CHAPTER VII: SCABINIEL'S NEW SLAVE
Author's Note: Okay this chapter will start to arise a new reason why this story is rated "T"- sensuality and some close-to making love scenes. There isn't any in this chapter but the middle of this chapter sets a foundation for a relationship between someone and someone, which will eventually lead to what I mentioned before. However, this chapter has a sort of 'love at first sight' principle and it might be a tad lemony or mushy or whatever. I'm a sort of novice at writing romance scenes and stuff like that. Anyways, please give me your comments on that.
Ok, another thing-this will possibly be the last chapter I update on The Seeker's Path this summer. First after this chapter and the reviews I get, I will edit all the chapters in this story and possibly my short stories in In the Dark: A Short Story Collection. It will mostly be grammar mistakes and typos though I will fix any content problems that have arisen in my reviews if I can. However, I will do this all by looking at what my reviewers have said so everybody who reviews this chapter please give me as many problems as you can so I can fix them; if you don't then my mistakes will remain the same and you will have to bear through them.
I estimate the editing will take about a week to a fortnight and I will put a notice in the summary under the title about it. Then, in the rest of the summer days I will hopefully be able to post the prologue of The Purple Lightsaber (tentative title) a Star Wars fic about Mace Windu and anybody who likes Star Wars please give it a shot. Okay, I know that was a long author's note, sorry, now let's get on with the story.
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Shabinya fidgeted uneasily in her foreign uniform and gazed down at the funeral going on. The vixen tried to put together an expression of tragedy, sadness, andrage on her face; some soldiers were weeping openly as Colonel Panias Urayling's body was carried to its final resting place.
It was mid-morning after the encounter between the two armies. Shabinya had begun doubting that Ujan's and her troops would really need to carry out their part for Hakemillion to succeed. A whole third of Dorthin's troops had been wiped out in the ambush and it didn't look like there would be recruits any time soon.
Shabinya, mildly intersted, glanced as a speaker chosen for this special occasion walked up a plank set on two columns of bricks. Nice stage, though shabinya disdainfully.
The shrew that had come up on stage was still blowing his nose when he started his speech and his high-pitched monotone was punctured by squeals every few seconds.
"Panias Urayling was a great beast not only on the field but also in his heart, in his soul," wild cheers erupted from the crowd, "and nobody in this army will ever be the same without him," Yes, I've just gotten three times more ecstatic, thought Shabinya, "He had a home, and a wife, and two kits. He had a lot of friends and admirers and beasts who considered him their own idol. He had a lot of good virtues and few if any bad. He was pure of heart and helped to rid the land of the stain of any evil beasts, but no, he was not a racist. He did not stereotype; he believed and was willing to accept the concept that vermin could be pure of heart, too. He felt a forlorn mourning for every life he took even that off a warlord or a tyrant. He was one with the good of the world.A noble beast as him never roamed the world." Here the shrew took a deep breath, and then continued, "And in vegneance of his soul, we will rid the land of the army that destroyed our finest commander and advisor...and FRIEND!" The shrew almost choked at how high-pitched his voice had become, but he took in the applause and roar from his audience, while Shabinya dismissively turned around and gave a contempuous flick of her bushy tail.
After the burial, Shabinya headed to her barracks. She had chosen to fill in the role of Captain Gyred. This had arisen a problem last night as many of the militia had claimed to have seen the captain go down in the battle. Shabinya had convinced them that Gyred had truly survived, and she had made a nasty cut across the stomach to show of her escape in the encounter.
"Captain Gyred, sir," saluted a young soldier who had sneaked up on her. His clothes were ragged and he appeared quite flustered about something. Shabinya was soon to find out.
"The council,"-he was referring to a group of wizened beats and advisors who helped Dorthin make his decision- he started, "has made an ugly discovery. We have uncovered one of Hakemillion's spies dressed as an infantry private. Under torture he has admitted that there is an organization of these undercover workers…"
He paused for effect, and he got it. Shabinya made a small gagging noise, which the soldier assumed was a gesture of outrage. But Shabinya was barely restraining a violent fluttering impulse in her abdomen. The butterflies worsened at the private's next report:
"At first light tomorrow, all the troops are to report in the middle of the camp. His Lord and his physicians are going to search each and every one of us for signs that we might be one of Hakemillion's soldiers. There's gossip going around that Hakemnillion's General Ujan might be in this camp." Then the messenger departed, leaving to tell the other commanders the news.
Shabinya clutched at her stomach. What was she to do now? Normally, this wouldn't have posed a problem for her, as she would act as the person she was trying to pass by. But the whole sequence had been too rushed for her to learn about Captain Gyred. Plus, (even though Captain Gyred had been of the same species as her) a female posing as a male captain definitely wouldn't fare good for her-If only she could have picked someone of the same gender. Sure she had her breasts strapped to her chest and her face had donned a more swarthy complexion, but they would probably strip her down in the inspection.And she was not evn sure she had the right tone of voice forGyred-that was why she had not, so far, spoken to any beast.Ohdamn, wasshe in a predicament. And even worse, now that Trentl had been assassinated, there was a new council leader, a bloodthirsty badger whotook it as his greatest ambition and goal in the world was torid the world of as many vermin as he could…
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A pinkish bolt of light struck the earth, casting the environment in a rosy tint.Dewdrops sparkled on leaves and blades of emerald grass casting the scene in a sparkling version of"Connect the Dots".It was the first light of dawn and a long, winding snake of a line stretched across to the flatlands. All sorts of His Lord's men on the march were there, from cooks to doctors, from carpenters to surgeons, from priests to armorers, from stablemen to foot soldiers, from infantry to commanders, and so on.
Shabinya shifted uncomfortably in her place-she was third in line. Before her numerous individuals had come into the tent, and they hadn't come out. Either there was a back entrance, they were still there, or they were dead (she hoped it wasn't the latter). In front of her, was Ujan along with another undercover worker. Behind Shabinya stood the rest of the spies. Ujan had carefully arranged this sequence.
"Listen," said Ujan quietly to Shabinya. "I'm next in line and my time for inspection is almost due. But don't worry; I have a plan in mind. You see, when I enter the tent I will throw myself at Dorthin and his cronies, causing mass pandemonium. This will enable you and the others to escape the fate of investigation since everybody's attention will be directed at me. You shall stealthily sneak into the line of those who have already been inspected. They are by the back of the tent, I presume. Meanwhile, I shall escape the clutches of these grasping buffoons, and report back to our lord."
Shabinya thought her leader was being overconfident. "But you could easily be shot down-"
Ujan grimaced unpleasantly. "Oh, I'm made of stronger stuff than that." Shabinya was surprised. She had always assumed that Ujan would be one of those generals that would lead an army from the back, execute soldiers for minor mishaps, and send one of his underlings in his place in a dangerous situation. Maybe she had been mistaken. But she had no more time to contemplate these thoughts as Ujan opened the tent flap and walked inside.
After a few moments of uneasy silence, everything erupted into chaos.
A scream erupted from the tent, followed by bolting footsteps. The guards surrounding the tent walls snapped into action. Crossbows were notched with steel bolts as they hurried towards the entrance. In a hurricane of movement, Ujan hurled himself through the front entrance, a bloody stiletto in his hand. He rammed the first guard in the ribs, leaving him helpless. The second guard was already loosening his crossbow, so Ujan hurled the blade at his face, sinking deep into a fleshy cheek. Distracted by this action, the guard's bolt went haywire, shooting up in the periwinkle sky. But the next guard had already loosed his bolt and Ujan threw himself to the ground in an intuitive move. The bolt came so close to his head, that it ruined his carefully groomed fur. Before the fourth and last guard could take aim properly, Ujan was already scrambling away in the dust.
But he was not out of the camp yet. Aroused by the sudden screams, a squad of saber-fighting guards charged after the fleeing general. As he passed Shabinya in his flight, Ujan murmured "good luck", and then he was gone.
About everybody had his or her head turned watching the spirited chase, so Shabinya took this moment for herself and her espionage colleagues to dart to the line at the back of the tents, joining the ones who had already been inspected.
Shabinya thought her escape had been made good, but a cloaked shadow at the outskirts of the tent watched on. Then it darted away, to report the occurrence to Dorthin…
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Ujan had long since passed the borders of the camp, and now he was desperately clinging to footholds as hedesperately struggled his way up a weather-beaten cliff. The guards, spryer than him, were rapidly gaining on him. The general stoat spied a crevice, slightly above him. If he could make it to there…
Breathing raggedly in a distorted manner, his paw slipped on a mini ledge. He tumbled down but a presence of blood, tissue, sinew, fur, muscle, and bone stopped his descent. He was quickly grabbed around the gullet, and a saber brushed against a pulsing vein in his décolletage. "You're finished, general," stated the sword-wielder in a death whisper. The other guards closed in on him. Ujan's breathing quickened.
Suddenly a hail of steel-tipped arrows cascaded from the crevice, instantly killing all the guards. They fell against the cliffside tumbling down like a rockslide. A muscular arm reached out of the fissure and dragged Ujan inside. He was met by a mouse at the entrance dressed in rags with hideous scars covering his face. Emerald eyes blazed out of the once light gray but now black fur.
"Hello, wanderer," the mouse spoke in a heavy accent. "My name is Collin and welcome to my hideout."
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It was a crescent of warm sunbeams filtering through the troposphere that illuminated the enormous spread of tents and rough canvas sheds that spread hundreds of meters in every direction, where a thousand scores of soldiers milled about in a colossal crowd, bustling with action. The great army of Lord Hakemillion lay nestled between a series of rolling hills. It was a beautiful summer day, where, in another world, kits and cubs would have eagerly frolicked and blown dandelions in a reality of jubilant happiness. But here were only grim, determined soldiers filled with nightmares of their past deeds, a sheen of gore and blood, horror and desperation casting a shadow upon their very spirit.
Inside his spacious accommodation, Scabiniel enjoyed the scant happiness that bellied at observing all the finery fit for a general. The tent walls were like an exquisite mix between an elaborate tablecloth and a wedding dress. The main attraction was a peacock spreading its wings and tail, a magnificent beast painted from a grind of semi-precious gems and stones. The borders were stitched with feathered gold and thick, multicolored lace hung from many different directions. Above the tent entrance, in silk, were stitched the title: "General Alexander Scabiniel".
The inside of the tent was furnished with maple furniture and had two oil lamps that beamed cozy warmth when lit. In a corner sat the weasel general himself, polishing his already shining weapons. Dirty rags worked methodically in his hands, while he drifted into space-less thoughts. It wasn't as if anybody demanded his presence or called for his attention.
He was obviously wrong.
General Kabbin walked in the tent in a lopsided manner a silly grin pasted on his face. Too much alcohol last night, thought Scabiniel. Kabbin unsheathed one of his wakizashis and quite purposefully severed one of the paintings hanging on the wall. It hit the floor with a loud crash, the frame shattering. Kabbin rubbed the dirty soles of his boots in the destroyed painting. Then the fox grinned insolently. "Sorry about that, matey." Scabiniel had learned to hold tolerance for these disrespectful moves and the only evidence that he had been disappointed was a slight frown that smoothly disappeared from his facial composure.
"What brings you here, O' King of Yo-yos," Scabiniel smoothly insulted his intruder. Unfortunately, Kabbin was to drunk to comprehend he had been humiliated. However, Scabiniel easily understood what Kabbin had to say.
"Well matey, we be havin' an entertainment of sorts and about everybody is to show up, so we was wonderin' if General Chicken would come. We knows you be scared of our prisoners, but it be just a request…" Scabiniel winced. He hated this part of war. All the prisoners from Dorthin's army that had been captured from their most recent battle would be awaiting their evaluation: who would die, and who would become the newest slaves. It was a lose/lose situation.
Kabbin exited the tent, but not before disdainfully spitting on the ebon carpet which adorned the tent floor. Ignoring this insulting gesture, Scabiniel blanketed himself in a striped tunic with a daring sash. He wore fancy boots made out of a rare, aqua material and had a pair of pants made out of tough shark hide decked out with shining alligator scales. An eel skin belt fastened around his waist held together a skull dagger and a falchion, both blades in soft, leather sheaths. A lime green bandanna held together his tan locks. A wrist bracelet held a ruby encased in a simple gold-wrought holder. Scabiniel didn't know why all the grandeur was for, but he always seemed to have a feeling to look his best on public occasions, no matter how depressing they were. With soft footsteps he followed Kabbin in the cool morning air.
They headed down towards a field of barren vegetation. Here a wooden plank stood for public occasions. On it, in a disheveled line, fidgeted the prisoners of war. Scabiniel was disgusted to see women and children amongst the men. He was also surprised to realize that Dorthin's army had brought their women and children along with them. But then he remembered that thay hadnot been expecting to be attcked by Hakemillion and his soldiers. Surely they weren't going to put these innocent simpletons to be slaves or condemn them to death. But of course they would. Hakemillion and the other generals were cruel men.
Hakemilllion himself was here. The obese man smirked through his numerous chins, a malevolent spark in his eyes. "Ah, Scabiniel-you are here. Now we may start this happy, happy event." He smirked as the prisoners growled in hate and vengeance…vengeance that would never be fulfilled.
Scabinel put on an incredibly straight face as Hakemillion either ordered one of the generals to torture the prisoners to death or shackle them in rusty iron chains and lead them to a growing line behind the fat rat slaver Sebo, whose greasy face with numerous chins cracked into an oily, sincere smile every time a slave was added to his "work group".
Hakemillion glanced over in Scabiniel's direction when the line of prisoners had been minimized to a bare dozen. "'ello there Scabiniel, me matey," the warlord gestured to him in a cold, deceiving tone, "why don't ya come here and join the fun?"
Scabiniel knew exactly what he meant but he played dumb. "What are you talking about?"
Hakemillion's face turned into an ugly grimace of contempt but it quickly changed to the previous beckoning smile in an eye blink. "Here you decide what to do with this ugly wench." And he wheeled around a prisoner to face Scabiniel. It was a weasel maid. More accurately it was the most beautiful weasel maid Scabiniel had ever seen.
She was covered in grime and dirt and her body was covered with open cuts and scratches. All that adorned her body was a dirty loincloth-the rest had been taken by her captives. Her breasts were round and perfect… and naked. Looking back on all his past experiences, Scabinel identified them as the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her fur was beautiful and it shined despite all the mud clogging the hairs. Her face was perfect with a petite mouth and sharp nose with a curving forehead. Her curves took his breath away, and when he looked into her deep and warm gray eyes and he felt a tingly, happy feeling in his body he had never experienced before. He had been orphaned at a little after his birth-his mother had died giving birth to him and his father had died of sadness after the passing of his beloved. It was love.
But Scabiniel quickly shook him out of his fantasies.There was not time for love on the battlefield. But he knew he would have to get this weasel in his tent and he knew how too. He could be very persuasive when he needed too.
"Well, since you mentioned this , I remembered that I needed a personal slave around my tent; things are all over the place and dirt and stuff like that is accumulating," Scabiniel sniffed in an indignant, righteous way. "I wouldn't usually mention it, but as you asked my opinion about it…" Then Scabiniel leaned into the weasel maid until they were almost touching nose to nose. "Just because you're a maid doesn't mean I'll go easy on you-I haven't forgotten about the whip I have in my tent," he grinned sinisterly. He hoped it was good enough acting.
Hakemillion was delighted that this particular general could think such cruel ideas. He immediately let it go but not without giving him some ideas. "You can borrow my torture weapons from my chamber. In factI want you to come by my torture room every week to try them out-that is an order.I have ones that are really complex. But if you have a taste for the simple methods, remember to strike with the whip lash covered in sea salt," he added jovially. The weasel maid shuddered as she was dragged of to who she was certain would be the death of her. Scabiniel's thought contradicted her: Don't worry, my dear; first impressions are almost always never true.
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"General Darion, sir," a voice called out from behind the wooden door of Darion's room. "The Lady requests to see your presence on the roof ramparts."
Darion eagerly jumped up from the fluffed sofa he was lounging on and opened the door. A ferret soldier of his army-his name had temporarily jumped away from his mental files-waited outside.
"Lead on, my dear fellow," exclaimed Darion as he surged 'longside his guide. Whatever business the Lady had with him it must have to be good to do it in a private place. Maybe she would assign him some task or something akin so he could prove himself worthy!
As he stepped over the last stair leading to the roof ramparts, his hands moved in a blur to catch a wooden sword thrown at him. On the ramparts stood the Lady in a suit of leather armor wielding another wooden sword identical to the one Darion held in his hands. The soldier left quickly.
"What is all this for?" questioned Darion.
"All my other generals know how to fight and do tactics and all the other skills important in campaigns. I don't want to end my streak here," said the Lady.
"I know how to fight," replied Darion.
"If you truly know how to fight well," said the Lady, "trust me I will send you back to your quarters. But for now give me a demonstration of your skill."
Darion felt stupid. Like he didn't know how to swordfight! He'd show this woman. "Then let us begin," he proclaimed and started circling her.
The Lady's limbs were incredibly loose and she stood in a relaxed pose. Darion, sensing this as a weakness, immediately lunged for her unprotected stomach, wooden sword whistling through the air.
She didn't move until the last possible tenth of a second. The sword in her hand rotated downwards so fast Darion just glimpsed a blur of solid brown. Then, pushing Darion's blade back by the slightest twist of her wrist, her sword came in a lightning-fast move to cross and lightly tap Darion's open chest.
"A tip," she hissed at him, "never make the first move against an opponent of greater or unknown skill."
They disengaged and Darion circling around her again, looking for possible openings, but remembering her advice. She continued, "Of course, you can make the first move if your opponent is not aware or weaker than you." And she struck again, her sword coming in a blur of an upper crescent swinging on Darion's left side and tapping his ribs. His sword came too late for the block and slid uselessly over the other blade, creating a dull grate. They disengaged again.
"Oh, you're very good of course," said the Lady with a touch of scorn in her voice. "You barely have any idea what is going around."
Darion's face inflamed and he came out swinging his sword as fast as he could at her neck, forgetting she didn't have any protection there. But as fast as he may have seemed, he was still too slow for his opponent and the ferret fem ducked under his swing and dug her blade up his stomach in fury. He gasped in pain and stepped away, breathing hard.
"Did you forget what I told you?" she asked. "Never make the first move!"
The next fight was better. The Lady struck, first faking on his left side, but eventually swinging the blade towards his right hip. He somehow managed to knock it away and he slashed in a rushed counter. The Lady easily sidestepped his mad charge and brought her sword up to tap his chest in another stroke of victory.
"Better,' she admitted. "There were a few more moves in that one and it got close to a decent fight. I think it is time put away the practice swords and see what you make off bows and arrows."
"But why?" he asked, "I'm not good at bows and stuff like that."
She glanced at him. "Being at least a decent long-range shooter is very important; you can pick off your enemies before even coming forward to engage them that way. Or, in a battle, if you have a few decent archers, you can minimize your opponent's army in a few seconds."
He thought he had done badly at sword fighting but he did even worser with archery, if that was possible. The Lady set up a few targets with a bull's eye and overlapping contours like a circle rainbow. They shot from ten yards away and about ten times each. Not once did Darion even hit the target post (except one time when he was faiminf for the far right but because of his aim it sunk instead into the far left). On the other hand, the Lady sunk it nice and fast, every time, into the center of the bull's eye.
"Maybe you'll improve over time," she said brusquely as he missed his shot by a fair amount (again). "I think it is time to practice military tactics and strategies and I've found there is only one good way to start off." And she brought out a chessboard, complete with the pieces.
Darion shrieked inside. He loved chess and was darn good at it. Here at last was somewhere where he could best his commander. He started with white and a clean move to b6. He was beaten in nine moves. After being beaten soundly five times in a row after that, he started beginning to doubt his skills.
"Well, that is all for tonight," the Lady declared. "Go to your quarters and I'll send a soldier in the morning to rouse you, so we can commence our training."
When Darion looked at the sky he saw a sliver of the silver moon and millions of sparkling beacons that were stars. The sky was a deep shade of ebony contoured with the slightest shades of dark blue. It was night already. Wandering back to his quarters he felt mortally tired. Had he really learned that much today?
As soon as he entered his room, he took his tunic of and fell onto his bed. A second after his head hit the pillow, he fell sound asleep. Looking at the smiling form of the mink curled up in a ball and a look of content on his face, one could hardly believe he was evil.
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avelblue: wOw! That is one long review and it is 100 based on this story. So I guess this will be a long response. Oh crap, I forgot that Wayak was injured, I'll revise that bit. And I know that that whole scene was sort of shaky, but I had to put the message that Wayak was officially a reformed vermin across. And I'll change the sideburn to whisker part too, in my editing. And oh, I never really thought of Lukas-Luke so just consider it conscience. And with the Devnam issue-well I didn't really intend him to come across that badly (he is Not the 'glorious hero' by the way) but I still wanted him to have a sort of old school woodlander type of personality. I mean I like each character to have their sort of own unique personality.
Hmm, maybe Geoniyo was a little specific. I don't really know I'm not into medicine and nobody in my family really is a doctor, so I have no idea how he would react to this sort of predicament. Also, I know Maliana is a sort of independent mercenary sort of type of person but the clan of bandits (which she was currently in) has this own sort of twisted religion I guess. And maybe Lukas is a little tough to start crying; I'll definitely put that in consideration in my editing. Kandall is a scholar man, he loves algebra and stuff like that! And Geoniyo is sort of untouched by war so he wouldn't know that maggots suck the bad blood out and eat the bad flesh. Yeah, that scene could use a little polish, I agree with you. Well Kendall's a scholar, he'd stick to the school experiment and you realy think the riddle was that good-I thought it was crap. Wow, long response, I hope you give me another one of those long reviews again!
Agent D: Yeah, an anelace is what you said it was. And I have this theory about the reviews that Mr. NG, TF, and J do. See they review the first few chapters of a story and then they just read (since they don't have to worry about the author no reviwing their story) and then post a review like ten chapters later.
Narfgirl: Wow, thanks for all your cool reviews, and you read fast! Thank you for all your compliments and I will continue reviewing Comes A Badger Warrior starting tomorrow!