A great mountain stood against the horizon, deep scorch marks smearing its outside. Arrows, javelins, smooth pebbles and large rocks dotted the side and a rotting stench filled the air.
A dagger buried itself in a wooden board, cut in the shape of a hare. The blade had sunk into the area of where the forehead would be on a real beast.
"Excellent throw, mistress." The voice was soft and most disarming. The voice belonged to a pretty young ferret. She wore a cloak of green and gold, delicately sewn at the end. The hood of the cloak was pulled up, shadowing the face. However, when the light shone at a direct angel,
a pair of green eyes shone out. Her claws were painted green and gold and she wore a small, polished dagger at her side. A brown furred paw plucked the dagger from the board and carried it daintily to a seated figure. The ferret laid the dagger down softly on the armrest of the great stone chair.
"As usual, Mlura." The voice was cold and devoid of emotion. The seated figure stood up and strode quickly to the window, her black cloak flowing behind her. For once, however, her hood was down, revealing a beautiful ferret, still fairly young like her advisor, Mlura. Allowing a small smile, the ferret revealed small black dyed fangs, proving how she had gotten her last
name. All of her claws were dyed black also, but she wore small black, chain mail gauntlets, cut in a fashion as to let her claws stick out the ends. Sheathed at her waist was a long slender sword, one side strait and deadly, the other side jagged, like a row of fangs. The hilt was a midnight black, set with small green gems and golden balls. She'd found it in the badger's forge. Her right paw rested easily on it, the other on a deadly dagger. A second, smaller dagger lay unseen in
the binds of her sandal, easily accessible for emergencies.
"Mlura, look at my Death Horde. I, Azcar Darkfang the Assassin, daughter of Hellsteeth' designed my soldiers in every aspect as my great grandsire, Klitch, son of Ferhago the Assassin. What they attempted and failed, paying with their lives, I have accomplished. As soon as I have made a decent fortress out of this mountain, I shall continue onward, taking Mossflower and," she paused, cherishing the thought, "Redwall Abbey. Those yellowbellied, sniveling cowards will one day slave for me, they will pay for their mistakes of helping these retched badgers."
Mlura nodded silently, letting her mistress revel in her delusions of grandeur. Inwardly, the ferret advisor thought the Assassin to be the most idiotic ferret to ever walk the southern lands. She knew; everybeast knew; that no matter how powerful the horde, nobeast had ever defeated the Redwallers. They had spirits of bygone warriors; great birds; riverdogs and small, fierce mice-like creatures to defend them. Somehow, Azcar seemed to sense Mlura's thoughts.
"You doubt me, don't you, Mlura." She smiled pityingly at her advisor. "Yes, I know they have never been defeated, but they've never met me either."
"Mistress, while I don't doubt your words hold wisdom..."
"Silence, you great flea bitten mass, I know you doubt my words!" She held the dagger tip to the surprised ferret's throat. "Mark my words, Mlura. I will destroy Redwall." Her laugh was so cruel, the guards outside her door cringed. She glanced moodily down at her horde. They were dragging the slain bodies of hares off, where they were burned. The ferrets each got their own graves, complete with markers and words of wisdom. The stench was so foul that Darkfang lit another candle. It burned pleasant fragrances. She seated herself once more, taking a sip of elderberry wine. Salamandastron had a great store of food and drink. Although the crops planted on the outside of the mountain had been burned to ashes, the half of her horde not burying slain foes, were cultivating trees, and new plants. There was a fresh water supply, making a siege virtually impossible and the perfect fortress. She wasn't sure what to rename it yet. Maybe Darkfang Fortress, but that sounded strange on her tongue on second thought. She absentmindedly stroked the long jagged scar that ran all the way down her arm. The confounded badger had done that right before Azcar beheaded the thing. She shivered. The badger had been a powerful warrior. She snapped out of her reverie in a foul mood.
"Where is my dim-witted brother, Mlura? He is far over do." Darkfang poured a second glass of the wine, sniffing it delicately. The hares certainly did know how to make some good wine. "If he does not have new recruits..." Azcar picked up a roasted halibut and ripped it with her sharp teeth.
As if on cue, Veeor entered. A small ferret followed close behind him, his eyes downcast. "Brother." Her voice remained devoid of emotion.
"'ellsteeth sister! While yew remain all nice an' snug in yer cozy badger mountain, yew gots me out riskin' me tail fer our stupid 'orde. Next time, I stay 'ere an yew kin go an' face death!"
"Elegantly put, as usual, brother." The voice was cold and bored.
Veeor glared at her. "Righto, sister, I'll tell yer what yew wanna 'ear. We found a group o' about thirty-five ferrets. I killed their leader an' left Flagg in charge o' them wid the 'elp o' Draagsnout an' Spliteer. They'll be arrivin' soon." He pointed a claw at the ferret next to him. "On our way back, we was set upon by a group o' barbaric rats an' only me 'n Dryeye 'ere survived!"
"How convenient," growled Azcar. She drew her dagger and pressed none to gently to Dryeye's throat. "Tell me, scum. Does my brother speak the truth?"
Dryeye gulped fearfully, glancing nervously back and forth between the siblings. "Err, err,
aye, yes, mis'ress, 'ats exarctly 'ow it 'appened!"
Azcar Darkfang stared silently at the ferret. Then she turned a sharp grin at her brother. At that moment, Veeor realized his sister didn't believe him. The dagger flashed once, gleaming a
bright red.
Azcar turned to her brother, Dryeye whimpering pitifully. "It was some of the hares wasn't it?" Then she glanced back at Dryeye. "As for you, numbskull, you will only lose the ear for listening to my brothers pathetic lying skills."
Veeor shot a murderous glance at his sister, but she didn't even flinch. With barely controlled rage, Veeor grabbed the tearful Dryeye and dragged him out of the room, slamming the door shut in Dryeyes face. Then Veeor wheeled around to face his sister. His snout was so close to hers, she could smell grog on his breath. Where he'd gotten that, she didn't know.
Anger welling up in him he drew his sword suddenly, bringing it down on Azcar's head with a mighty blow. But the Assassin was one step ahead of him, and steel clashed against steel, a grin playing across her lips.
"I know you much too well, dear brother, for you to try to pull a trick like that."
He lifted the sword away, swinging at her waist instead. Once more, the move was predicted and Darkfang's sword pinned down Veeor's. He struggled to lift it away, letting his guard completely down. Azcar kicked him dead in his stomach and he went flying into the far wall, his sword flung far away. In a blink, Azcar was on him, the smile still playing about her lips; the sword point pressed none to gently to his neck.
"I could kill you, nitbrain, I could slay you with a single swipe and your handsome head would go rolling away." Veeor unleashed a tirade of curses on his sister, and without batting an eye, she pushed harder, a trickle of blood coursing down his neck, silencing him. Then, with a quick swipe of her sword, she slashed a small cut on his left cheek. "Get out of here." Veeor leapt
to his paws and Mlura handed the sword to him. He glanced at Mlura and then angrily slashed at her head. Mlura leapt back with a cry, but once more, Azcar's sword clashed against Veeor's.
"Get out." Her voice had dropped dangerously low.
Seething with rage, blood dripping from both his neck and his cheek, he glared once more at Azcar and then opened the door, roaring to his sister as he did so.
"One day, I'll kill ya', Azcar! I'll send ya deep to the Gates o' 'Ell!" He slammed the door, his sister's mocking reply ringing in his ears.
"Get in line, dear brother. Get in line!"
After the Darkfang had left, Mlura glanced nervously at Azcar. "Mistress, weren't the hares destroyed?"
Azcar frowned, and tapped her foot paw against the cold stone, wiping blood onto a small cloth on the table. "They should be, if it weren't for my idiotic brother. He couldn't hit the ground if he was sitting on it. I suppose now I will have to send out a search party."
The alerting from the drums below drew the pair to the window. Far below on the beach, Flagg was marching smartly in the front of a group of ferrets. The ferrets were painted bright war colors, but they hefted broken spears, dented swords, sharpened sticks and worn out slings. The Darkfang emitted a low growl. She'd have to outfit each of the new recruits and provide them with half decent weapons. She turned smartly to Mlura, quickly ordering her to find Spliteer to search out the hares.
"Tell Spliteer to form a tracking group of five beasts including himself. They must leave immediately."
With Mlura gone, she quickly stuck her head out the door. "Guard," she barked sharply. "Fetch me Dethcurl the Seer!"
When the ferret blanched and hesitated, Azcar ill-temperedly drew her sword and ran the ferret clear through. She twisted it out and the guard crumpled to a lifeless heap. Then she wheeled to face the second guard, only to find him more than willing to comply. She glared up and down the corridor and then entered back into the room, slamming the door shut behind her.