Bittic the ferret had stopped at the door of the forge. His beating heart seemed to echo through the cavernous area and his breathing was hard and heavy. Bittic was a big, stupid ferret, and he wasn't afraid of many things. One of these things, though, was Dethcurl the Seer. Azcar had killed the guard's best mate when he'd hesitated and Bittic was mad about it. He took his anger to be courage and took a step into the dark forge. He peered about and soon he could make out the dark shape of the vixen as she crouched by the window.
Dethcurl held the skull of Moyra the Badger in her paws, rattling the paw bones of the dead Lady Moyra in the skull. She added several colorful sticks and then craned her snout upwards, letting loose an unearthly howl.
Bittic stepped in another pace and then called out in what he hoped was a commanding tone. "Er, er, vixen! This s'Bittic, er, Royal Guard ter, er, Mistress Azcar." He fumbled with his spear as he took another step. "She, er, commands yer pressance! Yer gutta cum with me."
Dethcurl rose swiftly, scattering the bones about her. Her cloak flowed behind her and up close one would notice it was made out of tails of various creatures, woven together. She held a gnarled staff in her paws, stained a deep red, and with the skull of a mouse fixed atop it. The vixen wore a breastplate made of the breastbones of her dead mate and a skirt wrapped around her waist consisted of the many ears of many hares. Dethcurl pushed her snout up close to Bittic and the terrified guard could smell blood. The Seer pressed the leering skull up close to the ferret. "Who demands the presence of the magic one?
The moon twill dance only for me,
The sun will seek your fated doom,
Look into my death net, your Mistress will see."
The guard gave one last look at the strange vixen and then fled down the hallway, leaving his spear lying on the ground. The vixen sniggered quite normally, and still chuckling to herself, padded silently through the honeycomb passages she already knew well. A soft knock at the heavy wooden door announced the arrival of Dethcurl the Seer. Mlura hesitantly opened the door, and the vixen stepped in. She turned her icy stare to the ferret advisor and Mlura shrank back. The fox stepped in and glanced about the lavishly furnished room. Ornate paintings and tapestries covered the walls, along with swords set with all types of gems, gold and silver. All of it had been taken from the badger's treasure room. At the moment, Azcar was busy studying a curious golden flail, as her Captains stared around, greed consuming their features. Veeor was sulking in the corner, Dryeye close behind him.
"Mistress! The Seer is here!" Mlura's voice was shaky. The Captains stopped talking immediately. Dryeye gulped fearfully.
"What is she doing here," growled the tall, broad shouldered ferret son of Mlura, Greentooth, indicating to the vixen. A second Captain, Grimclaw, snarled at the vixen, his paw on his double-bladed dagger. It was curious in itself, as it had a blade on both ends and was set with
sea green precious stones. Only the Captains and Azcar had no fear of the Seer; they knew she was all bark and no bite. That's why Darkfang had chosen them as Captains. Her brother claimed not to fear the Seer, but his features showed it plain enough. Ripeye tested his sword point against his paw. Like the other Captains, they each got a sword from the badger's treasures. He had chosen one much like his Assassin's, with a black bound hilt, set with four beautiful rosy pink pearls, and a deep blood channel. The fourth Captain, Greypaw, remained silent, watching the fox closely.
Azcar stepped forward. "Sit." It wasn't an option. The ferrets and the vixen sat down, Mlura to the Assassin's right and Dethcurl to her left. Veeor sat at the opposite part of the table, Dryeye to his right. "As you know," Azcar said, twirling one of her daggers lazily. "I have taken
most of the southern land, killing all and taking no captives. One more thing stands in my way to total occupation: Redwall." She spat out the word and the Captains glanced worriedly at each other.
Finally Greypaw spoke up. "But mistress, cer'ainly ya know the stories o' Redwall. The bones of great Warlords litter the front gates-
"Bones of great Warlords litter the front gates of Salamandastron, fool, yet I have taken it! I have taken it! I have achieved more than all the Warlords in history combined!" Her voice was shrill and it silenced the Captain. She composed herself before speaking again. "As soon as this place has been cleared and defended by half of my Horde, the other half will lead off to conquer Redwall. There, however, we will capture them so they may slave for me." She closed her eyes, a picture forming in her head. She was brought back by a gauntlet paw smashing down on the table. It was her brother.
"Mudbrain, 'ats insane! Any idjit knows all the stories, you o' all vermin! I'm Master o' this 'Orde too!" His paw strayed to the fresh scar across his cheek, anger and hatred for his sister welling inside him as his other paw strayed to his sword.
Azcar smiled to herself, knowing she had achieved her goal once more, her hotheaded brother's temper flaring. He stood up with the clatter of his chair, his sword drawn. He fixed his sister with his murderous stare, and the Captains stood up, surprised. They backed against the wall, along with the vixen. Mlura and Dryeye remained seated; their mouths hanging open, as they stared at the brother and sister. Then they stood up and backed up to the walls, next to the Seer. Azcar didn't even move.
The gathered creatures held their breaths, wondering what would happen next. Finally, Veeor's voice rang out.
"Sister, I challenge ya to a Duel o' the Fangs. To the death! The winner, of course, 'll get control o' the 'Orde, the loser bein' dead! Do ya accept, scumpaw?"
Remaining seated, Azcar nodded. "But of course, dear brother. Provided it is under the usual terms; nobeast's interfering."
Veeor nodded, and advanced on her with a bloodcurdling war cry.
Spliteer was leading Flagg, Flesnout, Greeseer and Skabeye on a double march through the woods of Mossflower. Flesnout was lagging farther and farther behind, until Spliteer ordered a halt.
Flesnout was not an exceptionally bright ferret and he smiled gratefully as Spliteer strode over to him. "t'anks, Spliteer. I'm really tired. We been on a double march so long, I'v fergotten what rest's like, huh huh!"
Spliteer was a tall, lanky ferret, with an extremely short temper. He put his face close to Flesnout's. He swiftly drew his sword and ran the shocked ferret clean through. "If yer can't keep up," he spat on the body, "yer get lef' be'ind." Then he turned back, wiping his sword clean on the grass. "Righty, me lucky boyos. Anybeast else tired? Double march continuers! W'll break at dusk, eat, take a quick rest, than it's back on yer paws! W'll get ter Redwall by termarrer evnin', if we keep up the steady marchin'."
They marched onward and soon dusk fell. They managed to shoot some small birds and Skabeye found a small stream to the west. They slept until midnight, when Spliteer roughly awakened the others and they were off again. By dusk of that day, Redwall Abbey could be seen just in the distance.