Chapter 4

It was evening when Sethiroth Splinterclaw finished his work. At his side were two throwing disks, called chakrams and over one shoulder was his lethal scimitar, thin and sharp. Across his chest, crossed over his rib cage, were two belts of throwing darts, tipped with poison, which he carried in a large glass vial in his pouch, which was in the middle of his belt at the front.

He set off south, the sunlight reflecting off his white, sheeny fur. He got less than half a league before he was set upon by a group of ferret bandits. They halted him in the middle of the path.

The leader, a fat, overly dressed creature, stepped forth, waving an old boat hook and grinning, saying to his mates, "Looks like- Unnnh!"

Four darts in rapid succession slammed him in the face. Sethiroth Splinterclaw was among them in a flash. Within seconds, he had sliced open one ferret's stomach with a chakram, hacked one's head off with the other chakram, and rammed his scimitar through another's gut.

He wiped his weapons, and stopped to fashion more darts from a low branch, dipping them in poison, then was gone. He made good time, swinging through the trees rapidly, ignoring the ravens constantly attacking him. He didn't care. Kili needed to die. The fox, with his spiked war hammer, was the most notorious killer in the Northlands. He had made one mistake.

Sethiroth Splinterclaw was alive.

As he came up on the rearguard of Kili's small band, he grabbed a few darts and flicked them with tremendous accuracy. The three rats and two ferrets collapsed, writhing like dried up worms under a magnifying glass. The squirrel leaped onto the path, drawing his two chakrams and rushed ahead, catching up with Kili's force.

The first beast to see him was a young ferret, no older than five seasons. Sethiroth didn't care. He gripped one chakram with both hands, sheathing the other. The ferret had no time to cry out as the squirrel's bladed ring slammed into his stomach, the serrated edges slaying him brutally.

Kili turned at the head of his small army to see the young ferret fall. Then he saw the squirrel. He screamed in fright and ran swiftly south. Sethiroth drew his scimitar and sheathed his second chakram. His darts flew everywhere through the night as he clambered up trees, launching the darts, only to leap down on the nearest enemy's head as he jumped down, slamming his scimitar into the foebeast.

A bigger weasel drew his weapon, chain somehow stuck in a straight manner. At one point, somebeast had cleverly stuck spikes, arrowheads and speartips through the links. He looked at all his slain comrades and plucked the dart from his footclaw. He was wavering slightly.

"Coom un, big ole beast yersel' wit poison," the weasel snorted at the squirrel.

The squirrel raised his brows. Under them his eyes were like chips of steel from the Hell-gates themselves. He spoke in a heavy northern voice, "Och, ye'll get no sympathy frae mah hairt. Ye slew mah mateys, time for ye tae die."

The weasel charged him, but the poison blurred his vision. The last thing he saw was a slim bladed, gut hooked scimitar slicing towards his blurry eyed face. Sethiroth Splinterclaw wiped his weapons on some wet grass.

He set about sharpening darts from the bark of a fallen pine. He flighted the dart with his own tail fur, a proof of his commitment. He filled his belt, dipping each one in poison. He stood up, looking around at the slain creatures on the pathway.

Kili Flay! The big fox was still alive. He cursed inwardly and leapt into a tree, swinging southwards. Soon he saw the sun glinting off the spikes of the big fox's war hammer. He leapt in front of him, dealing him a sharp belt to the midriff.

The big fox hauled himself upright, swinging his war hammer in an upwards arc, hoping to catch his adversary in the stomach. The sturdy squirrel leapt backwards and sent out a whack with his sword blade. The fox countered it with his hammer haft and swung his foot upwards. Sethiroth saw it coming and slammed his serrated chakram in to the footclaw of Kili.

Kili hardly noticed the wound. He had backed up against a tree, and a wicked, sickle shaped sword was protruding from his stomach. He looked down at it in horror and shifted his clouding eyes up to Sethiroth. The squirrel said nothing. He swung his sword and ripped the fox's head from his neck.

Behind him, the most primitive ferret glared at him. Taking no nonsense, he hurled a dart at the ferret, slaying him instantly. He rushed off the path southwards again, towards Redwall Abbey. He had no idea he was being followed.

The creature had fled from his land, the land of ice and snow from across the western seas. He had the body of a badger, but bigger. The blunt claws were savagely replaced by brutal, curving claws. He had a snout like a weasel and multiple fangs in his mouth. Saliva dripped onto the ground as he talked the squirrel.

Blueflame the Wild Wolverine hadn't had squirrel in a season. Unlike most wolverines, he had a bluish white fur with black and gold stripes running down his back. He had steel wrist- guards studded with spikes and had a torn up cloak about his shoulders. He glared at the rapidly receding figure of Sethiroth Splinterclaw of the North, craving fresh meat.