CHAPTER I: SHADOW OF THE RAVEN

Author's note: This is the beginning chapter and the prologue is a sort of story told by Devnam, which continues in the first chapter (you'll see what I mean). Also, in my original work, the opening took place in a desert colony of people, but since this is supposed to be Redwall fanfiction, I changed it to the fire mountain of Salamandastron. Well, that's enough of that, on with the story.

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A swelling wave, foam spurting, crashed against the decollating beach, rearranging it in a flat landscape. Citrine-colored water swirled in shallow, eroded trenches. North and south, west and east, as far as the eye could see, configurations of sandy hillocks sprouted from the ecru-hued arid region. Sand dunes rolled in a continuous, asymmetrical pattern. There were scarce signs of life in this barren landscape. A striped lizard poked its head from underneath a dead, dried shrub and an azure dragonfly buzzed around the dead cadaver of a rotting trout washed ashore and being set on by bloodthirsty mosquitoes.

In the middle of all this desolation and loneliness, rose a great chunk of sedimented stone, seemingly spearing the puffy, silver lined clouds floating in the sky. Near the entrance of the great mountain, the extinct volcano dubbed Salamandastron, were ample signs of life and activity, differing from the rest of the desert. In the middle of a ring of hares, young and old, male and female, fit and fat, lay a wizened, old squirrel seated on a mound of fine sand. From his audience's apprehension, he seemed to be in the middle of a story.

"Get on with it m'laddo, me old pater…whatcha waitin' for," yelled one of the audience.

The old squirrel glared at him-"You know this is hard for me," he stammered feebly.

"Ah, get one with it, Devnam ya old fogey," retaliated a listening mother hare. "I'm interest what happens next, too, you know."

Devnam was left with no choice but to start anew…"Malik ran through the band of trees, looming silhouettes casting shadows over the dense shrubbery and foliage. Weak sunlight filtered through the canopy and arboreal vendance, pools of green and gold illuminating the shadows, partly. Through these Malik ran, haunches bunched up in exertion, oxygen filtering into his lungs in short and painful gasps. Cloth ripped on thorny brambles as Malik stumbled toward the clash of weapons, cursing. The goal of his quest had arrived and he wasn't in physical shape to achieve it.

"Meanwhile up in the tree, I watched the group of villains studying the footprints I had left and I was calculating my move for the right time. My acute hearing had picked up Malik's movement but the footprints distracted the villains. I decided the time was ripe for action. I grabbed a vine, and yelling at the top of my voice, I swung myself in Naze Arron's direction, scimitar pointed at his evil heart. The villain heard me and ducking expertly he avoided the scimitar and me. In a blur of steel he drew a scythe and in a whir of curved expertise, he slashed the vine. I ricocheted in a weasel with a ribbon of teeth for a mouth, I dully identified as Amberkan.

"At that moment Malik came streaking in his teeth bared in vengeance, his godendag whirling in a crescent shape. He beheaded the subsequent member with a swipe. Charging up ahead he approached Naze Arron in a duelist's manner. In that moment a flow of snow flooded the clearing…"

At this point Devnam broke down again, tears oozing from his eyes. Some of the audiences face softened, but the majority urged him on. After a moment's lapse, the master storyteller continued.

"The flow of snow was due to Malik's attempt to create an avalanche. Unknowingly he had started one but it had been slow on the uptake, is what I presume. I managed to dig myself out of the suffocating white but the flow of snow and ice had taken its toll on Malik burying him under feet of the icy blanket. He must have frozen to death. As for the villains, three of them escaped leaving footprints in the snow.

"That's my story. Have a nice day."

There was not a single person in the audience that did not express regret at the death of Malik. They lamented audibly, tears coursing freely down their cheeks. During the story Malik had become well liked with the audience and now the grief was plain on their faces.

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Devnam entered a passage of carved stone and was heading to his hollowed-out chamber when a gruff voice stopped him in his tracks.

"That was quite a story."

Devnam whirled around to face a black-white striped mountain of a badger. Lord Grey towered above him with half a meter. His features remained impassive, as they had been every time Devnam had caught a glimpse of the lord of the mountain.

"Was it true?" The question was asked with a quirk of the lips in mild curiosity-the most blatant show of emotion Devnam had ever seen from him.

Devnam nodded in mute silence and the badger lord seemed to accept this response and without a word headed down the hall and out of sight. As soon as his host left, he unknowingly bumped into one of the mothers that had been listening to his narrative. "Devnam, that was a jolly wonderful story."

"Um, thanks…"mumbled Devnam, embarrassed at this sudden praise. He was easily embarrassed especially when the other gender complimented him. Despite his age he sometimes acted like a lovelorn boy.

"You have such a talent, wot. And you're so different from all these other oldy bodgers," she went on throwing a delicate (and pretty, thought Devnam, a fire starting to kindle around his collar) arm around his neck, drawing him closer throwing sidelong looks from under her curling lashes.

Oh god, moaned Devnam mentally as the flirter continued…

A winged shadow fell over the sand grains outside the mountain.

Above the sand dunes the sun beat relentlessly down from its sapphire kingdom. A raven caught itself an air current and rose with it. Its melanoid, livid, onyx feathers rustled in the high velocity of the atmosphere, the glint of gold of its beak was lost in the whirl of color. The large passerine bird returned to its flight course, veering northeast, the beak opening up in a black hole of wind and emitting a harsh, croaking cry that echoed around the territory. Kkkrreeeeeaaaaaakkkk! The blast of air nearly blasted the scavenger off its course but it held on swooping and flipping…

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Extracts from the writings of General Scabiniel:

Lord Hakemillion keeps on nagging me to choose a second colonel since all the other three generals have two. I say one is enough and Camennia does a wonderful job of holding order among my troops. I know the rumors and that everybody says that there is more than just a friendship between her and me. Since I visited Camennia's tent to get the checklist on my soldiers' battlegear everybody says we got all personal and close. It's not true, I swear!

Enough of those fuc&ing lies. We've been on the march for two days, taking a shortcut through the jungle to launch an ambush on Lord Dorthin. A fourth of my troops got serious mosquito-infected bites. All this to get the upper hand in our war with Dorthin. I believe Dorthin when he says Hakemillion's wife's death was a freak accident. I think milord believes it too but simply wants a reason to kill Dorthin without appearing to be treacherous. After all with Dorthin out of the way he could easily control the land.

Do not mistake me: I am not wanting to do this treacherous act. The only reason I follow Hakemillion is that I swore to be his faithful follower when he saved me as a pirate. My crew and me waged an attack against him. I was left the only survivor in the shipload and Hakemillion gave me a life. That is what binds me to him.

Hakemillion has called me and the other generals to a meeting of grave importance. Before these "important" meetings excited me, but now I usually keep in my tent, ink and parchment my only friends. Before I was the most sociable general; now I am the least. And why? Because of the rumors. You see, I face it but nobody believes me. Or maybe they believe me but they lie to themselves so they can have their cruel enjoyment…

The slim weasel general rose stiffly from his writing place and rubbed circulation back in his limbs. Donning his katana he waited near the flap of his tent. His patience was rewarded as a short stoat male dressed in satin clothes and a royal cloak entered. Saluting, he bowed and spoke:

"I am to escort you to the meeting, General."

Scabiniel felt like retorting, "Then escort me to the meeting, you blubbering idiot." But this would earn him only more enemies. So instead he politely replied with a nod of his head:

"Lead on."

Outside a battalion of soldiers bustled about, drilling, instructioning others or being sent on some other errand. They were in the heart of the jungle, a day's travel from the location of King Dorthin's troops. Tropical vegetation crowded the large number of soldiers making it difficult to pitch tents. Behind them lay a route hacked out by badelaires and yatagans (carried by the foot soldiers) through the labyrinth of trees, cane, brushwood, grasses, vines and reedy vegetation. North lay a vast swamp, a bottomland satiated with sloughed, dirty oozing water thronged by trees, shrubs and other woody plants. The west was overgrown with a jumble of vegetation clustered and closeted between mighty trees from which dripped ebon snakes. From that direction came the roars of infuriated who-knows-what. The howls chilled the hearts of many. And from the east flowed a wide river swamped with snarling pikes and craving, bloodthirsty, and hungry barracudas.

Scabiniel gazed around. Their number of slaves had been reduced to a bare skeleton of two score. This was not a surprise since the vile Hakemillion had let his soldiers ride the slaves, to keep their own casualties at a minimal. But now a difficult situation had arisen since many slaves had fallen victims to dangers lurking on the jungle floor. Now there were not enough rides for everybody since the army consisted of over two thousand veterans. The surviving goodbeasts slaves were miserable beings, worked out beyond their resistance while blood-sucking flies and mosquitoes nestled in between their wounds, nibbling away at their flesh and sucking at their blood, biting at their soul.

Scabiniel and his escort arrived at Hakemillion's tent. It was a wondrous piece of art, gold and silver threaded with tough nylon in a weather withstanding but beautiful tent. It was spacious too. Inside rich and artfully, creative, woven tapestries hung from each wall or cloth wall, held together with bronze chains. Inside the three other generals and Lord Hakemillion were already seated comfortably in the tent.

"Whe' wa' ya off, snatchin' a few last seconds with your girl colone'" sneered one of the generals, Kabbin. Kabbin was a spiteful, mordant, vain, ornery, rancorous, vindictive, and spleenful fox, or at least from Scabiniel's point of view. His lean and wiry form supported two naked wakizashi. His sanity seemed to be slipping away with every day. "Ah, kne' there wa' somethin' up whe' ya chose a fem for a colone'," he continued.

Scabiniel ignored him and kneeled in front of Hakemillion. "Oh great and mighty lord of the world, the all-mighty savior of the ferrets and the stoats, the rats and foxs, the weasels and the martens, and everybody else who serves under your leadership, as sure as you be the punisher of the mice and the squirrels, the hares and the otters-"

"Dispense with the formalities, Scabiniel," said Hakemillion from his mock throne. He was a gargantuan being with a bloated, swelling, bulbous stomach that would strike fear in the most faint-hearted maid, Scabiniel liked to think humorlessly. Emerald orbs peered at the quartet from the stoat's pudgy face that might well have been blobs of flat for the comparison it had. He was dressed in multi-layers of expensive clothing. When silence was held, he started. "Now that all of us are present," a glare at Scabiniel, "We may begin…"

Above it all the shadow of the raven illuminated the cloth roof over the tent. The scavenger bird spread its wings and sped eastward away from the scene of evil…

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Lord Dorthin was a shallow faced ruler with pale grooves that crossed his furry paws. He was a simple-minded mouse with simple pleasures that had had the fate of being the heir to a man of great power. However, this huge responsibility often overwhelmed him as in this case. He was currently in a heated discussion with the squirrel opposite of him, Trentl, his advisor.

"Everybody has no doubt your intention was not to kill his wife but simply stop her from ruining anything in her drunken rampage," Trentl assured him.

Dorthin clasped his head between his hands and moaned. "Then why in the name of Martin is he doing this!"

Trentl comforted his lord. "Not all beings have noble souls like you. Hakemillion is doing this out of pure greed to seize the land. Probably."

Dorthin gasped. Trentl grinned at his reaction. "Never occurred to you did it?"

Their amiable conversation was interrupted by tussling sounds near the entrance of the tent. "Guards…" called out Dorthin a tinge of worry drifting in his voice.

His call was answered as the two bodies of the guards crashed through the tent flap, blood staining their polished chain mail, wounds creasing their bodies, eyes widened to the size of blobs in fear. Their last seconds were spent writhing in agony. From what Dorthin could see they had been stabbed and slashed in a frenzy of blades.

From the tent entrance slipped in a myriad of shadows, which quickly surrounded the duo. As Trentl raised his head to sound the call for help, a beledah (saber) came whistling out of the darkened shadows staining the cloth walls and in a twist hard to follow, cut the advisor's jugular vein. Trentl collapsed to the floor, blood flowing from his neck. He was quite dead.

Dorthin knew he should call for help but fear had welled up in his throat making him gag on his saliva. As the shadow wraiths drew closer he deciphered them as ebon-clothed beasts, masked and armed with beledahs. The leader seemed to be the man who had killed Trentl. He drew closer to Dorthin, sword turning in his hands. Dorthin drew his bastard sword from his scabbard, hands shaking so durably with fear that he almost dropped the sword on his foot. Like almost every leader or ruler of great authority and power, Dorthin knew how to use a sword but he was not especially skilled with it. Dorthin feebly tried to control his fear by stretching into an "en garde" position. He watched his opponent's face muscles to know when and where the attack would come from.

Dorthin had expected an attack with the sword. However being ready for only one type of assailance is rarely effective in a battle or encounter. You have to be open to all strategies and possibilities.

A blur of movement and a clothed leg shot out, catching the hilt of king's sword. The blade inoculated and the masked leader caught the hilt in his hand. A blade in both hands, the anonymous attacker took a step forward, swords whistling in curves of steel. The beledah, held in the left hand, came flashing in a downward stab. A few inches buried itself underneath Dothin's ribs. Dorthin kneeled over in pain and the bastard sword came slashing through the air until it hovered a few millimeters' from Dorthin's neck.

Dorthin gulped, his Adam's apple sliding underneath his own blade. Then, moving only a muscle, his opponent's twist of the wrist freed the saber from Dothin's body and the other sword disappeared from the threatening place. Ducking Dorthin's speedy punch, he surged forward and with a perfectly timed leap, he head butted Dorthin under the chin. Dorthin went flying heads over heels to land on the tent cloth. The masked attacker placed a boot over Dorthin's chest.

The sounds of fighting had brought Dorthin's guards running to their commander's tent. With a nod from their leader, the masked group dispersed out of the dangerous area, cutting their way through the tent wall with their blades. The leader remained and brought his masked face close to Dorthin's face. A dangerously familiar voice cut through Dorthin's giddy fear.

"Do you know who I am?"

Dorthin felt as if his tongue was somewhere else, so he shook his head. The leader took of his mask. "Now do you know who I am?"

For the first time since the bloody encounter Dorthin spoke: "Collin…it can't be you…"

"Surprised, aren't we brother lord? Well I must sadly announce that I better get going…" guards burst in the tent, "See you another time, little bro," sneered Collin and plunged through a slash in the tent . . .

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The guards were put immediately to work, searching for the masked gang. They returned back with empty hands, mystified. All traces had been wiped away and it was as if the encounter had never happened if not for the fact that Trentl was dead.

An onyx raven rustled its feathers in the breeze, its shadow cast on the fissure in the craggy cliffs. A crossbow bolt came speeding out of that direction, and speared the raven through its black glossy plumage. It fell back in the large fissure, disappearing from the sky like a silhouette.

Collin held the dying raven in both hands. He spoke to it. "We will meet again brother…and it will be the last time . . ."

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Agent D: Thanks a lot for your lengthy review and for adding me to your favorites. I appreciate it a lot, and as soon as my computer is back under Internet access, I will continue my reading of Orphen. The only reason I'm even able to post this chapter up is because I type it on my computer (I can't go to the internet but I can start documents), put it on a floppy disk and convert it to my account on my dad's laptop. Only thing is, I can't stay on my dad's laptop to actually read a whole chapter.

Mr. Nice Guy, The Flamer, and…Jack: What happened to Dr. Evil? Well, thanks for your review, and I'm interested in what the site-famous rater, Jack, will have to say after I post some more up. You sound like a pretty prolific author judging by your helpful and criticizing reviews, and I'm surprised you haven't gotten an account yet.

Grubswiper: Thanks man, I appreciate your dedication towards reviewing every thing I've posted up, and I told you (If you got my email); I will review your story as soon as I can (see response to Agent D).