Book Two: Tears of Blood
The sun shone down on the thick green foliage of Mossflower wood, reflecting into soft golden light as the bright rays hit the swift blue waters of the River Moss. Birds sang as the sun reached its noontide zenith, and the soft humming of insects could be heard. Though the sounds of Mossflower were soft, the lack of louder noises made them seem magnified a thousand fold.A sleepy peace covered the wood. The hot, bright sun hit the canopy of the tall trees in Mossflower, creating dancing patterns on the leaf covered ground. Trees spread out a bit in the places where the River Moss wound through the almost solid green wood, creating sunlit clearings. Everything was at peace.
Of course, the peace would not stay in such a fragile state for long. The soft sounds were soon to be broken by much louder, and much less pleasant, ones. The sound that eventually did break the peace was the sound of arguing, snuffling, growling, banging, and overall sloppy tracking through Mossflower.
Two weasels walked through this wood, and both were in equally foul tempers. Of course, their stenches were equally foul as well, but that has naught to do with this tale. Their tempers were high because of the fruitlessness of their search, and the lack of hope thereof. The pair had been searching this strange and alien forest for days without signs of any inhabitants.
Of course, they had seen a few creatures, but most were warriors that, in their opinion, were best to be avoided. The weasels, being cowards at heart, hadn't bothered them. Vermin had a tendency to fight creatures weaker than themselves rather than stronger. Also, most vermin didn't fancy dying in combat with odds that were not heavily in their favor.
One weasel, tall and lanky, covered in red and green dyes and corsair jewelry, looked at his comrade discontentedly. He carried a chipped and battle scarred Scimitar at one hip and held a dagger in his paw. This dagger was put to good use hacking through the thick foliage that the two idiotic weasels had been stumbling through for three days.
The daggers had, in reality, nicked its wielder's paw when a swipe at the foliage was swung without careful precaution. This might have also added to the already bad moods of both weasels. "Oi! Greenfang," the tall weasel called, picking up an acorn from the ground in front of him. When his comrade didn't respond vocally, the weasel threw the acorn with considerable force at the other's head.
He looked up. "You see anyfin, me 'eartie?" the weasel asked Greenfang hopefully
The second weasel, dubbed Greenfang, was shorter and more muscular. This weasel too was covered in green and red dyes, and jewelry as well, similar to that of his comrades. He had a dagger and scimitar that were identical to the ones that his companion was carrying at his own hip. The foliage had thinned a small amount since the start of their trek, but not much. Their progress was still slow.
"No, I ain't seen nothin' thick'ead," the second weasel said in a sarcastic voice. Truth be told, Greenfang the Weasel was not acting that much differently from his normal self. His bad temper never seemed to disappear anyway.
"If I saw anyfin," he continued, "I'd tell yer, an' you'd most likely see it as well. I c'n very well make yer not able t'see anythin' again wid me kisser iff'n ye want, Deathpaw. I'll just tickle yer eyeballs wid me liddle dagger then, shall I?" Greenfang jeered at Deathpaw tauntingly, licking his dagger for added dramatics.
Deathpaw raised his own dagger, glaring at Greenfang. He expectorated on the ground, looking at his ugly reflection in his dagger and polishing it with another glob of mouth-given saliva. Though he was smarter than Greenfang, Deathpaw had a quick and firey temper that often as not vented itself through his constantly wagging tongue.
"Shut yer trap, scumbrain," the weasel snarled, bearing his fangs. "I was jus' askin' iff'n ye'd seen anyfin. We're s'posed t'be searchin' fer signs of life in this bloody forest, an' I'd rather 'ave you 'elpin' me 'stead o' screamin' at me. Even though yore probably too stupid t'find anyfin any'ow."
Greenfang snorted, looking around, his dagger still clutched in his paw. The crafty weasel wasn't going to put it down when Deathpaw was in the kind of mood that he was in now. He wouldn't let the other weasel have a clear shot at his back either, if he could help it. Never trust a weasel, he mused. They'll always find some way to get you.
"Well, there ain't nothin' t'see 'ere. Otherwise, we'd both 'ave sawed it. So, Lets keep goin' through 'ere 'till we find somethin' to report to Fangarl. Don't wanna go back to 'er wivout information, now, do we? Th' 'Ordemistriss'd 'ave our hides fer sure, an' I fancy keepin' mine fer a good long while, so I do!"
Deathpaw rolled his eyes. "First thing you've said that's made sense so far, Greeny. H'I'll have t'amember yew said that when yore bein' 'speshully stooped. Might keep me from killin' yer. An' what d'you mean 'we'd both 'ave sawed it'? That ain't 'ow you speak, matey. T'ain't proper grammar. Didn't yer ever learn 'ow t'speak properly baggy bottom?"
Greenfang shrugged. Who cared, anyway? Speaking was a matter of principle. Vermin had their own grammar codes that goodbeasts couldn't even begin to understand. Only the cleverest of them could mock vermin accents well.
"Who gives a damn wot I said s'long as I said it at all?" The weasel asked testily, his own fangs in a snarl now, to match Deathpaw's. Both stood glowering at each other for a while, daggers held in their paws.
Eventually, Greenfang broke the silence. "Lets get movin', Deathy. Sooner we get movin', sooner we find sommat. Sooner we find sommat, sooner we can get information. Sooner we get information, th' sooner we c'n get away from this place and back to Fangarl. Sooner we get back t'Fangarl, th' longer we keep our 'ides. And the sooner we get some food!" This last statement was added as an afterthought.
"Yore thicker than I thought, Greeny. All those big words an' long sentences t'just say 'lets go'. Stop yer yappin' an' start walkin'!" Greenfang glared, and then bent down to the ground. After a few moments, the weasel stood back up, a stick clutched in his paw.
As Deathpaw looked on, the weasel threw the stick in the air, twirling it skillfully and watching avidly as it fell to the ground. The stick pointed to the Southeast. Deathpaw pointed in the direction that the stick pointed, and Greenfang nodded.
They were obviously lost, and this was a good a way as any to choose a way to go. Greenfang scratched an ear and rubbed his eye, making it water. Deathpaw ignored him, taking the lead, trying to think of a way to walk in a straight line.
He didn't know why this was so important to him, as it didn't particularly matter which way they went, but he did it anyway. It was better than just walking in silence, trying to ignore Greenfang's scratching and rubbing and whining and complaining. The two weasels could hardly stand each other, and the three days that they had been without food or water or rest had not improved their tempers in the slightest.
The two travelers were pushed to the edge, anger flaring up at petty things rather than at important things. If they went on like this much longer, one- or both- of them would die. Greenfang continued rubbing his irritated eye, his efforts and dirty paws only making it worse. The two weasels passed quite a long time like this.
Both were silent, walking forwards, eyes- or in Greenfang's case, eye- peeled for any sign of movement in the thick foliage. There was none, as was to be expected. At this time of day, most beasts would be taking a snooze in the hollow of a tree or eating a quick noontide meal somewhere in the shade. And not many creatures lived this deep in Mossflower Wood anyway.
The task that the two weasels had been assigned, and that they had so badly bungled, seemed almost impossible.
Deathpaw pushed away a thin young sapling, peering through its leaves avidly. Greenfang ignored him. His eye hurt anyway. If Deathpaw saw anything of interest, he'd tell him. And so, while Greenfang wallowed in self-pity, Deathpaw continued to stare. His ears perked, and his eyes wide open. It had grown darker as the pair had walked, the sun setting behind the horizon, turning the sky all sorts of shades.
The horizon was tinted pink, with touches of purple and blue farther away from the glowing orange ball. The sky was a sight of wonder and marvel to behold when their colors mixed as beautifully as they were at that moment. Neither of the weasels noticed.
To the east, the way the two weasels were walking, the sky was a dark bluish black, studded with stars and a crescent moon. Greenfang squinted. The tall weasel had finally stopped rubbing his eye and was clutching his dagger to keep his paw from straying towards his face. His eyes, one rather blurry and sore, stared at the dark sky and its bright stars.
Deathpaw looked behind him, making sure the sun was slightly to his left. "Good. Still goin' Sou' East." Greenfang heard his partner muttering, and raised an eyebrow.
"Sou' East?" asked Greenfang, too busy rubbing at his irritated eye to care about Deathpaw's opinions on anything, let alone their direction of travel. His temper was frayed to its very limit, and was close to exploding. Too close, as it turned out. His next statement proved just how angry he was.
"'Ow d'you know we're still goin' in that direction, mate?" The weasel spoke in a very cruel and hard voice. "An' besides, why d'you care? We're lost. We only know that Fangarl an th' 'Orde are to the North West. Don't see how it matters which direction we go in this mess of plants, Deathy."
Deathpaw snorted, clearly unimpressed by Greenfang's statements and his expressions of anger. They were all too common for him. "Yore more of an idiot 'n even I thought yer t'be, Greeny. Doncher know that th' sun sets in th' western 'orizen at eventide? We're goin' away from it, an' slightly to th' right, so we be 'eadin' Sou' East. At least we know where we are. 'Sides, if we find sommat, we c'n know which direction to 'ead out in. I don't want t'end up on the wrong side o' Mossflower from Fangarl. An' once we get out, we'll just 'ead near that mountain place we saw."
Greenfang fidgeted at the mention of the mountain, his eyes shifting about, and his teeth clenched together. Though he tried to hide the ominous and foreboding feeling that was slowly coursing it's way through his soul, his attempts were hitherto unsuccessful. Deathpaw could tell that Greenfang was nervous, and for once, did not comment.
The stupid weasel was actually worrying about something worth worrying about. Not something that was only worth worrying about. . . something that one should be terrified of. The Long Patrol! Greenfang spoke next.
"Fangarl says they're an 'ole gang o' fightin' 'ares there," he murmured, almost fearfully. "An' a bloody big badger too! She isn't botherin' with them. Says they're a tough lot, an' that they've defeated 'ordes twice the size of ours in two pawflicks!"
"Don' be daft, Greeny," spat Deathpaw. "She's exagerificating, mate." Of course, Deathpaw didn't believe a word he said, but he spoke the words anyway, more to reassure himself than to reassure his stupider companion. What did he care for Greenfang?
"'Course there are 'ares there, but we don't bother wid 'em," Deathpaw continued. "It'll be easier t'find a nice place here to take over and build up our 'orde. Then, we tackle the mountain an' every other settlement we find an' take over the entire Southlands. T'was not pleasant at all up north, an' we ain't got enough boats t'sail west into th' sun"
Greenfang looked at his partner rather fearfully. "I've 'eard stuff about th' westlands too! They say that th' sun never sets there. It stays in the sky alla time. It's always warm, an' they say the oceans are made of Fire there. An' they've got these strange creatures an' plants. The say on Sampetra, Island of Ublaz Madeyes, they 'ad great giant lizards! You never know that the Island Rulers will bring, mate. One was said to 'ave a pet eagle in a cage on his. Say it got out one stormy night and killed all of the vermin! And the island folk is strange too. Strange chants an' rituals they do by the fire-oceans, an'. . ."
Deathpaw clapped a hand over Greenfang's mouth, shushing him deftly. "Be quiet, Greeny. There ain't no oceans of fire, y'dolt. How could y'set water on fire, anyway? Put a bit of oil on it, sure, that'll make a blaze, but t'won't set a h'entire ocean aflame. Stop babblin'. Besides, I 'eard of that 'Orde leader. The H'Eagle didn't go about killing people off. The slaves just rebelled. Some otter or squirrel- can't remember which, really- lead 'em. They say there was a golden eagle involved, but that's just fairy stories. Now, shut yer gob an' keep movin', an' by the Claw stop ramblin' about oceans of flame."
Greenfang, however, was not convinced at all. So deep had the superstitious beliefs of most of his kind been engrained in his brain that he could hardly believe that at least three eagles had not been involved in the rebellion that Deathpaw had mentioned.
"But Deathy," the pathetic weasel protested, "I 'eard the stories!" He paused here for dramatic effect- and failed miserably. "They say that giant lizards live on Islands out in the west, an' 'ow d'you know there ain't oceans of fire there? You ain't never seed the Westlands! 'Ow would you know wot they looked like."
"Because," Deathpaw said, his patience wearing thin at this point, "'Tis impossible, not t'mention stoopid, to say anyplace 'as got an ocean o' fire. I b'lieve that the sun stays up inna sky a lot longer. It sets in the west, don't it? But I don't believe it stays up the entire time, day an' night. Also, the lizards might be a bit big. 'Eard me mum tell me 'bout such things once. Said that their ancestors had lotsa big food, so they grew big like them, 'cause o' what they ate. Say their flesh-eaters. The point is, there ain't any giant flesh-eatin' lizards in this forest. So PLEASE shut up!"
Greenfang still remained unconvinced. "'Ow do you know there aint no lizards 'erebouts? You ain't never been 'ere before. An' 'ow do you know that they growed only a bit big? 'Ow do you know they didn't growed as big as the big fish that live in the Oceans o' Fire? They say there are fish there wot growed bigger 'n ships. That's what they say!"
Deathpaw sent Greenfang sprawling to regain his lost balance with a swift kick to his rear end. In his arguing, Greenfang had forgotten his irritated eye, but he began to rub it again as he regained his footing. Deathpaw was livid with anger.
"Shuddup boulder bottom. I've got a strange feelin' that we're close to findin' somethin'. Follow my lead, an' shut yer mouth fer gods sake! We stop an' camp when night falls an' we don't 'ave th' sun to show us our way. An' there ain't no big fish that grow as big as ships. An' yew never say the word growed. T'ain't proper, mate. Didn't yew ever learn 'ow t'speak properly from yer dam?"
Greenfang ignored him, still glaring. After he finished his sentence, Deathpaw looked over his shoulder. Only a tiny bit of the sun remained over the landscape, and the remaining light was made even dimmer by the trees of Mossflower.
Greenfang raised his paw to rub his eye, but stopped as he realized that his dagger was still clutched in it. He switched his dagger to his other paw, and proceeded to rub his damaged body part vigorously.
Perhaps it was the pain of his pink-tinted eye; perhaps it was the claustrophobia that the silent and foreboding woods brought on. Perhaps it was many things. But, for some reason, Greenfang the Weasel went slightly mad at that moment. He was sick of walking through this forest, he was sick of having an irritated eye for three days, and he was sick of Deathpaw and his sarcastic comments!
The heavily tattooed weasel stepped in front of his shorter comrade, his dagger raised high. He was angry now, and he was going to get out, even if he died trying! Oh no, Greenfang the weasel wasn't going to stay in this bloody forest any longer! He was going to get out, and he was going to get out that very second!
"Oh, I'm plenty sick of trampin' through this bloody 'ell of a wood!" The weasel yelled, startling the insects that had been about to start stirring from their evening roosts. "I don't care what torture th' boss puts us up to, I'm getting out of this damn forest, an' I'm gonna do it now!"
The crazed weasel ran forwards, his dagger in his paw, and started slashing through the forest growth that blocked his path out. Deathpaw was silent for a moment, watching his companion, shocked and motionless. After a few moments, the weasel regained control of his limbs and stumbled after Greenfang. Had the idiot gone mad?
The shorter weasel considered this question, chastising himself internally afterwards. Would anybeast who wasn't slightly mad go gallivanting off Dark Forest knows where? Greenfang's dagger left a clear trail where he had been hacking at the foliage and was easy enough to track.
Greenfang's spurt of madness didn't last for very long, partly because of his weariness, and partly because, without knowing, the two had come near the center of the woods and the going had gotten much worse as he went along.
The sun had almost set in the sky, leaving blood red streaks across the far off horizon where it had been. The trees, of course, blocked this view partially, but so bright a red was this color that it was easily seen through patches in the canopy of the darkening and increasingly foreboding forest.
With one last slice, the weasel stumbled through a group of thick saplings and shrubs, falling flat on his face as he did so. In the soft illumination of the crescent moon, he saw a building in front of him, it's shadow dancing on the ground, stretching out hundreds of feet, many times taller than the actual building.
But, this was no ordinary building! It was huge! And the moonlight showed the towering walls and turrets, as well as the great bell tower to be made of dark red sandstone. Many different carvings covered the roof, and two bells could be seen in the bell tower high above that.
The roof was neat and shingled well, and a slowly swiveling weathervane could be seen sitting atop of it. The weasel stared, his mouth opening in astonishment as his eyes took in the amazing place. The red sandstone house was enormous, he thought mentally. The wall tops stretched for many hundreds of hundreds of yards before turning, forming a square.
The battlements were sturdy and, just visible in the pale moonlight that was beginning to descend over the wondrous scene; two gates could be seen, leading into the strange building. Vaguely, Greenfang wondered what manner of creatures lived in such a wonderful place! What creatures had built this beautiful and sturdy structure? It was as grand as any castle!
Slowly, as the moonlight grew and the sun set, the bells started to toll out a loud, clanging ring, calling all creatures in for the day so that they could begin an evening meal. At least, that was what Greenpaw supposed the bells were calling for.
Food was something that was constantly on his mind, as he had not had a bite of it for himself in three days, nor hardly a drop of water, save for a few gulps from a stream whenever he and Deathpaw had come across one.
Greenfang let out a low whistle in astonishment as Deathpaw arrived on the scene, the plans that he had made tracking to have a jab a Greenfang evaporating. He too whistled. "Well mate," said Deathpaw, eyeing the great structure with intense scrutiny, "I think that we've found what we came here t'find!"