Veeor was nearly on top of Azcar before she bothered to do anything. Then, with her answering war cry, she leapt to her paws, as steel clashed against steel, sparks shooting off in all directions. Veeor had brute strength, but Azcar had cunning and patience.

First, Veeor drove his sister backwards, nearly to the wall, before Azcar slid sideways, a small smile on her face. She reverse slashed her brother, staying low, and an ugly gash was carved on his left arm. This time, however, he wasn't going to fall for her old trick. He ignored the searing pain and brought a blow to her paw. With a scream of pain and anger, Azcar retorted with several powerful down blows. Veeor laughed, knowing his strength would outlast hers. He began a second powerful counter attack, their swords clashing again and again and again. But as he brought down each blow he felt his left arm going numb. Veeor retreated slightly and shook his arm. He couldn't move it. Panicking, he realized his shoulder had gone numb, closely following, the left side of his chest. His horrible sister had poisoned her sword!

With a scream, he tried one last offensive. But he was far too weak. The numbness had spread through his entire left side. He crumpled to his side and stared wide-eyed up at Azcar Darkfang. A triumphant smile spread across her face, and she plucked her brother's sword out of his numbed over paw. Then Azcar turned to face the Captains, the Seer and the two advisors. A cruel look displayed on her features as she spoke.

"As you can see, my brother is no match for me, he is far to weak compared to your Mistress."

Veeor tried desperately to explain, but he couldn't force his mouth to open, nor wave to Dryeye. He was already having trouble breathing; he was slowly suffocating. None of the creatures in the room seemed even to suspect poison. Not even Mlura knew the truth.

"Now, my brother will die. Slowly, but yes, he will die."

For what seemed like forever, the creatures stood close to each other, peering at Veeor Darkfang as he slowly died. Finally, his eyes clouded over, but they didn't shut. With another triumphant smile playing across her features, Azcar raised her sword and swung down hard. Veeor's head popped off like a doll's. Then she picked up the head and walked to the window.

"Ferrets," she called out in her commanding tone, her Captains crowding behind her. Mlura watched Dryeye carefully and ordered the guards outside not to let him get away if he tried to escape. "Ferrets," Azcar said again, as one by one, the working creatures below turned to look at her and her brother's head. "This is Veeor Darkfang, your late Master. He dared challenge me to a Battle of the Fangs and" she chuckled darkly, "he lost." Her voice raised almost shrilly. "Now

who is your Mistress?"

"Azcar, Azcar, Keeper of the Fang, unite the Ferrets of Old, we serve You to the end! We are all one body, one servant, who lusts for battle and the chance to kill and die in Your Name!"

The horde below her shouted out her name and cheered wildly, raising shovels, lighted torches and a motley collection of weapons. "Azcar. Azcar. Azcar!"

Azcar Darkfang turned back from the window, but not before flinging the head outside. Her triumphant smile grew broader, as her eyes fell upon Dryeye. The pathetic ferret shrunk into the wall, his eyes wide with terror. "Please, Mistress. I never wen' agaisnt ya or anythin' o' the sort. I always been true to ya, 'onest, Mistress," he whimpered, beginning to shake all over. "I

never dun nuttin' 'gainst ya, yer, yer brother forced me to do all o' everythin an' I always says, Dryeye says, 'Master, I ain't gonna d-

"Shut up," Azcar snapped. "I don't want to hear your excuses. I'm tired of your failures, and your undermining of my authority! Elite!"

The door opened and Dragsnout and Breakboan entered the room. Dryeye let out a screech as they approached. The Elite were a group of giant ferrets, serving as personal bodyguards for Azcar. They wore heavy black armor and carried heavy, black maces. Great swords hung at their waist and black spikes were attached to their knee and elbow armor. Dryeye had nowhere to flee to or hide behind, for everybeast was afraid of the Elite- even, Azcar's Captains.

Dragsnout grabbed Dryeye by the fur of his neck and held him up, standing behind Breakboan, as Breakboan dropped to one knee and held out a chain mailed paw. The ferrets in the room watched Azcar glance about at the curious assortment of weapons adorning the room. At

first it seemed that none fit the occasion. Then the strange golden flail she been looking at earlier, gleamed in the sunlight and caught her eye. She strode over to it and plucked it off the wall. Made of solid gold, with thick, leather thongs, each thong had a golden ball attached to the end. She whirled it slightly, the balls clacking together in a satisfying manner. Dryeye let out a piteous wail and Dragsnout cuffed him into silence. Darkfang put the flail in Breakboan's outstretched paw.

"Do you know how to use this, Elite?"

The Elite nodded slowly. "Old punishment on slaves, taken out of use when creatures improperly trained with the flail, killed themselves or others with it." He spoke devoid of emotion.

Dryeye struggled uselessly in Dragsnout's steel grip. Breakboan stood up and exited the room, followed by the other Elite, Azcar and the rest of the ferrets. They walked through the honeycombed passages and out into the sunlight, where everybeast parted for the group to come

through. All eyes were on Dryeye as he was dragged through the horde, anticipation and fear written on their features. Finally, the Eilte stopped. Azcar's voice rang out clear.

"Let this be a sign and warning to anybeast that conspires against me."

Dryeye cringed in terror as Dragsnout released him and, without a backwards glance, bolted along the shore. Nobeast stopped nor helped his seeming escape. Nobeast wanted attention drawn to themselves at a time like this. All eyes turned back to the Elite as they watched as he twirled the flail above his head, faster and faster and faster. Suddenly he released it and it sped towards Dryeye, no more than a deadly blur. The crunch of bones, a scream of pain and then silence. The horde walked down the shore and stopped just short of the broken body of Veeor's old advisor. They spoke quietly amongst themselves as Azcar and her group came up.

"That's one 'ell of a mess. 'Ate ter go 'gainst Darkfang," remarked one ferret.

"'Ate ter go against them Elite, mucker."

"Spose 'e's dead, mate?"

"If 'e ain't dead, 'e's maimed fer the rest o' 'is miserable life. Look, 'is legs er completely

gone!"

Some were less sympathetic.

"Huh, well ole Dryeye had it comin' to 'im. Ya know, just yesterday it struck 'is fancy that I weren't diggin' fasts enough. Well, the ole scumbag ups an' 'its me right cross the face wid the 'andle o' 'is spear!"

"Aye, mate," agreed an older sea ferret. "Dunno 'oo 'e thought 'e was orderin' me ter fetch 'im a cup o' soup. An' a bloomin' pastie! S'like 'e wanted a tea party!"

Azcar stooped next to Dryeye's crumpled, lifeless body, grim fascination taking hold of her. This was a mighty weapon. The three thongs had wound themselves around his legs and crushed them, taking them right off. Perhaps she would have her forgers make more. If each of her Elite were armed with this, and perhaps a pawful of large ferrets, she could cause death and destruction. It would be hard, however to mass-produce them, so she'd save them for special

occasions.

"Get this off him and then throw this miserable corpse far into the ocean. He, nor my brother, are worth anybeast wasting their breath for digging a hole for them."

The two closest ferrets quickly went about her orders, each one arguing about who would clean the thing and who would dispense of the body. And who would get anything of value on the late advisor's body.

As the group went back in, they moved out of the way as two ferret guards dragged Veeor's body out. Then, swinging it back and forth, they hurled it far off, into the sea. The horde returned to their various duties and Azcar Darkfang was satisfied. Her brother and his advisor was dead, the crops on the mountain were growing back, Spliteer and his group were off searching out the remaining hares, the beach was almost devoid of dead hares and ferrets and the stench was no longer as over powering as before. And soon, Redwall would be hers for the taking.