CHAPTER II: NOT WHAT IT APPEARS TO BE

Author's Note: This chapter is sorta choppy but it's till a beginning chapter. The next few chapters will flow along more smoothly, though I do introduce a lot of characters in chapter six. Anyways, there will be some violence in this chapter, moreso than in the last chapter, at least. So far, out of what I've posted, this is my favorite chapter so enjoy. And guys, I know my computer was supposed to start working right now, but it's hecka weird-I'm connected with a good signal strength, but there's no activity, I swear! Don't worry, I'll try to get online somehow, meanwhile I can still post a few reviews from my dad's laptop.

xxx

Lukas slumped against the stone rail of Salamandastron's inner sanctuaries, fingering the stolen ring. The bloodless, alabaster, platinum artifact shone its topaz, sunlight glinting off it in a triangle-shaped gust of light. The tan-furred mouse pressed it into his palm, the prize of all his reign as a thief. It was indeed beautiful. And to think him, the play-toy of all bullies could hold such priceless jewelry!

He sighed heavily, his small and lithe body squirming with energy, his amber eyes writhing with barely restrained joy. Who indeed would have thought it possible?

His upbringing was nothing noble; in fact his childhood was that of the poor son of a wandering prostitute. His early years were spent traveling treacherous landscapes with his mother, stealing money from the poor and grubbing for the hospitality of others. His mother's business disgusted him; she would always leave him alone in the night while bedding married males.

One day in autumn, years ago, when Lukas was nine seasons old, her business had led his mother to her death. Lukas had run over the desert, running from the vengeful stoat wife (he had always been repelled that his mother fraternized even with vermin if the price was high). He ran days in row, collapsing on the spot and disillusioning himself with images of an oasis. If the young mouse had had any ideas of what "hell" was like, this would have been his best guess. His throat drummed with the blasted aching, the heat of the sun sent sand grains burning into Lukas's poorly shod hind paws. At one point he had had to feast upon the dead carcass of a rat he had found and suck the blood for moisture. It had been the worst experience in his life, no competition.

Then he had crashed into the aged squirrel that had introduced himself as Devnam. The two loners developed a close friendship. Devnam had nursed young Lukas back to full health, had shared his provisions and taught Lukas how to look out for himself.

Devnam had taught the boy decent skills with a yatagan, showed him how to forage, taught him the skills and means of stealth and espionage, and showed him how to smooth talk himself out of trouble. Then came the other side of education. For months they trudged side by side and Devnam began to explain and teach: mathematics, the language arts including spelling, writing and vocabulary along with reading, science and technology, economics and politics, and history amongst others. Lukas picked up odd pieces of information from Devnam, like how to treat rotten teeth, all about platinum and precious stones, and the anatomy of plants and animal cells. They had spent the nights laying on their backs, counting and naming the constellations. Under daylight they discussed herbs, mosses, and plants and how hepatitis affects the human body. They argued about possible cures. Under twilight when it was cooler, Lukas practiced various exercises handed out from Devnam to make his body more fit and his muscles stronger and harder.

For months they had traveled the desert, encountering numerous hardships. When they finally reached the great fire mountain, Lukas was thirteen seasons old. Devnam quickly fitted in with the other hares, but the other younglings never seemed to accept Lukas for one of them. He became the fruit of bully's conquest. Over the years he became a thief and a good one at that. He still had enough respect for Devnam to keep from stealing his valuables though…

Lukas heard the crunch of sand grains under a leather boot. He was roughly hauled up, a firm hand grabbing his scruff. He peered into the eyes of Joluff. The hulking troublemaker hare (yes, hares-Lukas quickly learned that a lot of adolescent goodbeasts could be as bad as vermin) prided himself as being the "honorable" leader of a small club of vandals and bullies. They hid daggers in their boots and drank themselves insane with alcohol as favorite pastimes. Lukas happened to be one of their favorite victims, ahem subjects.

"Well, what'd ya jolly know, it's my good feller Lukas, standin' around jawin' with himself. Ah guess I should fix that, me laddie buck!" said Joluff in an educated but mocking voice. He dropped him on the ground. "Now remember the deal, sah; ye give me some sparkly thingamajiggers and I'll give you some spiffin' punches. Hahahaha!" Joluff towered over the short thief. "Now get on with it, I don't have all daytime to stand here and look at the ugly likes of you."

Lukas clenched his fists nervously, trying to overrule his edgy nerves. He was determined not to give in to Joluff. The ring was priceless. Swallowing the fear that had formed in his throat, he replied:

"Get out of my way, you cross-eyed, idiotic, fiddle-faced buffoon-" Lukas was rudely stopped in mid-sentence, as one of Jolluf's humplike paws clenched around his neck. He was lifted into the air and then went tumbling backwards to slide a considerable length in the mud. The onlookers (who were all part of Joluff's gang-a decent lad would have put a stop to this) who before had been laughing at Lukas's description of Joluff were now cackling at the muddy image of Lukas. Joluff towered over the muddy thief, his face beet red with indignation.

Lukas fumbled in the pockets of his tunic for the small dagger he kept with him. Finding it, he scrambled to his feet and drew his arm back for the throw. Joluff's hand encircled his and crushed his fingers together, the dagger spurting out of his grip. Drat it; the antbrain is breaking my fingers. Lukas unexpectedly surged forward against the vandal's grip, flailing wildly with his head. With a flick of a wrist, Joluff tossed the thief aside like a rag.

"No playing with knifes, me laddo, or didn't your mater teach you that, wot wot?" spluttered Joluff angrily. With a powerful punch he sent Lukas back to the ground. Or should we say, he intended to do just that. The nimble thief dodged to one side, hips turning backwards with an unexpected attack. The finishing touch of a hook kick caught Joluff a gash on his temple. Roaring like a bull, the enormous hare thundered forward, pushing Lukas to the ground. Swerving around his fallen victim, he grabbed Lukas's knife, crusted in mud that shook off in his move.

Lukas had risen up in a fast crouch, hastily sidestepping to one side as the dagger sped by. The sight of Joluff trampling with incredible force in his direction sent the thief scurrying backwards for the dagger. His hand closed around the throwing blade and he flicked it upwards.

He had aimed for Joluff's face, wanting to inflict a distracting, shallow wound. Instead Joluff suddenly straightened upwards. The throwing dagger sunk into his neck, blood oozing out. He collapsed to the ground, gurgling unintelligibly, crimson liquid pouring over his collar. Then he went silent and crashed to one side, eyes alight with fever before closing.

Lukas stood rooted to one spot. The crowd who had been intensely uproarious moments before, now turned wide eyes in his direction, feelings of disbelief traced over their faces.

The sun sunk in the west sky, marking sunset.

xxx

Hakemillion fidgeted uncomfortably in his throne. His royal robes of purple shades brushed over the oaken carved arms of the throne. Watercolor sketches of beasts in battle decorated the wooden regal chair and a red satin cloth covered the splintery back.

Henrick (a.k.a. Hakemillion) really had to call himself lucky. After departing with Amberkan and Naze Arron, the sole survivors of the avalanche, he had encountered the rich Hakemillion, assassinated him (after a thorough examination of the lord) and taken up his title. Their appearances were equivalent and the customs, habits, personality traits, and language were quickly picked up. So began the reign of Lord "Henrick" Hakemillion. Differences would have been noticed if the true lord had ruled a little longer. But it was not to be so as Hakemillion had just seized power when Henrick arrived.

Henrick had actually set up the catastrophe of his wife. It gave him a reason to kill Dorthin without looking treacherous. Then he would be the complete, undisputed leader of all vermin and all the good beasts in Dorthin's army. Then there would be just a few other minor pains like Salamandastron that might sting him, but he would soon settle that. Henrick liked the sound of that.

He had to get back to the meeting. "We are here to discuss the ambush more thoroughly," Henrick hid a smile; he was really starting to sound more educated…"Dorthin and his army are located on the brinks of a slope, but not in a valley if you get my meaning (their location/). According to my spies, he eventually plans to move but not by the time we arrive, since he expects us to take the long way. We will be there by tomorrow-"

Scabiniel abruptly cut off his lord. "But the three routes in which we can advance are covered by dense swamps, extremely clustered vegetation and a river…"

"Ah, but there comes the snap," interrupted Henrick. "You can see as clearly as I can that the slaves are useless. We can kill them, skin them and cook them. The meat will boost our soldier's spirits and the skins, with some other materials, can be fashioned into boats that will guide us across the river…" There was a roar of approval from the generals, not including Scabiniel. He remembered the starved, miserable, spirit-less beasts he had seen, and imagined the cruelty and torture that would end their lives.

"Back to the ambush," concluded Henrick. "A small squad of soldiers headed by General Scabiniel will shoot fire arrows and crossbow bolts from the top to cause distraction and panic among the troops. Meanwhile various snipers will circle around Dorthin's soldiers, hitting and running. These troops will be led by General Kabbin and will be experts in stealth and fighting. Meanwhile, there will be a few scores of soldiers, led by General Trew. In the retreat, they will blend in with Dorthin's troops, dressed in the uniforms we gained from Dorthin's unsuccessful scouting expedition, and will head to the army's camp. This will be undercover specialized espionage work which shall help us greatly in the long run. For you see, they will keep on relaying information to us through a few representatives and secretly assassinating Dorthin's generals and if possible, Dorthin himself. With this clever ploy, we might not need to launch an attack against Dorthin at all." Henrick grinned. "Scabiniel select your archers, Kabbin choose your snipers, and Trew gather your undercover workers, pick soldiers trustworthy, strong, smart, loyal, and resourceful…"

"What about me?" piped up the forth general, Radden Sikkan, a silver ferret.

"You will hold the bulk of the close-combat troops as backups, in case our ambush is failing," Henrick assured him. "The meeting is concluded." And without another word he stalked out of the tent, royal cloaks swirling beside him, a sapphire jewel glinting on his ring finger.

There was a murmur of speculation from the generals, and then they exited each in their different way. Scabiniel was wandering aimlessly around until someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was Trew.

"I would require a word with you, sir, in my tent," the rat articulated. Scabiniel followed him, puzzlement scribbled over his soul. Why would Trew want to talk to him? He did not have long to hypothesize…

Inside the tent, Trew signaled Scabiniel to sit on the oaken chair. Scabiniel obeyed. After a long moment Trew started speaking.

"A month ago or so, I admired you, general. But that was before you showed your other dirty, treacherous side. That was before the incident with your colonel." At this point Scabiniel opened his mouth to object but Trew cut him off in a strong voice. "Did it not occur to you that I loved Camennia, yearned for her every second of my life!" Trew ripped his Lochaber axe from his back sheath. "I will never forgive you!" Trew's axe blade met Scabiniel's katana with a clash and sparks flew.

"Sir, you have made a grave mistake," protested Scabiniel, but in Trew's eyes flitted hints of craziness. There was no talking out of this; he would have to fight his way out.

Scabiniel was a famed fighter, but not because he was exceptionally quick or strong. What made him such a great warrior was his extensive battle mind. While he fought, data poured into his brain and time seemed to slow down as he calculated his moves. He took in the terrain and ground and used it to his advantage. Right now everything he knew about Trew poured into his mind, seeking to help him.

Trew's limbs were extremely flexible; he rarely made the mistake of overestimating and underestimating; he liked to use his amazing stability against his opponents…

Trew's moves were simple, aggressive and strong. Each clash sent shocks down his limbs, but Trew pressed with ever-new vigor. Scabiniel's eyes flicked over the tent. An overturned chair lay in the opposite corner they were in. That might help him.

Low block…High block, middle block…sidestep…Scabiniel noted that Trew seemed to be trying to push him in a shadowed corner of the tent. Who knew what trap lay there? At this thought, Scabiniel pressed on the offensive side.

Reversal crescent…Duck, high block, foot sweep…Damn it! Trew had serenely avoided it by a quick jump, feet ricocheting in Scabiniel's direction. Scabiniel tumbled backwards and rose into a "guard" position. A brainstorm beamed him, and the webs of a new plan were starting to form in his astute mind.

Trew circled him, and then lunged aggressively. His axe locked with Scabiniel's blade and the katana ricocheted upwards. Scabiniel had estimated this. His only remaining choice was to retreat into the shadowy corner… or so Trew thought. Scabiniel recklessly attacked, head-butting Trew in the stomach and accurately kicking at the tendons below the knees.

Trew stumbled backwards and Scabiniel leapt into the air, hand groping for the katana hilt. His heart plummeted faster than a ballast ball in deep water. The katana was too far away. Even as he began to fall back to the ground he leaned frantically towards the sword, body flailing awkwardly. His hand closed around the hilt, and he tried to flip backwards in a 180-degree tilt so he would land on his feet. This motion was tough to do in rushing air, and the heel of his foot smashed against Trew's solar plexus as he twisted desperately in the atmosphere.

Far from landing safely on his feet, Scabiniel crashed to the ground, back and head suffering from the painful impact. Ignoring the throbbing in his head, Scabiniel scrambled as quickly as he could to his feet, stumbling incoherently. Trew had regained his balance but as he crouched into another position, his foot caught the edge of the overturned chair. He landed stridently on the ground. Scabiniel was upon him in a flash, like a starved wolf scenting fresh blood from weak prey.

The Lochaber axe slipping out of his hand, Trew cried feebly for help, an almost inaudible voice swiftly snuffed out by his demise. But Scabiniel was to busy sliding his katana through the general's rib cage to notice.

xxx

The office was a simple architecture. It was spacey enough, square-like, with stone walls (like in the rest of the mountain), ceiling and floor. There were no windows, and at the door entrance stood a female hare guard, heavily armed. There were sparse furnishings, mostly the couch Lukas slumped on, dejectedly.

Make yourself right at home, thought Lukas drolly; we offer you the latest comforts.

He couldn't lie to himself. A harsh punishment would follow his murder of Joluff, when the mountain leaders decided on it. He didn't want to find out what form of punishment it was. Only if he could have explained that Joluff had attacked him first, but the evidence was hard to disregard, and since the beginning hares had been wary about missing objects. This was the last straw.

He had to get out of here. That was decided on. How he would execute this outcome wasn't.

The entrance was obviously the only exit. But then he would have to knock out the guard and he had been deprived of the dagger.

He fumbled in his tunic sleeves for a possible replacement. Something sharp fell into his hands. The ring!

The platinum! Maybe it wasn't the hardest metal, but it sure was hard enough for his purposes…

"Yoo-hoo!" called out Lukas. The guard turned and the platinum ring caught her above the eyes, bulls-eye on the forehead. The guard crumpled to the floor. Lukas grinned. Not bad going.

Lukas carefully tiptoed over the guard and gazed around. The corridors were empty of everybody since they were having an assembly on the other side of the mountain discussing his fate. Lukas grimaced wryly. No matter, he'd be long gone by then.

Lukas slipped around the corridors encountering nobody and he slowly made his way to the front entrance. There were two guards there so he decided it was time to use his own entrance.

Some time, long ago, he had found a tunnel that led him in and out of the mountain. Now seemed the perfect time to use it so he helped himself to it. It was near the base, a small hole, barely big enough for Lukas and covered with sediment rock. He brushed the stones apart and started crawling on his paws, dust and gravel coating his fur. But at the moment he couldn't care less. The air was musty and laced with fleas and gnats but after what Lukas approximated to be ten minutes, he clawed his way out and heaved himself to his feet.

He was on the outskirts of the desert, the place that had brought nightmares to his brain. But at least he was safe…temporarily. As he started out, a cutting voice halted him in his steps.

"Stop! I command you to stop!"

xxx

Well, that's all for that chapter. The next chapter is my favorite off all that I've written. There's a small part at the beginning about Collin and why he hates Dorthin and then there's a long, good action-scene description of Henrick's attack. Oh, and just in case you're wondering, you won't even meet the main bad character until chapter five-yes, sad, I know.

Agent D: How old I am? Well actually I'm pretty young. I believe I'm younger than all my reviewers (including you) except maybe Kitkatcathy, and Mr. Nice Guy, The Flamer, and…Jack. Yeah. And I know I was using all those technical words in the beginning but once I get into the feel of the story I sorta stop. Like, I don't think I used that many of those words this time. Anyways, I thank you for reviewing all my works since the second story in my collection (which I will update in some time) and with lengthy reviews none the less (oh, and now I get to reward you, since I will start to review "Orphen").

Kitkatcathy: Scabiniel is cool, ain't he? He is one of the most important characters and I will either let him live through this story or kill him off in the end. And the 'technichal' scene you described with the raven; I was sort of trying to impress upon my readers why the chapter was called what it was. Anyways, now it's your turn to have a cookie! Chocolate chip, sugar, or peanut butter?

Mr. Nice Guy, The Flamer, and…Jack: What! You just found Dr. Evil and now you're hitting him with cannonballs and trying to arrest him! I'll get him a lawyer as quick as I can! Shame! Ha, well actually you're right I didn't go through my last chapter three times, I did it only once, because I was too bored. 8.5 to 9.8? That's a pretty big range, but it's only normal since I haven't posted much up. But that's pretty good and thanks a lot!