The warlord was in a foul mood. It was the following morning, and the horde was still going nowhere, waiting for that idiot ferret to return with a pair of worthless vagabonds. But Rend was a valuable fighter, and he had taken a score of others with him. Although the horde was vast, and more than a few creatures had already been killed along the way for failing to keep up, in the Razorclaw's crazed mind the possibility of leaving behind any number of skilled warriors now was nonexistent. His brother could have an army twice the size of his. So until his Captain returned with the travelers, there was nothing to do but sleep, eat, and train for the coming battle. The day dragged on.

Kan struggled feebly under the Corsair's hold as she leered wickedly at him. "Thought you'd seen th' last of me, eh, liddle stoat? Say, wot's this? Yer face's all dirty- yer momma won't be pleased!" She leaned down and mockingly rubbed the concealing earth off his face, giving a fake gasp of admiration. "Oh, lookit this! Wot a fine liddle stripey markin'. Looks a bit like a scar, don't it?" Her grin widened. "Hows about we make that real?"

Before he could react, she slashed the scimitar viciously across his face. Kan roared in agony as the view through his right eye turned crimson, than completely black. He tasted something hot and bitter- blood, flowing rapidly down his muzzle into his mouth.

Kasivar actually yawned as she pressed the blade into his throat again. "Huh, yer not much fun at all. Not gonna beg wid me or nothin'?"

Half-blind, furious, and in terrible pain, he knew the end had come.

The rat came racing down the hill, skidding to a halt at its base and panting with excitement and fatigue. "Cap'n, Cap'n! I found those travelers!" The tall ferret was eating, and was rather annoyed at the interruption.

"Oh, ye did, did yer? Well, ain't that wunnerful. Push off, fleapelt, I'm takin' me lunch, see!" But the rat persisted, racing up to Rend and actually yanking his shoulder. "But, Cap'n, that ain't all! See, there's a stoat, a weasel wot seems like a pirate, an' some kinda...um..." The rat scratched his tail in confusion. "Well... it looks sorta like a real fluffy weasel, crossed wid a h'otter."

Rising and shaking off the rat's grip, the Captain sneered down at his subordinate. "The sun's gone t' yer 'ead, Jord. A stoat, a pirate weasel, an' a riverdog weasel wot's all fuzzy?" Jord bounced up and down in a frenzy. "Yep, you got it, Cap'n Rend. But ye see, the otter-weasel's dead, an' I fink the stoat is too. The pirate- well, she's a piratess I guess ye'd say- wuz holdin' a blade to 'is neck, an' there's blood all over 'is face."

"Quit yer jiggin', idiot!" Rend bellowed. The rat settled nervously down as the Captain continued. "Look, addlebrain, I don't care which of these travelers is crow vittles an' which ain't. My orders are to bring 'em back. So lead me to 'em quiet-like, an' we'll take all the live ones. Now where are they?"

"Jus' over the hill here, then ye walk about a half-mile thisaways..." With Jord happily leading the way, the weary hordebeasts got to their paws and reluctantly followed their Captain. More than one questioned their warlord's judgement, sending them off after feuding wanderers when there was plunder and a mountain stronghold for the taking. Not out loud, of course; Rend had his orders, and there was always the chance he might overhear.

With a sinking heart, Kan realized that death would not be as quick as he'd thought. The weasel was dragging out her victory as long as possible, occasionally inflicting small cuts when the mood took her, and laughing the whole time, but none of the wounds were enough to finish him off. Fervently, he wished that they would be. Darkness stole in around him, and as his senses blurred and the vision in his remaining eye grew dim, he welcomed it.
He expected to see the gates of Dark Forest, but the scene before him was a familiar one. It was the old camp, deep in the grip of night. Fires were burning down to the embers; he could smell the smoke and even hear the snores as the hordebeasts dozed by them or in their tents. He found himself moving, padding silently through the sleeping ranks with a lantern, a small sack of stolen food, and a dagger. He halted by the biggest tent. Inside it was utterly silent; he had no way of knowing whether its occupant was awake. He did not want to enter and find out. Taking care to keep his pawsteps light and quiet, he passed by, but in doing so he neglected to notice the sentry, lying sprawled outside the tent and snoring drunkenly at his post.

He tripped over the rat, falling on top of him with a loud thump. As he hurriedly scrambled off, he sentry sprang up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Eh, huh, who goes there? 'Ey, yew, wot are yew up to?" he demanded, blearily making out the silhouette of the stoat. Not stopping to answer, Kan hit him over the head with the lantern. One of the small glass panes shattered, but it had the desired effect. The rat collapsed back onto the ground with a moan, and he ran as the tent flap swished open and the grating snarl rang out.

"What in the blazing Hellgates is going on out here? Hey, you! Where are you going? Get back here, or I'll flay you alive!" Footpaws desperately pounding the dust, he raced away, not daring to look back at his pursuers.

He was brought back to reality by a shocked growl and the immediate clash of steel on steel. He barely managed to sit up, turning his head to see out of the good eye, and nearly passed out once more.

This can't be happening! he thought. He shook his head, wincing at the resulting pain, but the vision remained. With blood still trickling from her wounds and the light of battle in her eyes, Sakhyo seemed to have risen from the dead as she fought. Her strikes seemed to come from every direction to the confused stoat, but the Corsair was agile enough to evade most of them. Her scimitar wove flickering patterns in the air as she feinted, dodged, and slashed, and more than once Kan watched a new cut appear on his friend's body, or an older one being reopened. The mink seemed to have the losing paw.

With horror, Kan saw Sakhyo trip and fall. Kasivar was almost upon her when, desperately scrabbling in the dust, the mink flung a pawful of dirt straight into her enemy's eyes. With an un-Corsair-like yelp, the weasel staggered back, clawing at her face. "Ye liddle worm, I'll skin yer fer that!" she snarled, waving her blade about wildly.

Sakhyo's eyes widened in horror as the Corsair continued with her bloody threats, pawing the grit from her eyes in time to see the mink turn around and run. With a cry of triumph, Kasivar leapt toward her foe's exposed back, swinging the scimitar.

A split second before the weasel struck, Sakhyo whirled around with the short sword ready in one paw and a dagger in the other. Both weapons sliced deep into the Corsair's throat, but with her last ounce of strength she managed to slash into Sakhyo's chest, fortunately away from the heart. Sakhyo raised her dagger and stabbed again, and the weasel's grip finally slackened. The scimitar clattered to the ground.

Blood gushed from the Corsair's torn throat as she tried to snarl an insult. The hideous sound gradually died away, and Kasivar Steelwave glared up at her killer through sightless eyes.

The stained weapons dropped from the mink's paws as she staggered over to Kan. Collapsing by his side once more, she gave a weak smile and murmured, "Got 'er, mate... Hey, who's that?"

He turned his head to see a lone figure heading quickly in their direction.

A/N: Bleh. I think I kind of suck at battle scenes. If you have any ideas on how to make it cooler, put it in your review or PM me. I'll listen.