Chapter One

Any creature that visited the islands far to the West where the sun never sets and where strange creatures lived would say it was beautiful there. The Island on which Castle Fortguard stood was no exception. Everything about the Island was beautiful and exotic, very different from the mainland. The temperature was always warm, and it never snowed or rained.

The air smelt of salt and the sea, and there was always a breeze blowing, carrying the scent of tropical flowers with it. The southern sea surrounding the island of Fortguard and the tall castle that crowned it shone like a sapphire, a large one, studded with a small emerald in its center. The sky shone a deep turquoise blue as well, streaked with a soft red light.

Strange creature and beautiful plants lived there, and the sun never did seem to set. Yes, this was the exotic west. . . this beauty, however, wasn't seen by the unfortunate slaves that toiled there. The longer the day, the more work the pitiful ragtag bunch had to do, and the less sleep they got.

The slaves always thanked the seasons when the winter months added an hour or two to the night and gave them a little more time to rest. Still, the accursed sun rose every day and waited as long as possible before setting. When it finally did set at last, it seemed to rush around the other side of the world, flying through the celestial heavens as fast as it was possible, to return and shine again the next morning.

So bad were the conditions of the slaves that even a scrap of food or a minute or two of extra sleep in the morning was considered a blessing. Creatures either served up in the palace of Lord Mavarl, or else were forced to work in the fields.

The creatures that worked in the palace were oldbeasts. The work there was hard and painful, but it was a bit cooler, and there were scraps to be found. The oldbeasts described it as heaven compared to the work they had done in their youth, toiling in the fields. The time that the younger, fitter slaves spent in the fields was exhausting.

Still, all of the slaves at Fortguard were freed at least once a day. . . during their dreams. The time when a slave rests is the only time in their endless drudgery when they may be free and happy, when those who remembered it may dream of home. Slaves, though they are captives, still have pure souls, souls that still long for love and attention and compassion, even when there is none to be found.

There was no kindness at Fortguard among the rat warriors that lived there, and only a small amount among the slaves. The guards wouldn't allow the slaves to be too kind to each other. Kyra Longfletch was one of the slaves who didn't think that this was the way things were supposed to be. She was also one of the few slaves that remembered a time when there was no Lord Mavarl, no pain, and no work to be done.

Over the seasons that she had spent in slavery, the ottermaid had grown tall, strong, and lean. She had transformed herself from a fat otter kit with dreams of being a warrior into a young, beautiful ottermaid who was even more determined to escape her bondage than before.

Well, Kyra wasn't exactly beautiful. She could have been described as pretty or attractive perhaps, but not stunningly beautiful. Instead, she was admirable. Or, she would have been described as admirable if she had not been half starved, with her dark fur matted with dirt and sweat. Here, even the Skipper's Daughter, once like nobility, rarely got a chance to bathe.

Now, more than ever, she was determined to escape from the bondage of Slavery and to feel the wood of her Granddams bow beneath her paws. She would regain that bow from Lord Mavarl one day. Kyra knew perfectly well that rebellions were often squashed and destroyed, and that many brave and pushy beasts who acted recklessly were killed.

That was why Kyra had waited and planned. She had caused as much trouble as possible without crossing too far over the line. Mavarl always knew the worst of the troublemakers. She was careful not to cause too much trouble for fear of being marked as disobedient. If she rebelled too much, she would be marked, and she couldn't afford to have Mavarl watching her.

If the rat warlord knew her, than her chances of starting a rebellion would be slim to none. She doubted that she could live if she did not escape from this hell. The evil rat warlord had taken her bow from her as well as her freedom. Being owned by another, being a slave, had almost driven her insane. It had pushed her to the edge of her sanity.

The thought of being 'owned' by another creature was revolting to her, and she felt a strong repugnance towards the concept. How she hated not even possessing her freedom! Even the poorest of beggars had that small comfort to their names. Slaves were lower than the lowest. But, Kyra had realized that insanity was a deadly thing to possess at Fortguard. Insanity meant death.

A strange spark, a strange will to survive, had risen within the young ottermaid. She hadn't known that it was there before. She hadn't been particularly brave at home. She had been afraid of heights, no matter how much of a rogue she had been. Being subjected to slavery had forced her to mature quickly. She knew that she could not let that spark be quenched.

If only she could somehow get her bow back! Then, she would kill Mavarl, and she would make him scream long and loud before she finished him. Ever since she had been brought to Castle Fortguard, Kyra had sworn that she would kill Mavarl.

She was not one to become sick at the thought of blood, since so much of her own had been spilt, as had the blood of her friends under the lash. Lord Mavarl would have done better to leave this maid behind after his raid. But for his foolishness, he would pay dearly: with his life.

Unknowingly, these slavers had created a bloodthirsty monster. This monster was not on good terms with them, considering that they had whipped her, starved her, beaten her, and made sure that her life was miserable. And the monster they had created was determined to have her revenge.

The ottermaid smiled as she leaned against one of the walls that surrounded the Slave Compounds. The slaves were always surrounded by walls. They were kept in an enclosure that was surrounded by high, pointed stakes that had been hammered into the ground. Inside this enclosure there was a large building to provide shelter, though in actuality it was not much more than a rubbish heap.

The plan that had formed in her mind after seasons and seasons would finally be put into action. The plan that she had worked so hard to make, and that she thought was flawless, could finally start after all the seasons she had spent trying to learn where everything was in and around Castle Fortguard.

She would free the great eaglebird that Mavarl had captured to have some sport with while she volunteered to feed it, and then send it for help while she organized the slaves into a rebellion. The part that had taken a long time for Kyra to figure out was how to get outside aid. The slaves could not defeat Mavarl without help from another source. The Eagle that Lord Mavarl had captured would serve her purpose admirably.

The only flaw in her plan was the possibility that the Eagle might not help, or might fail in his mission. And what would she do then? She couldn't let herself be subjected to torture much longer. Try for rebellion and die fighting to end her pain, most likely.

Kyra sighed as she watched the sun slowly rising in the western sky, which glowed pink and red as the great ball of fire crawled towards its noontide zenith. Kyra had always loved watching the sunrise at Holt Ruddaring. The sun had always been a beautiful thing, representing a new day and new adventures with Ronil. Now, after being a slave for season after season, she hated the sun.

The sun meant work, fatigue, and pain to her now, and she did not care for its beauty. The graceful beauty of the moonlight was the only companion she desired at the end of the day. The moonlight meant freedom, a shadowed taste of the life that she had once known. It was a mere wraith of her previous life, a life that seemed so far away from her now, but it was something.

And her condition wasn't the worst of them, unfortunately. Some of the dibbuns here couldn't even imagine freedom. They had grown up in slavery. They considered their condition to be only what was proper and right, and never imagined that things could be different or better for them. They submitted to cruelty simply because they knew no other way of life.

It wasn't only the young that had forgotten freedom, but the old too. Some of the slaves had grown so old that they had forgotten their previous lives. They had forgotten liberty, happiness, and free will: they had forgotten life and freedom.

Kyra, however, knew. Kyra remembered leisurely days running around with her twin and causing mischief. She remembered playing tricks on the historian, stealing cakes and pasties, and practicing marksmanship. She even missed her lessons in the dusty old library! Even that small discomfort seemed like a lost paradise to the ottermaid now. No lesson that she had ever fallen asleep during could be worse than her life as a slave.

And to believe that not inheriting had been her largest worry in those days! Now she knew what it truly was to be oppressed and miserable. Now, she understood the law of the lash and had seen how black the heart could be. Kyra had been forced to take on an adult identity before it was truly her time, had been forced to learn about the true world while still a young child.

However, it wasn't as if she had been given a choice. This sudden maturity was not good at all for her. It had made her biased in many ways, and she wasn't prone to kindness as much as to hate. She recognized hate, and had learned to deal with it in her own way. Kindness was more of a mystery to her. Her young mind was contorted, twisted out of proportion.

Mavarl had done that to her. Nobeast who hadn't experienced what Kyra had experienced could really understand her. Nobeast who hadn't felt the taste of the lash upon their back, searching for their blood could know her pain. Nobeast could know how much it hurt her to see little children starve, and their parents starve even more because they had given all of their food to their young ones.

She had to watch the elderly as they were whipped to death, or as they were slowly killed over a series of many days filled with hard labor and intense mental agony. Kyra knew death, and had embraced it, hugging it like a beloved one. Death and any emotion but anger were things Kyra had no experience with, or had forgotten.

She had once known love, but couldn't quite believe it really existed. The crueler emotions had hardened her heart, and she had only room for anger and revenge left. Though she did have some friends, one friend in particular, among the slaves, anger and hate had taken over the little love that she still held in her heart and had all but squashed it out. These friends and her forgotten family were the only source Kyra had of kind and gentle emotions.

Kyra did recall love, and still felt it a little. The feeling had faded, however, but, as is the nature of love, it had not disappeared. Besides, she had a friend. A good friend. One day, the wounds that hate and despair had caused would heal over slightly, allowing her to love more completely. Kyra still retained her honor. The better emotions that she knew of were the only things that helped her to keep her sanity.

She was a strange mix. She understood hate and darkness all too well and let them gnaw at her soul and almost consume her, but kept some virtues of the light buried within. She remembered love and felt it towards her fellow slaves. She still remembered happiness and honor, though they had been faded by years of blood and tears. Mavarl's whip and lash had lengthened her endurance.

His abuse had turned her heart to stone. His hatred had made her anger build up, so that it overpowered some of the kinder feelings she still remembered. That anger would soon reach the boiling point if she didn't let it out, no matter the shape or form. This abuse would either end in freedom, or death. The ottermaid wouldn't have it any other way.

It was rather hard for Kyra to believe she had once been like royalty: the pearl and jewel of her father's family. She had been Ironjaw's daughter, however disobedient and fierce she was at times. If only her father could see her now, could learn of the abuse that had changed his young, happy, spirited daughter into a slave who could hardly remember any emotion but anger. Who was the warrior now?

She had suffered more in one season than her father had in his entire life. She would have liked to see his face after one day in her new life. Then, oh then, he would have more respect for the daughter he had shunned! Did he think physical abuse was awful? How could her father know of the mental anguish that faced each slave, never knowing if you'd last the day, never knowing if you'd ever escape, never knowing if your torment would end?

Kyra was beyond pain. Kyra was powerful.

She sighed, and regretfully got up from the ground next to the high wooden polls that surrounded the Slave Compound. She yawned and pulled the rags that sufficed as a tunic closer around her, though she was not cold. It was never cold here. The Slavers would be coming to wake them up soon, and you didn't want to be out and about when the Slavers came.

The demons looked for any excuse they could find to add more abuse to the regular torture that the slaves faced every day. Day after day after unending day. Kyra strode off towards the mangy pile of sticks and logs that was supposed to be a shelter from the hurricanes that swept over the sea and island regularly. She squinted as the sun rose even higher in the sky.

The slavers were probably already in the outer portion of the Compound, she mused, stepping into the humble shelter and looking around. Candles were lit, and the slavers were already standing in the front entrance, pounding on the walls to wake everybeast up. The ottermaid tried to calm her pounding heart. Being singled out was an awful thing. A slave's goal was to remain unnoticeable.

Silently, Kyra slipped in through a sizeable gap in the pile of logs that was their shelter. Luckily, the slavers didn't see her late arrival. She wasn't supposed to be out. Kyra sighed, and went around the compound, trying to use her strong body to pull up those who weren't as durable for hard labor. She stooped, helping an elderly bank vole up from the corner where she had been huddling that night.

There were so many slaves stuffed into that one compound that the heat and the smell of sweat were almost unbearable. She lifted the almost weightless volewife up with one powerful paw and arm and set her on her feet before moving around to help other creatures. The rather fat stoat standing at the front entrance to the shelter cracked his whip and laughed as he waited for the slaves to rouse themselves for that days work.

"Hahahahahahar, mateys, get up 'n go take a look at th' sunshine! In a few hours ye won't be wantin' to look at it no more! You all are t'report fer duty in the fields again. Get yer lazy bodies movin', we've got work t'do afore this day be done, an' I sure wouldn't wanna be the beast that don't do it! The sooner you get out there, the more work you c'n get done, an' the happier Lord Mavarl is."

The slaves put a little more effort into getting up and stumbling out of the door towards the fields. The stoat watched each of the miserable slaves pass him by. None of this lot were much good anymore. All the oldbeasts, the spirit and emotions that they had once possessed long gone, were almost useless, only putting perfunctory efforts into their labors.

The younger ones had already been dragged out of the shelter by their parents to avoid whippings. They hadn't learned how to resist or how to change, and lived a life of monotony. Years of hardship, starvation, and pain had taken their toll on all of the slaves, young and old. Not many of them had the spirit or will to do any work, even if they had the body and strength. Their will to live had been beaten out of them seasons ago.

Kyra waited until many of the other slaves had gone and until only the slow and elderly were left before shepherding them out of the compound and towards the fields. As the tall ottermaid strode past the Stoat, she tilted her chin upwards and held her head high. That would make him nervous. That would make him afraid. Inside, all of Lord Mavarl's cronies were bullies and cowards, and even a meager slave showing confidence would frighten them.

One old mouse still lay sprawled on the floor of the slave compound with his mate, an old mousewife, trying desperately to rouse him. The mouse didn't move despite his wife's shoving and urging. "C'mon Ranlo, get up," she said, shoving at his motionless form.

The Stoat laughed again, and yelled, "Lissen t'yore missus, scum, or I'll make ye get up!" When the mouse didn't move, the stoat drew his whip. "We don't 'ave room fer lazybeasts at Castle Fortguard," he yelled as he rained blows upon the mouse and his old wife. They screamed, and the mousewife huddled against the still form of her husband.

She knew this would be the end, and was somewhat relieved. This meant no more work or tears. This meant that she could be with Ranlo forever in peace and quiet without any problems. Her spirit had gone to the Dark Forest long before, and now it was time for her body to join it there. The old maid glared defiantly up at the Stoat, and her eyes held a simple message: "Do your worst. You cannot harm me anymore."

The stoat continued lashing out with his whip. He brought the stinging whip down with more vigor, noting that the mousemaid did not seem to pay any attention to the pain. The mousewife lay next to her husband and closed her eyes for the last time. She would be safe now. No one could hurt her where she was going. She would be at peace for the first time in countless seasons.

Kyra heard their screams echo around the Compound as she walked out of the door. She held back the tears that had been stinging her eyes. You could never let the Slavers know that you were weak. That only gave them more power over you. Kyra knew that she couldn't go back and help the mice. She would only get a beating too, and could possibly die for killing one of Lord Mavarl's Captains! Then, she could never free any of the slaves, let alone herself.

Kyra tried to walk more briskly, wanting to drown out the screams that she could still hear from the Compound, but she managed to say a small prayer. "Go friends, and may your spirits travel safely to the Dark Forest."