A/N; Okay now we're going to get into Noonvale. A bit longer chapter this time as well. The real action will pick up later, but for now those chapters are still handwritten in a notebook of mine as I think up better ideas. Still I don't think this chapter is too bad. Thanks for the reviews so far. They have actually caused me to do some more editing based on what the reviews have said they liked.
3.
Shadow of a Mask
Rassk's vision was starting to become reality. Keeping constantly on the move for many seasons, he no longer wore a bark mask. Instead he was now covered in iron plate armor that had been held over a sooty fire, staining the metal midnight black. In addition to his sword he had added a simple shield on his arm. He also was no longer alone. Following his every step was a long line of pitiful slaves manacled together. Mice, squirrels, voles, moles, and even a few unlucky otters had all been captured by the silent fox.
When the slaves had been captured they had been forced to wear tight, constricting bark masks that covered their whole heads. Black gauze covered the narrow eye slits. Each mask was made so that a captive had just enough room to sip the meager broth Rassk allowed them, but they were unable to speak.
Keeping the slaves in line was a band of thirty vermin. All carried spears and a large round shield. Not one of the vermin wore a blade longer than a short dagger as Rassk would allow no swordsbeasts save himself. Still Rassk had personally instructed each hordebeast well. Standing shoulder to shoulder they presented a wall of shields to any opponent. The formation was flexible, allowing for quick redeployment to face any threat. At a signal from Rassk's sword the formation could form a variety of shapes that had never failed to defend the small slave band, and always had won victory even against vastly superior numbers. Rassk's iron discipline over his small army was total and absolute. Working as a unit rather than as individuals none could overcome the brutally effective tactics of the Silent Slavers.
The Silent Slavers advance trackers gave the main body of slavers notice of other vermin bands, areas of easy foraging, or the locations of possible slaves. Before going into battle the slavers kept their captives well back from the skirmish lines. While Rassk felt nothing for contempt for the creatures who now lived only to follow him, his cold and calculating mind knew the value of keeping his future work force alive. He would never be able to build his silent sovereignty without the pitiful creatures that were forced to march behind him.
Like the slaves the vermin band had also been forced to wear masks that would allow no speech. These were made of metal and allowed more freedom of movement than the bark masks of the slaves, but not by much. The masks did much to instill fear into those who were unfortunate enough to cross the path of a wearer.
The only sounds slaver or Slaver heard as they marched, was that of chains clinking as the sad column moved slowly southwards. As more and more slaves were captured, tales of the silent and deadly fox soon began spreading like wildfire in dry brush. Soon all creatures of the northlands lived in fear of meeting paths with the Silent Slavers. Most of the timid creatures fell back to their last hope of safety. A hidden valley called Noonvale.
Noonvale lay in a quiet valley. Hidden to all but peaceful and honest woodlanders, the fates had been kind to the mice, moles, hedgehogs, and other good creatures that made their home in the forested glades of the valley, abundant soil for orchards, a stream that provided clear water as it splashed playfully over a good-sized waterfall, and great distance from the seas and roving pirate or corsair crews made it an idyllic place to live. Or at least that's what most creatures liked to remember. An unusually hard winter had given way to an arid, dry and hot spring. The stream was reduced to half its usual level. The crops and orchards showed only drying and withering plants struggling for life. The once soft sward of the valley had become dusty and hard packed earth covered in brown deadened grass. It was as if the once peaceful air of the valley itself feared the growing presence of the long off slavers.
Urran Voh, aged grey by countless long seasons, lay sick on his bed. The only person he called for was his son. When Brome arrived the old mouse took his sons paws in his.
"My son, my time has come, Dark Forest calls to me," said the Patriarch of Noonvale in a raspy voice. "I go with a heavy heart. These slavers we have heard of move closer with every passing season. I fear it will not be long before they discover our valley." Brome could only nod as his father's breathing became more ragged and his voice quieter with every word.
"You know as well as I we here have never been warriors. We might be able to defend ourselves, but these trained vermin of the masked fox are beyond us. All of Noonvale would perish if we chose to fight. There are too many here now to flee and none able to fight. You know who our only hope is."
Tears were falling thick on Brome's face now. "But father, before she died Rowanoak told us he traveled south vowing never to speak of this place again. We don't know if he is alive or will be waiting for you at Dark Forest's gates."
"All the same, send for him. Tell Martin I bear him no ill will." With that Urran Voh closed his eyes and took his final journey through to Dark Forest.
Two days later, after his father had been buried, the new Patriarch of Noonvale called for a gathering of all Noonvalers in the Council Lodge. The large building was packed to the rafters by all the new arrivals that had fled to the valley seeking safety. Hearing of Urran Voh's passing, the owl Emalet had also arrived to pay her last respects. Brome called the meeting to order.
"Friends! You all know of the threat of Rassk the Mask and his Silent Slavers. Many of you came here seeking shelter simply due to the rumor of him. Even though his numbers are small, the battle skill of his band is more than anything we could ever hope to match." Several otters and squirrels murmured angrily at that statement. Before they could grow out of control Brome reasserted himself.
"I know there are many stout hearts amongst those gathered here, but if even half the stories are true we would fall like chaff before the wind no matter how brave our hearts may be. We are creatures of peace and know not of the business of war."
"What of the old Fur and Freedom Fighters and those who threw down Badrang? Surely such a force could be raised again," called out a voice.
"Aye!" called another. "Sound the call to arms!" Shouts of approval grew in the hall. It took a long time for Brome to quiet the assembled down so he could speak again.
"My friends, I dearly wish we could call on that noble regiment again. But as those of you who have been here long know the Fur and Freedom Fighters can never be called again. For those of you who are new to Noonvale there are two reasons.
"The first is that sadly, the Rambling Rosehip Players, who formed the core of the Fighters, all passed on to Dark Forest seasons ago during the plague that swept our valley." Many of the older residents shed a tear at the sad memory. Brome went on.
"The second and greater reason is that the true force of the Fighters was not realized until the final battle at Marshank. There was only one who was truly united that force into the army that was able to pull down the Tyrant, Martin the Warrior."
A hush went through the crowd. All assembled had grown up hearing of the legendary mouse. He who had fought to reclaim his father's sword and left in grief sworn never to return. Still a shiver of awe went up the spines of all creatures in Council Lodge that day at mention of the heroic mouse.
"Sadly," Brome continued, "we don't know where Martin has gone. We only know he journeyed south, alone." He then turned to Emalet. "Emalet, daughter of Boldred the Mapmaker, did your mother ever seek after Martin?"
"No," said the owl. "My mother honored Martin's request. She never followed him. His location is as lost to me as it is to you."
"South to Mossflower." All eyes turned to the speaker whose voice, while not loud was clearly heard by all.
Emalet turned to the speaker as well. "Mossflower is ruled by wildcats. Not even one so brave as Martin would be fool enough to challenge their strength."
"He is in Mossflower. When you see him give him this." The speaker gave Emalet the token and walked out of the crowded Council Lodge. Emalets eyes were wide with shock at what had just happened, but she recovered herself swiftly.
"Seems I'm off on a journey to the southlands. I will return as swiftly as I am able."
A short while later Emalet was flying over the dried treetops. As she left she thought she heard the faint echo of a song on the wind, but it was lost amid the flapping of her wings.
More coming soon.