feels. Now are you going to make us sit out here in the open, or are you coming?" Trent motioned Khale to help Mantis to his feet. "Scarstripe's out to kill both of us. I do not kill someone when they share an enemy with me."
Ghost nodded. "Your word as a fox?"
"My word as both fox and comrade of Foxtribe. Honour above all."
"Sure." Ghost glared at the fox. "And I'm a mouse."
Chapter II
Scarstripe was trying desperately to fend off the oncoming headache. News, what little of it had come from the hunters, was enough to make him seethe. Seven were dead, with two missing. To make matters worse, none of them had any sightings of Trent or his Foxtribe. The only sighting reported was that of a woodlander camp nearby. His dark eyes locked on the rat standing before him, and he uttered a low growl.
"Sir, would it be wise t' attack th' wooders' camp?"
Scarstripe rubbed his temple and glared at the rat. "Your hunters failed me, Grall, and you try to give me advice?" He thrust a finger back at the huddled form of Amethyst, who was sitting on the ground. "That is what the 'wooders' are after. They pose nothing near the threat that Trent and his treacherous Foxtribe does. They are all from Loamhedge, and Loamhedge has no warriors!"
Grall silently backed out of the tent. He had seen Scarstripe in a rage before, and did not wish to experience the nightmarish sight again. He pulled a stoat aside and whispered his orders.
"Dostoe, I want you t' go keep an eye on that woodlander camp."
The stoat saluted and straightened his stance. Right erway, sir, ain't a problem. Ye'll see, sir."
"Just get the job done." With a wave of his paw, he dismissed the stoat.
Back in his tent, Scarstripe was sitting in his chair, leaning on one of the armrests and staring Amethyst over. A curious expression had formed on his face, and he seemed lost in thought. Amethyst eyed him warily, wondering if there was any need for alarm, or if she would need to talk him down again.
"Amethyst,"
She gulped. The weasel's voice was frighteningly calm and reserved. "Yes?"
"You would tell me if there were any fighters who were members of your abbey, right?"
"Of course, sir."
Scarstripe nodded. "Good." He sat upright and narrowed his eyes at her. "Are there?"
Hesitantly, Amethyst nodded. "One...a hare named Arkain. Be advised, sir, that he does not take kindly to slavers like yourself."
Scarstripe waved the comment aside and looked down at his maps. "So, there is one who can fight...who would Arkain have brought along with him?"
Amethyst shrugged. "I wouldn't know, sir."
"You aren't lying to me, are you?" He glanced over at her.
Amethyst grinned and shook her head.
Scarstripe nodded. "Good. It would be a shame to have to kill you."
Darkbane watched the camp in silence. Somehow, without his knowledge, Mantis, Myriad, and Ghost had wandered off. He growled and cursed himself for not having paid closer attention. There was nothing to do now but wait. The three would back eventually, and he would be on the hunt again.
"Psst, you,"
Darkbane's dagger flashed from its sheath and pressed dangerously up against the stoat's throat. The two stared at each other, one ready to kill, the other in shocked silence. With a hushed growl, Darkbane released the stoat.
"Why are you here?"
"I was sent, sir, t' watch th' woodies, sir. I didn't know that yer already watchin' 'em." Dostoe trembled slightly. "Yer from Scarstripe, right?"
Darkbane sheathed his dagger. "Aye, I am, and I'm on a very important mission," he whispered to the stoat. "Bug off before you ruin it for me."
The stoat whined and Darkbane clamped a paw on his mouth. There were several minutes of forced silence until Darkbane let him speak again.
"Sir, I was told t' watch th' woodies."
Darkbane pointed towards Scarstripe's camp. "These are the last two words you will hear from me, either because you heed them, or you are dead. Bug off."
The stoat backed away slowly, bowing and trying to appear as meek as possible. The strange rat scared him, and he had already felt how sharp the daggers were. The two blades were not something he wanted to meet with any time soon. With out a backward glance, Dostoe ran the entire way back to camp to report his latest failure.
Darkbane watched him leave and grinned to himself. It was comforting to know that one still had the ability to intimidate, and it was a skill he would take care to further in the seasons to come. He was an assassin; it was a skill that was needed before a reputation could be born. Darkbane wanted a reputation.
Chapter III
Solace yawned and stretched as she looked around the silent camp. Blackstrike was dozing near the fire, where the remnants of a top rate meal of vegetable soup still waited for three more to come and eat. Lady Flynt was perched in a tree, resting on a low hanging bough and staring at nothing in particular. In a far corner of the camp, in his usual semi-isolation, Montel was cleaning his axe out of boredom. Arkain, in the meantime, was pacing back and forth, arms clasped behind his back and a scowl plastered on his face.
"It's been a while. They should be back by now."
Solace shrugged. "Ghost's always had his own agenda. He'll be back when he's back." She tried in vain to scratch an itch on her back. "Arkain, stop pacin' an' do somethin' worthwhile."
Arkain glanced back at her. "Right, whatever y' say." He rolled his eyes and pointed at the three untouched servings, already cold by the fire. "I'm tellin' y' somtehin's wrong. What beast in their right mind wouldn't return for a good meal?"
"Always food." Lady Flynt shook her head. "All ya hares are th' same. Always thinkin' about food. Get it out o' yer minds." She yawned. "Ghost'll be back when he's back. That's all there is to it."
Montel looked up from cleaning his axe and eyed the two hares. "Someone should look for them."
"Why? Ye'd just get y'self lost." Solace jumped up and walked over to Arkain. "Scratch m'back, please. That's good." She grinned slightly as the annoying itch vanished. "Montel, what if y' wandered off an' they got back? We'd have t' wait 'till y' got back before we could move again. It'd slow us down."
Montel nodded slowly. "Alright. Then we stay put and wait."
"Good call, chap. Alright, thanks Arkain." Solace patted the other hare on the shoulder and walked over to the fire. "Y' think they'll want cold food? Might be best t' have somethin' hot waitin' for 'em."
"Right. But y' can't let th' cold stuff go t' waste. Pass a bowl this way." Arkain snatched two of the three servings up and handed one to Solace. "Anyone else want th' third?"
"We'll race for it, Arkain. First one done with th' first bowl, gets th' second."
Arkain nodded. "Alright, then hop to! Montel, be a good sport an' wake Blackstrike. We'll need more tuck soon."
Montel grumbled and shook his head. "Wake 'im yourself, you gluttonous ball of fur."
Arkain looked up from his bowl of soup and frowned. "Not a good sport, are y' stripedog."
Montel growled. "Don't call me stripedog, flopears."
"If y' call me flopears, I'll call y' whatever I well please, cumbersome oaf."
"I'm not so cumbersome in a fight, you overstuffed fleabag." Montel pointed to his axe. "I'll show you how fast a badger can be."
"I'm done!" Solace snatched the second bowl of soup and tossed the empty bowl at Arkain. "Quit arguin' with th' badger or I'll make sure that y' regret it."
Arkain's jaw dropped. "Th' whole bally lot o' y' are gainin' up on me. First th' overgrown weasel calls me names, then I'm deprived of a good meal."
Montel chuckled. "Well, guess you are slow, then."
"I am hardly slow, just distracted."
Montel shrugged. "Same thing. You are slow."
Arkain stood up and pointed a finger at the badger. "Now, y' listen here, y' big, overgrown, flea ridden excuse fer a fighter, I'm a hare, an' like all hares, I'm faster than y' could ever be!"
"Not fast enough." Solace snatched the bowl of soup from Arkain's paw and handed him her empty one. "Snooze an' y' lose."
Arkain gaped open jawed at the empty bowl. "Now that's a bloody mean thing t' do."
"Guess you will need to be faster next time, speedy one." Montel laughed and set his axe aside. "Too bad this time."
"Shut yer trap, stripedog."
"Come over here and make me, flopears."
"Knock it off, both of you!" Lady Flynt threw a small branch at them. "Some of us are tryin' to sleep."
Arkain slowly sat back down, a fain grin playing on his face. "Y' know I was only jokin', right?"
"Of course." Montel grinned and continued with cleaning his axe. "Flopear."
"Scumbag."
"Glutton."
"Enough!"
Both looked up at Lady Flynt in time to duck the oncoming twigs.
"Dreadfully sorry ma'am. Never happen again. My word as a hare!"
"My word as a badger. Never again, Lady Flynt." Montel laughed and focused his attention on his axe.
Arkain shrugged and looked at his empty bowl. "Well, someone's gotta wake Blackstrike up. We need food."
Solace shoved him. "Well, I know a good candidate. Hop to, lad."
"Sorry, but wakin' sleepin' otters is not in my job description."
Solace rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Well, then it'll just have t' wait 'till they get back, however long that'll take."
Arkain hopped up. "I'll get right on it."
Chapter IV
Ghost trudged along after the three foxes, flanked by Mantis and Myriad. His eyes darted constantly from Slyver, to Khale, to Trent, always resting on the Foxtribe leader for a moment while every emotion of hate brewed within his mind and soul. All he wanted was to draw his dagger and strike, and he knew he could. The only thing that held him in check was the ferret to his right, and the ermine to his left. There was no way he would see their lives put at risk because of his personal vendetta. If he were to attack and kill Trent, he held no doubts that Khale and Slyver would call the rest of Foxtribe on them, and he would be killed, along with Myriad, and Mantis. They did not deserve that death, and Ghost would not be the one to bring it on them.
"Where are the rabbits that lived here?"
Ghost glanced at Myriad. Those had been the first words spoken since they had arrived at the Foxtribe hideaway.
"They ran when Scarstripe entered the area. There was no one here when we arrived and took it as our own home." Trent grinned back at them.
Ghost could tell that Trent was lying, but he did not express his suspicion aloud. "Trent, I do not want my friends to leave my sight. If Mantis goes to the infirmary, then all of us go, and the meeting can be held there."
Trent flashed Ghost a sly smile. "Not too trusting, are we now, Ghost?"
"Never." Ghost patted his daggers and grinned back at the fox. "Watch your back. You may be a fox, but I know that game just as well as any of your kind."
"Of course you would, Ghost," Trent turned and led them into the makeshift infirmary, which was really one of the many bedrooms in the rabbit den. "You are an assassin, and by trade you must know how to think like that. Come, now let's see what we can do about Mantis, shall we?"
"I can care for my own arm, fox." Mantis snarled at one of the infirmary attendants, a young vixen, as she approached. "I'll bandage it myself."
Ghost watched the fellow assassin make his way over to the limited supplies housed on a shelf and work on his arm. With a sigh, he glanced back at Myriad, showing just how tired he was. Myriad frowned and shook her head.
"Make it quick, Trent. We ain't got all day."
Trent growled and walked over to a bed, where the battered form of Blythe was sleeping his last few hours away. "Few of us have all day, Myriad. I want to propose a temporary alliance. We have the fighting force to bring Scarstripe to his knees, and you have the desire to rescue a friend of yours."
Ghost shrugged. "So?"
"So, we can benefit from one another. You drag Amethyst out of the camp, and Scarstripe will undoubtedly follow. That gives my foxes a wonderful chance to test their predatory skills, and I get a shot at killing Scarstripe."
The two ferrets eyed each other, then Trent.
"So you are proposing this alliance because you wish to help?"
"Nonsense, Ghost. Your actions would simply benefit mine, and because of that, I want you to succeed. I could care less about sympathy for you, or for any of those pitiful abbey dwellers at Loamhedge. I have my own vendetta, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to get my shot at the weasel."
"And you will not harm any of my friends?" Ghost asked.
Trent shook his head. "My word as a fox, as a Silverblade, and as a member of Foxtribe."
The fox offered his paw, and Ghost stared at it for a moment. With a slight hesitance, that later turned to reluctance, he gripped Trent's paw and gave it a firm shake. The deal was done, and although the alliance would benefit his own cause, Ghost still felt like a traitor for making a pact with his enemy.
Ghost turned to Mantis and gave him a slight wave, motioning that he was ready to leave. Giving Myriad a slow nod, he walked towards the exit, his two companions flanking him once more.
"Ghost, it would be best to move tomorrow night."
Ghost half growled at the fox. "I'll be sure to remember that, Trent."
Arkain picked his teeth clean of bits of dried fruit with his dirk. Blackstrike was sleeping once more, after handing out the food as an alternative to cooking a new meal. The two hares put up little argument.
"It's a shame, y' know, ol' Ghost not getting' his fill o' th' food."
Solace shrugged at Arkain's comment. "Hardly. They didn't bother t' show, so why should it be our problem?"
"Because we are a group. An individual's problem becomes everyone's problem."
Both hares gave Montel a glance, then looked at each other and shrugged. Montel sighed and shook his head as the chatter went on. Turning his attention to his axe, he ran a paw over the keen edge and stared at the blurred reflection within the overly shined head. His roving eye caught movement in the reflection, something in the bushes behind him, and he turned quickly, bringing the axe up to strike at any would be attackers. He found himself staring at Ghost. With a grin, he lowered the axe and clapped the ferret on the back.
"We were getting worried, Ghost. Those two hares ate the food we had set aside for you." He nodded to Myriad and Mantis, glancing curiously at the ermine's bandaged arm. "Are you all alright?"
Ghost eyed Arkain and Solace, whom were both so involved in their own conversation that they had failed to notice the trio's return. "Well, Montel, we are fine. We had something to eat already."
Montel nodded and furrowed his brow. "Where?"
Ghost whistled and caught everyone's attention, including a drowsy Lady Flynt, and a stupefied Blackstrike, both of which had just been roused from their sleep. Waving them all towards him, he grinned slightly.
"We have allies who will help us deal with Scarstripe."
There was a moment of dead silence until Lady Flynt spoke up.
"Who's gonna be fightin' alongside us?"
Ghost took a deep breath and bit his lip. "Trent and his Foxtribe."
Silence fell again, but this time it was filled with looks of shock and spiteful hatred. Solace walked over to a log to sit, while Montel buried his axe into the ground. Lady Flynt turned and stomped off back to her tree, and her nesting branch. Glaring down at Ghost, she made known what all of the others were thinking.
"Why'd ya even trust 'im? He's a scoundrel, a murderer, an' I wouldn't trust 'im any more'n I could throw 'im. What if he's just gonna do what he did last time?"
Ghost shook his head as he escorted a tired Myriad to a spot near where Solace was sitting and sat her down as well. "I'm trusting him, just this one more time. I would be the last one to trust him, after what he did, but he's out to kill Scarstripe, and we both have him as a common enemy."
"I know Trent," Myriad spoke up, "And I'd be willin' t' side with Ghost. There's bad blood between Scarstripe an' that fox, an' Trent wants t' see th' fight through. It'll only last one night, but I'd venture t' guess that on that night, he can be trusted t' help bring Scarstripe down."
Lady Flynt and Solace stared at Myriad for a moment before staring off into emptiness. It was obvious that they would have preferred anything other than an alliance with Trent. Ghost sighed and sat down next to Myriad.
"Listen, I made one mistake leading this group, and I vowed never to make it again. I would not rush to this judgement, and would only make it only if I had no doubts whatsoever about what I think is true. I struck a deal with Trent, and I know that this time he will keep to his word."
Blackstrike looked up at Ghost. "What bargain did ye make?"
"Once we have Amethyst, we lure Scarstripe out, and the kill goes to Trent. In return, he will give us cover, as well as a diversion, with his Foxtribe."
"Luck help us all, Ghost, if yore wrong." Blackstrike crossed her arms and leaned against a tree. "But luck help yoreself most of all."
Ghost drew a dagger and tested its edge. "Luck won't do me much good, Blackstrike."
"Why not?"
Ghost sheathed the dagger and grinned coldly. "I don't believe in it."
Chapter V
Trent was sitting in the former bedroom turned infirmary in the rabbit den, watching as Blythe slept. He had been informed not more than a few minutes ago, that Blythe would not wake from the sleep, and if he did, not for long. Nightshade, the vixen who headed up the infirmary, claimed to have found several symptoms that pointed to poisoning, and that Blythe was beyond help. There was nothing to do now but sit and wait for nightfall.
"That was clever, Trent."
Trent glanced over his shoulder and nodded politely to Khale, though he did not stand to greet the elder fox. Khale eyed his comrade as he took a seat next to him.
"Somethin' botherin' you, Trent?"
Trent nodded slowly and looked back at the still form of Blythe. "We're slowly losing another of our comrades." He blinked and looked back at Khale, his sombre expression holding within it a tint of confusion. "What was I clever about?"
"How you dealt with that ferret. He'll have no idea we're attacking him." Khale smiled slightly, but only received a blank look from his friend. "That was your plan, right?"
Trent shook his head slowly. "I'm in no mood to kill them. Blythe is dying; it is even possible to consider him dead already. I am in the mood to kill Scarstripe, and I will kill Scarstripe. Just this once, Khale, I think we will have an ally and let them live. Not everything needs to end with betrayal."
Khale nodded slowly. It was obvious that Trent was obsessing over the latest loss in their ranks. That was, in part, a good thing; a sign of a true leader. However, in his own opinion, Khale felt that there were times for sympathy and mourning, and times to end your enemies' existence.
"I fear, Lord Trent, that you are allowing yourself to be influenced by your emotions."
Trent drew his rapier and offered it to Khale. "If you think I am not fit to lead, Khale," his voice held a tinge of coldness in it. "Then take my rapier, and fight me for command. Otherwise, let me make the decisions. Sometimes, Khale, it is wise to follow your emotions."
The two stared at each other, eyes locked together. Khale tried to see past the cold expression of his leader's face, but he lost the staring match, and silently, he stood and withdrew from the room. Perhaps, just this once, Trent was correct about something.
Trent watched Khale leave, and without a word he sheathed his rapier and turned his gaze back to Blythe. Khale presented a problem, one that would need to be taken care of. That would happen on its own time, though. For now, he would content himself with keeping his mind occupied with current issues. With a sigh, he stood and walked over to Blythe's bedside.
"Blythe, I know you can probably hear me, perhaps in a dream. Know now, before you leave our ranks and join those we have lost in the past, that we will win, and that I fight for you. Comrade of Foxtribe, sleep well knowing this piece of knowledge: we will prevail."
He glanced over his shoulder. Nightshade was entering with a rag and jar of warm water. She gave him a slow nod as she walked up to the bedside and dampened the rag.
"Nothing left to do now but keep him comfortable," she said.
Trent nodded and turned to leave. "Do what you can." Without a backward glance, he hardened his expression and left the room.
Khale made his way through the halls and corridors, half growling at the vastness of Foxtribe's latest base. His eye caught something, like a shadow, and he moved towards it.
"Slyver?"
"The one and only, Khale." Slyver flashed him a smile and approached him. "How goes, Comrade?"
"Remind me never to suggest a rabbit den for a home ever again."
Slyver chuckled. "How is Trent?"
"He's too full of emotion to think clearly, if you ask me. I think it's clouding his mind."
Slyver eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. "What do you suggest we do?"
Khale shrugged. "Relieve him of command?"
Slyver nodded. "That may be a smart move. Come, follow me, we can plan."
Khale perked an ear up, slightly surprised to have found an ally. He took a step towards her and doubled over in pain. Something wrenched in his gut, and he fell to the ground, clutching the grip of a dagger. A second wave of pain exploded in his throat, and he suddenly felt short winded and unable to speak. As his eyes clouded over, he watched the black paw free the dagger from his stomach and wipe it clean on his shirt.
"Don't think you could conspire against Trent and get away with it." Slyver grinned and cleaned the blade she had used to slit his throat. She watched him move his mouth, as if to speak, and chuckled. "You think I can't get away with it? Well I'll let you in on a little secret." She leaned down near his ear. "My full name happens to be Lady Slyver Silverblade." She stood back up and locked her dark eyes on the older fox's. "Farewell, Khale."
Trent was walking up the corridors when he ran into Slyver. She smiled at him and placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. He patted her paw and smiled half-heartedly.
"Trent, dear?"
"Yes Slyver?"
"Khale's dead. He was conspiring against you, so I killed him."
Trent eyed her for a moment before nodding slowly. "I knew he would. It was good he was dealt with before influence spread. Thank you."
Slyver grinned coolly. "No problem, dear. Now come on, you look like you need some rest."
Chapter VI
Scarstripe stared at the closed flap of his tent, oblivious to almost everything around him. The only thing he was faintly aware of, and that was simply because she was the only thing moving in the tent, was Amethyst. She was pacing in her limited area, restricted by the chain anchored her to the ground.
"Two days, Amethyst."
She looked up at the weasel. "Hmm?"
"Two days and we attack the abbey. Foxtribe has been dormant, and scouts report nothing of any sort happening anywhere." He rolled his head to one side and looked at her. "So I have decided that in two days, we attack Loamhedge."
Amethyst stared at him in silence and slowly sank to a sitting position on the ground. She knew that, save for a few, Loamhedge had no fighters, or at least none that could stand against a horde. If Scarstripe attacked, then she would see home again, but it would be nothing more than a prison. As the idea of what could happen came to her, a single thought entered her mind. A game she had played many times as a dibbun, when simple thievery of sweets was nothing more than a form of amusement, and bluffing one's way out of it became a skill.
"You won't win, Scarstripe."
The weasel eyed her carefully. "And why not, dear?"
She narrowed her eyes and smiled wryly. "Because I know Loamhedge fighters, and they're not the type to lose."
"Loamhedge has fighters now?" Scarstripe arched an eyebrow. "How interesting. Especially since you told me there was no beast in your abbey, save one, that could fight."
Amethyst's wry smile turned into a smirk. "I lied. Sorry, but I guess I lied about that."
Scarstripe glared at her. "Why the sudden change of mind, mousy? Could it be because you don't want your precious little abbey to be destroyed? You're bluffing."
Amethyst shook her head. "I'm telling you that it won't be easy. I just want to be there when Darek kills you. Maybe then you will see I was right."
Scarstripe's face showed a brief flash of fear, and Amethyst caught it before it vanished. Hesitantly, Scarstripe started asking more about the abbey.
"Who's Darek?"
"The leader of our fighters. He's the Abbot's right paw, and a very skilled fighter. I would be very afraid, if I were you." She shrugged. "You might want to reconsider just walking in and trying to take the place by storm."
Scarstripe narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Yes, I just might."
Amethyst laughed inwardly, but outwardly maintained the taunting smirk. "You do that." Checkmate, game over, I win, she thought. Scarstripe had made the mistake of falling for her trick. If only you knew the smarts a dibbun has.
Noontide
Chapter I
Ghost wiped his brow and glared up at the noon time sun that was beating them from overhead. The day had turned into a hot one, making the hike to Scarstripe's camp a slow and weary one. Granted there was tree cover, but the patchwork shade offered by the canopy did little to dispel the heat. Ghost wiped his brow again and waved for the group to stop.
"Too hot to go on much more without a rest. Solace, break out the drinks and get a small meal ready. Montel, Arkain, and Lady Flynt, you stay and watch camp. Mantis, Myriad, you come with me."
Blackstrike tapped the ferret on the shoulder. "And me?"
Ghost stared at her blankly for a moment. "Oh, yes, sorry. Help Solace with the meal."
The otter chuckled and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "It's alright. We'll have somethin' nice waitin' fer ya when ye get back."
Ghost nodded and motioned for Mantis and Myriad to follow him. Together, the three ventured ahead into the forest.
"What is your plan, Ghost?" Mantis loosened his black robe and allowed the air to stir the white fur hidden beneath it. "I hope it involves a good swim."
"Sorry. I didn't plan on that, unless we happen upon a lake or stream. How far would you say the camp is?"
Myriad scratched her head. "Well, by my reckonin', little less than half a day's march yet." She shook her head. "Heat's slowed us down plenty."
Mantis nodded. "I agree. We had planned, and hoped, for ideal conditions and weather. This is far from it."
Ghost looked around and spotted an arrow sticking up in the dirt. Curious, he walked over to it and started upon spying something else. "Mantis, Myriad, come here. Who are they?"
Mantis followed Ghost's pointing finger and frowned at the two dead stoats. "Scouts. Looks like one had a run-in with a dagger. The other," he knelt to examine the neck, which was bent at an odd angle. "Lost to either brute force, or grim determination. I'll guess the latter simply because of that." He pointed to the dried blood that covered the stoat's blade; then to the trail of blood that led off through the trees.
Ghost frowned. "Wonder who it was. Are there bound to be more about?"
Myriad nodded. "Scout group was about one score. If this' only two, then figure eighteen more."
"It would be wise to move." Mantis retrieved the dagger from the stoat's body and wiped it clean. "Before they come."
Mantis suddenly howled and pitched forward, dropping the dagger to the ground. Ghost and Myriad both snapped their heads in his direction, and noticed, with the same startled reaction, the arrow protruding from his left shoulder. A harsh cackle rang through the area, and Myriad gasped as three of the scouts, a two weasels and a rat, stepped out of the bushes, one of the weasels loading a new arrow onto his bow.
"Mantis, Myriad, fancy meetin' ye here. Yer traitors, ye know. Ahm s'posed t' kill traitors." The weasel brought his bow up, sighted down the shaft, and drew the arrow back to fire. "Sweet dreams."
A streak of black struck the weasel in the head, and he fell dead with the familiar dark arrow half buried in his skull. The loaded arrow was released, but flew off in a wild path that ended with a soft thud against a stout elm. The other weasel and rat hardly had time to comprehend what had happened, before they too shared in their partner's fate. Ghost drew his dagger and motioned Myriad to stay back.
"Well, if it isn't Ghost. And is that Myriad? My, my, it truly is a mall world."
Myriad gulped. "I recognise that voice."
"Me too." Ghost growled. "Trent! Enough of the cowardly hiding, come out and fight, if that is your intention."
The fox, flanked by Khale and the all black vixen, Slyver, stepped into view and passed his bow to Khale. "If I wanted to kill you, Ghost, then I would do so. You are lucky my scout," he motioned to Slyver, "caught wind of those three," he pointed to the dead vermin, "and reported back in time."
"I know that tone of voice, Trent. What do you want?" Ghost sheathed his dagger, but kept a ready paw on it.
"I have an offer, if you will hear me out."
Ghost glanced at Khale, then Slyver. "Do we have a choice?"
Trent shook his head. "Get the ermine, Khale, and take him to our healers. Ghost, Myriad, come. We have much to discuss."
"We discuss it here, or back at my camp, Trent." Ghost crossed his arms. "Which will it be?"
"My camp. Here is too open; there are more scouts about, and if I went to yours, Montel would kill me and my comrades in an instant." Trent sighed. "I mean you no harm, Ghost. What I have to say will benefit you and your task."
Ghost glanced back at Myriad, then down at Mantis. "Fine. But these two never leave my sight. Also, Trent, bear in mind that I will have my revenge."
"Not now. Revenge is a game of patience. Let me have mine with Scarstripe's scum first."
"Why do you seek revenge against them?"
Trent narrowed his eyes. "Aside from the fact that he is trying to kill me, one of my dear comrades is currently on his deathbed. I trust you know how that feels. Now are you going to make us sit out here in the open, or are you coming?" Trent motioned Khale to help Mantis to his feet. "Scarstripe's out to kill both of us. I do not kill someone when they share an enemy with me."
Ghost nodded. "Your word as a fox?"
"My word as both fox and comrade of Foxtribe. Honour above all."
"Sure." Ghost glared at the fox. "And I'm a mouse."
Chapter II
Scarstripe was trying desperately to fend off the oncoming headache. News, what little of it had come from the hunters, was enough to make him seethe. Seven were dead, with two missing. To make matters worse, none of them had any sightings of Trent or his Foxtribe. The only sighting reported was that of a woodlander camp nearby. His dark eyes locked on the rat standing before him, and he uttered a low growl.
"Sir, would it be wise t' attack th' wooders' camp?"
Scarstripe rubbed his temple and glared at the rat. "Your hunters failed me, Grall, and you try to give me advice?" He thrust a finger back at the huddled form of Amethyst, who was sitting on the ground. "That is what the 'wooders' are after. They pose nothing near the threat that Trent and his treacherous Foxtribe does. They are all from Loamhedge, and Loamhedge has no warriors!"
Grall silently backed out of the tent. He had seen Scarstripe in a rage before, and did not wish to experience the nightmarish sight again. He pulled a stoat aside and whispered his orders.
"Dostoe, I want you t' go keep an eye on that woodlander camp."
The stoat saluted and straightened his stance. Right erway, sir, ain't a problem. Ye'll see, sir."
"Just get the job done." With a wave of his paw, he dismissed the stoat.
Back in his tent, Scarstripe was sitting in his chair, leaning on one of the armrests and staring Amethyst over. A curious expression had formed on his face, and he seemed lost in thought. Amethyst eyed him warily, wondering if there was any need for alarm, or if she would need to talk him down again.
"Amethyst,"
She gulped. The weasel's voice was frighteningly calm and reserved. "Yes?"
"You would tell me if there were any fighters who were members of your abbey, right?"
"Of course, sir."
Scarstripe nodded. "Good." He sat upright and narrowed his eyes at her. "Are there?"
Hesitantly, Amethyst nodded. "One...a hare named Arkain. Be advised, sir, that he does not take kindly to slavers like yourself."
Scarstripe waved the comment aside and looked down at his maps. "So, there is one who can fight...who would Arkain have brought along with him?"
Amethyst shrugged. "I wouldn't know, sir."
"You aren't lying to me, are you?" He glanced over at her.
Amethyst grinned and shook her head.
Scarstripe nodded. "Good. It would be a shame to have to kill you."
Darkbane watched the camp in silence. Somehow, without his knowledge, Mantis, Myriad, and Ghost had wandered off. He growled and cursed himself for not having paid closer attention. There was nothing to do now but wait. The three would back eventually, and he would be on the hunt again.
"Psst, you,"
Darkbane's dagger flashed from its sheath and pressed dangerously up against the stoat's throat. The two stared at each other, one ready to kill, the other in shocked silence. With a hushed growl, Darkbane released the stoat.
"Why are you here?"
"I was sent, sir, t' watch th' woodies, sir. I didn't know that yer already watchin' 'em." Dostoe trembled slightly. "Yer from Scarstripe, right?"
Darkbane sheathed his dagger. "Aye, I am, and I'm on a very important mission," he whispered to the stoat. "Bug off before you ruin it for me."
The stoat whined and Darkbane clamped a paw on his mouth. There were several minutes of forced silence until Darkbane let him speak again.
"Sir, I was told t' watch th' woodies."
Darkbane pointed towards Scarstripe's camp. "These are the last two words you will hear from me, either because you heed them, or you are dead. Bug off."
The stoat backed away slowly, bowing and trying to appear as meek as possible. The strange rat scared him, and he had already felt how sharp the daggers were. The two blades were not something he wanted to meet with any time soon. With out a backward glance, Dostoe ran the entire way back to camp to report his latest failure.
Darkbane watched him leave and grinned to himself. It was comforting to know that one still had the ability to intimidate, and it was a skill he would take care to further in the seasons to come. He was an assassin; it was a skill that was needed before a reputation could be born. Darkbane wanted a reputation.
Chapter III
Solace yawned and stretched as she looked around the silent camp. Blackstrike was dozing near the fire, where the remnants of a top rate meal of vegetable soup still waited for three more to come and eat. Lady Flynt was perched in a tree, resting on a low hanging bough and staring at nothing in particular. In a far corner of the camp, in his usual semi-isolation, Montel was cleaning his axe out of boredom. Arkain, in the meantime, was pacing back and forth, arms clasped behind his back and a scowl plastered on his face.
"It's been a while. They should be back by now."
Solace shrugged. "Ghost's always had his own agenda. He'll be back when he's back." She tried in vain to scratch an itch on her back. "Arkain, stop pacin' an' do somethin' worthwhile."
Arkain glanced back at her. "Right, whatever y' say." He rolled his eyes and pointed at the three untouched servings, already cold by the fire. "I'm tellin' y' somtehin's wrong. What beast in their right mind wouldn't return for a good meal?"
"Always food." Lady Flynt shook her head. "All ya hares are th' same. Always thinkin' about food. Get it out o' yer minds." She yawned. "Ghost'll be back when he's back. That's all there is to it."
Montel looked up from cleaning his axe and eyed the two hares. "Someone should look for them."
"Why? Ye'd just get y'self lost." Solace jumped up and walked over to Arkain. "Scratch m'back, please. That's good." She grinned slightly as the annoying itch vanished. "Montel, what if y' wandered off an' they got back? We'd have t' wait 'till y' got back before we could move again. It'd slow us down."
Montel nodded slowly. "Alright. Then we stay put and wait."
"Good call, chap. Alright, thanks Arkain." Solace patted the other hare on the shoulder and walked over to the fire. "Y' think they'll want cold food? Might be best t' have somethin' hot waitin' for 'em."
"Right. But y' can't let th' cold stuff go t' waste. Pass a bowl this way." Arkain snatched two of the three servings up and handed one to Solace. "Anyone else want th' third?"
"We'll race for it, Arkain. First one done with th' first bowl, gets th' second."
Arkain nodded. "Alright, then hop to! Montel, be a good sport an' wake Blackstrike. We'll need more tuck soon."
Montel grumbled and shook his head. "Wake 'im yourself, you gluttonous ball of fur."
Arkain looked up from his bowl of soup and frowned. "Not a good sport, are y' stripedog."
Montel growled. "Don't call me stripedog, flopears."
"If y' call me flopears, I'll call y' whatever I well please, cumbersome oaf."
"I'm not so cumbersome in a fight, you overstuffed fleabag." Montel pointed to his axe. "I'll show you how fast a badger can be."
"I'm done!" Solace snatched the second bowl of soup and tossed the empty bowl at Arkain. "Quit arguin' with th' badger or I'll make sure that y' regret it."
Arkain's jaw dropped. "Th' whole bally lot o' y' are gainin' up on me. First th' overgrown weasel calls me names, then I'm deprived of a good meal."
Montel chuckled. "Well, guess you are slow, then."
"I am hardly slow, just distracted."
Montel shrugged. "Same thing. You are slow."
Arkain stood up and pointed a finger at the badger. "Now, y' listen here, y' big, overgrown, flea ridden excuse fer a fighter, I'm a hare, an' like all hares, I'm faster than y' could ever be!"
"Not fast enough." Solace snatched the bowl of soup from Arkain's paw and handed him her empty one. "Snooze an' y' lose."
Arkain gaped open jawed at the empty bowl. "Now that's a bloody mean thing t' do."
"Guess you will need to be faster next time, speedy one." Montel laughed and set his axe aside. "Too bad this time."
"Shut yer trap, stripedog."
"Come over here and make me, flopears."
"Knock it off, both of you!" Lady Flynt threw a small branch at them. "Some of us are tryin' to sleep."
Arkain slowly sat back down, a fain grin playing on his face. "Y' know I was only jokin', right?"
"Of course." Montel grinned and continued with cleaning his axe. "Flopear."
"Scumbag."
"Glutton."
"Enough!"
Both looked up at Lady Flynt in time to duck the oncoming twigs.
"Dreadfully sorry ma'am. Never happen again. My word as a hare!"
"My word as a badger. Never again, Lady Flynt." Montel laughed and focused his attention on his axe.
Arkain shrugged and looked at his empty bowl. "Well, someone's gotta wake Blackstrike up. We need food."
Solace shoved him. "Well, I know a good candidate. Hop to, lad."
"Sorry, but wakin' sleepin' otters is not in my job description."
Solace rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Well, then it'll just have t' wait 'till they get back, however long that'll take."
Arkain hopped up. "I'll get right on it."
Chapter IV
Ghost trudged along after the three foxes, flanked by Mantis and Myriad. His eyes darted constantly from Slyver, to Khale, to Trent, always resting on the Foxtribe leader for a moment while every emotion of hate brewed within his mind and soul. All he wanted was to draw his dagger and strike, and he knew he could. The only thing that held him in check was the ferret to his right, and the ermine to his left. There was no way he would see their lives put at risk because of his personal vendetta. If he were to attack and kill Trent, he held no doubts that Khale and Slyver would call the rest of Foxtribe on them, and he would be killed, along with Myriad, and Mantis. They did not deserve that death, and Ghost would not be the one to bring it on them.
"Where are the rabbits that lived here?"
Ghost glanced at Myriad. Those had been the first words spoken since they had arrived at the Foxtribe hideaway.
"They ran when Scarstripe entered the area. There was no one here when we arrived and took it as our own home." Trent grinned back at them.
Ghost could tell that Trent was lying, but he did not express his suspicion aloud. "Trent, I do not want my friends to leave my sight. If Mantis goes to the infirmary, then all of us go, and the meeting can be held there."
Trent flashed Ghost a sly smile. "Not too trusting, are we now, Ghost?"
"Never." Ghost patted his daggers and grinned back at the fox. "Watch your back. You may be a fox, but I know that game just as well as any of your kind."
"Of course you would, Ghost," Trent turned and led them into the makeshift infirmary, which was really one of the many bedrooms in the rabbit den. "You are an assassin, and by trade you must know how to think like that. Come, now let's see what we can do about Mantis, shall we?"
"I can care for my own arm, fox." Mantis snarled at one of the infirmary attendants, a young vixen, as she approached. "I'll bandage it myself."
Ghost watched the fellow assassin make his way over to the limited supplies housed on a shelf and work on his arm. With a sigh, he glanced back at Myriad, showing just how tired he was. Myriad frowned and shook her head.
"Make it quick, Trent. We ain't got all day."
Trent growled and walked over to a bed, where the battered form of Blythe was sleeping his last few hours away. "Few of us have all day, Myriad. I want to propose a temporary alliance. We have the fighting force to bring Scarstripe to his knees, and you have the desire to rescue a friend of yours."
Ghost shrugged. "So?"
"So, we can benefit from one another. You drag Amethyst out of the camp, and Scarstripe will undoubtedly follow. That gives my foxes a wonderful chance to test their predatory skills, and I get a shot at killing Scarstripe."
The two ferrets eyed each other, then Trent.
"So you are proposing this alliance because you wish to help?"
"Nonsense, Ghost. Your actions would simply benefit mine, and because of that, I want you to succeed. I could care less about sympathy for you, or for any of those pitiful abbey dwellers at Loamhedge. I have my own vendetta, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to get my shot at the weasel."
"And you will not harm any of my friends?" Ghost asked.
Trent shook his head. "My word as a fox, as a Silverblade, and as a member of Foxtribe."
The fox offered his paw, and Ghost stared at it for a moment. With a slight hesitance, that later turned to reluctance, he gripped Trent's paw and gave it a firm shake. The deal was done, and although the alliance would benefit his own cause, Ghost still felt like a traitor for making a pact with his enemy.
Ghost turned to Mantis and gave him a slight wave, motioning that he was ready to leave. Giving Myriad a slow nod, he walked towards the exit, his two companions flanking him once more.
"Ghost, it would be best to move tomorrow night."
Ghost half growled at the fox. "I'll be sure to remember that, Trent."
Arkain picked his teeth clean of bits of dried fruit with his dirk. Blackstrike was sleeping once more, after handing out the food as an alternative to cooking a new meal. The two hares put up little argument.
"It's a shame, y' know, ol' Ghost not getting' his fill o' th' food."
Solace shrugged at Arkain's comment. "Hardly. They didn't bother t' show, so why should it be our problem?"
"Because we are a group. An individual's problem becomes everyone's problem."
Both hares gave Montel a glance, then looked at each other and shrugged. Montel sighed and shook his head as the chatter went on. Turning his attention to his axe, he ran a paw over the keen edge and stared at the blurred reflection within the overly shined head. His roving eye caught movement in the reflection, something in the bushes behind him, and he turned quickly, bringing the axe up to strike at any would be attackers. He found himself staring at Ghost. With a grin, he lowered the axe and clapped the ferret on the back.
"We were getting worried, Ghost. Those two hares ate the food we had set aside for you." He nodded to Myriad and Mantis, glancing curiously at the ermine's bandaged arm. "Are you all alright?"
Ghost eyed Arkain and Solace, whom were both so involved in their own conversation that they had failed to notice the trio's return. "Well, Montel, we are fine. We had something to eat already."
Montel nodded and furrowed his brow. "Where?"
Ghost whistled and caught everyone's attention, including a drowsy Lady Flynt, and a stupefied Blackstrike, both of which had just been roused from their sleep. Waving them all towards him, he grinned slightly.
"We have allies who will help us deal with Scarstripe."
There was a moment of dead silence until Lady Flynt spoke up.
"Who's gonna be fightin' alongside us?"
Ghost took a deep breath and bit his lip. "Trent and his Foxtribe."
Silence fell again, but this time it was filled with looks of shock and spiteful hatred. Solace walked over to a log to sit, while Montel buried his axe into the ground. Lady Flynt turned and stomped off back to her tree, and her nesting branch. Glaring down at Ghost, she made known what all of the others were thinking.
"Why'd ya even trust 'im? He's a scoundrel, a murderer, an' I wouldn't trust 'im any more'n I could throw 'im. What if he's just gonna do what he did last time?"
Ghost shook his head as he escorted a tired Myriad to a spot near where Solace was sitting and sat her down as well. "I'm trusting him, just this one more time. I would be the last one to trust him, after what he did, but he's out to kill Scarstripe, and we both have him as a common enemy."
"I know Trent," Myriad spoke up, "And I'd be willin' t' side with Ghost. There's bad blood between Scarstripe an' that fox, an' Trent wants t' see th' fight through. It'll only last one night, but I'd venture t' guess that on that night, he can be trusted t' help bring Scarstripe down."
Lady Flynt and Solace stared at Myriad for a moment before staring off into emptiness. It was obvious that they would have preferred anything other than an alliance with Trent. Ghost sighed and sat down next to Myriad.
"Listen, I made one mistake leading this group, and I vowed never to make it again. I would not rush to this judgement, and would only make it only if I had no doubts whatsoever about what I think is true. I struck a deal with Trent, and I know that this time he will keep to his word."
Blackstrike looked up at Ghost. "What bargain did ye make?"
"Once we have Amethyst, we lure Scarstripe out, and the kill goes to Trent. In return, he will give us cover, as well as a diversion, with his Foxtribe."
"Luck help us all, Ghost, if yore wrong." Blackstrike crossed her arms and leaned against a tree. "But luck help yoreself most of all."
Ghost drew a dagger and tested its edge. "Luck won't do me much good, Blackstrike."
"Why not?"
Ghost sheathed the dagger and grinned coldly. "I don't believe in it."
Chapter V
Trent was sitting in the former bedroom turned infirmary in the rabbit den, watching as Blythe slept. He had been informed not more than a few minutes ago, that Blythe would not wake from the sleep, and if he did, not for long. Nightshade, the vixen who headed up the infirmary, claimed to have found several symptoms that pointed to poisoning, and that Blythe was beyond help. There was nothing to do now but sit and wait for nightfall.
"That was clever, Trent."
Trent glanced over his shoulder and nodded politely to Khale, though he did not stand to greet the elder fox. Khale eyed his comrade as he took a seat next to him.
"Somethin' botherin' you, Trent?"
Trent nodded slowly and looked back at the still form of Blythe. "We're slowly losing another of our comrades." He blinked and looked back at Khale, his sombre expression holding within it a tint of confusion. "What was I clever about?"
"How you dealt with that ferret. He'll have no idea we're attacking him." Khale smiled slightly, but only received a blank look from his friend. "That was your plan, right?"
Trent shook his head slowly. "I'm in no mood to kill them. Blythe is dying; it is even possible to consider him dead already. I am in the mood to kill Scarstripe, and I will kill Scarstripe. Just this once, Khale, I think we will have an ally and let them live. Not everything needs to end with betrayal."
Khale nodded slowly. It was obvious that Trent was obsessing over the latest loss in their ranks. That was, in part, a good thing; a sign of a true leader. However, in his own opinion, Khale felt that there were times for sympathy and mourning, and times to end your enemies' existence.
"I fear, Lord Trent, that you are allowing yourself to be influenced by your emotions."
Trent drew his rapier and offered it to Khale. "If you think I am not fit to lead, Khale," his voice held a tinge of coldness in it. "Then take my rapier, and fight me for command. Otherwise, let me make the decisions. Sometimes, Khale, it is wise to follow your emotions."
The two stared at each other, eyes locked together. Khale tried to see past the cold expression of his leader's face, but he lost the staring match, and silently, he stood and withdrew from the room. Perhaps, just this once, Trent was correct about something.
Trent watched Khale leave, and without a word he sheathed his rapier and turned his gaze back to Blythe. Khale presented a problem, one that would need to be taken care of. That would happen on its own time, though. For now, he would content himself with keeping his mind occupied with current issues. With a sigh, he stood and walked over to Blythe's bedside.
"Blythe, I know you can probably hear me, perhaps in a dream. Know now, before you leave our ranks and join those we have lost in the past, that we will win, and that I fight for you. Comrade of Foxtribe, sleep well knowing this piece of knowledge: we will prevail."
He glanced over his shoulder. Nightshade was entering with a rag and jar of warm water. She gave him a slow nod as she walked up to the bedside and dampened the rag.
"Nothing left to do now but keep him comfortable," she said.
Trent nodded and turned to leave. "Do what you can." Without a backward glance, he hardened his expression and left the room.
Khale made his way through the halls and corridors, half growling at the vastness of Foxtribe's latest base. His eye caught something, like a shadow, and he moved towards it.
"Slyver?"
"The one and only, Khale." Slyver flashed him a smile and approached him. "How goes, Comrade?"
"Remind me never to suggest a rabbit den for a home ever again."
Slyver chuckled. "How is Trent?"
"He's too full of emotion to think clearly, if you ask me. I think it's clouding his mind."
Slyver eyed him thoughtfully for a moment. "What do you suggest we do?"
Khale shrugged. "Relieve him of command?"
Slyver nodded. "That may be a smart move. Come, follow me, we can plan."
Khale perked an ear up, slightly surprised to have found an ally. He took a step towards her and doubled over in pain. Something wrenched in his gut, and he fell to the ground, clutching the grip of a dagger. A second wave of pain exploded in his throat, and he suddenly felt short winded and unable to speak. As his eyes clouded over, he watched the black paw free the dagger from his stomach and wipe it clean on his shirt.
"Don't think you could conspire against Trent and get away with it." Slyver grinned and cleaned the blade she had used to slit his throat. She watched him move his mouth, as if to speak, and chuckled. "You think I can't get away with it? Well I'll let you in on a little secret." She leaned down near his ear. "My full name happens to be Lady Slyver Silverblade." She stood back up and locked her dark eyes on the older fox's. "Farewell, Khale."
Trent was walking up the corridors when he ran into Slyver. She smiled at him and placed a comforting arm around his shoulders. He patted her paw and smiled half-heartedly.
"Trent, dear?"
"Yes Slyver?"
"Khale's dead. He was conspiring against you, so I killed him."
Trent eyed her for a moment before nodding slowly. "I knew he would. It was good he was dealt with before influence spread. Thank you."
Slyver grinned coolly. "No problem, dear. Now come on, you look like you need some rest."
Chapter VI
Scarstripe stared at the closed flap of his tent, oblivious to almost everything around him. The only thing he was faintly aware of, and that was simply because she was the only thing moving in the tent, was Amethyst. She was pacing in her limited area, restricted by the chain anchored her to the ground.
"Two days, Amethyst."
She looked up at the weasel. "Hmm?"
"Two days and we attack the abbey. Foxtribe has been dormant, and scouts report nothing of any sort happening anywhere." He rolled his head to one side and looked at her. "So I have decided that in two days, we attack Loamhedge."
Amethyst stared at him in silence and slowly sank to a sitting position on the ground. She knew that, save for a few, Loamhedge had no fighters, or at least none that could stand against a horde. If Scarstripe attacked, then she would see home again, but it would be nothing more than a prison. As the idea of what could happen came to her, a single thought entered her mind. A game she had played many times as a dibbun, when simple thievery of sweets was nothing more than a form of amusement, and bluffing one's way out of it became a skill.
"You won't win, Scarstripe."
The weasel eyed her carefully. "And why not, dear?"
She narrowed her eyes and smiled wryly. "Because I know Loamhedge fighters, and they're not the type to lose."
"Loamhedge has fighters now?" Scarstripe arched an eyebrow. "How interesting. Especially since you told me there was no beast in your abbey, save one, that could fight."
Amethyst's wry smile turned into a smirk. "I lied. Sorry, but I guess I lied about that."
Scarstripe glared at her. "Why the sudden change of mind, mousy? Could it be because you don't want your precious little abbey to be destroyed? You're bluffing."
Amethyst shook her head. "I'm telling you that it won't be easy. I just want to be there when Darek kills you. Maybe then you will see I was right."
Scarstripe's face showed a brief flash of fear, and Amethyst caught it before it vanished. Hesitantly, Scarstripe started asking more about the abbey.
"Who's Darek?"
"The leader of our fighters. He's the Abbot's right paw, and a very skilled fighter. I would be very afraid, if I were you." She shrugged. "You might want to reconsider just walking in and trying to take the place by storm."
Scarstripe narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Yes, I just might."
Amethyst laughed inwardly, but outwardly maintained the taunting smirk. "You do that." Checkmate, game over, I win, she thought. Scarstripe had made the mistake of falling for her trick. If only you knew the smarts a dibbun has.