Tales of Iffrit

Of the Struggle With Grueson Flickblade, Noguos Defector

(Part III)

In the Tradition of Brian Jacques's Redwall Novels

"Alright, ye mob of wild pups, out of th' water, now."

The rattess nanny Wheatberry was having quite a time of it rounding up all the stray babes and convincing them to leave the muddy river shallows for slightly less fun activities on land. Thankfully she now had Bramm and Shaggfur to help her, as they returned fresh from delivering their bounteous catches to the village's butcher to be made ready for the feast. The fox was easily able to scold his little brother, Reddtail, into obedience, but Limpkin, Berrynose and the other young creatures were a much tougher proposition.

"C'mon you, we need t' git you cleaned up," Bramm tried again, almost begging the chubby little weasel darting just out of his grasp, "Lissen t' yore nanna."

"Ah don' wanna--she putsda soap in me eaws!" the pouting weaselbabe whined shrilly, dodging Shaggfur's attempt to grab him by the scruff. Wheatberry scowled at the difficult child and tightened her hold on her now-sleeping infant, quivering with frustration that she fought to keep a lid on.

"You get yore scummy hide up 'ere this instant! My Drivenn needs 'is nap right now, an' you're takin' up 'is valu'ble sleepin' time by bein' selfish! Now get on this bank!"

Bramm had caught a giggling stoat cub by the tail, who yowled excitedly and wriggled about in his grasp like an eel. Struggling with the squirmy thing, the big fox carted the babe over to a patch of dry grass and firmly plopped the stoatbabe down on his bottom.

"Now stay there!" he pointed at the stoat sternly. The babe sniggered sheepishly and fidgeted with a clamshell on the ground. Bramm took off again, this time after a little female weasel who was about to dive into the mud again.

"Savage little..." Shaggfur did not finish his thought before another young rat ducked out of his watch and did a cannonball into the calmer waters, "Hey! What'd I just tell ya?! Y' need a bath before th' feast, or ye'll smell like riverbottom an' fish an' th' grownbeasts'll make ye leave!"

The rat hastened to escape the apparently stench-laden water, shaking vigorously like a dog and hurrying back into the small crowd of young ones who were choosing to cooperate. Berrynose turned suddenly towards the older weasel, his eyes widened in shock.

"We no' get pud?! Why no'?!" he screamed. The fat little creature tottered at his fastest pace, wriggling his way out of the deep mud he was leg-deep in and laboriously returning to the shore. All other cheeky truants had been reined in; the cubs of all species stood in a disorganized blob being sternly watched by Wheatberry and Bramm as they waited on Berrynose to get out of the stream. Shaggfur was aiding the pudgy little beast, but it was not easy. The brat was slippery with mud and did not seem too accustomed to much physical work, continuing to become bogged down in the sticky bank morass. Shagg called encouragement while at the same time stifling chuckles at the fuming little creature's pathetic efforts.

"That's it, mate, take it slow. It ain't speed that's important," the weasel held out a paw as Berrynose neared, ready to simply pull the babe out and get the fuss over with, "Reach out, Berrynose, little farther, ye got it."

All the while, the rats Troggol and Tinga, together with Ento Smallfang, were taking turns submerging themselves by the last of the watershrimp traps, trying to work loose a tricky anchoring cord that was proving tangled and difficult to untie. Tinga came up with a sharp gasp, having been down beneath the lapping current for over two minutes.

"I can't get it. I think 'tis stuck on this rock, but I can't find th' knot when I look," she explained, becoming a bit frustrated. Ento began taking deep breaths in preparation, flooding his lungs with life-giving air.

"Lemme take a look real quick," Smallfang offered curtly, then slipped under the stream's surface, completely disappearing. There was a long suspenseful wait, almost too long. Then, unexpectedly, the water rat reappeared on the opposite side of the trap, shaking muddy water from his ears and whiskers. The black rats awaited Ento's verdict anxiously.

"'Tis around that rock, alright, but it's also twisted up in some deadfall at th' bottom, from 'ere all th' way t' there," he indicated with a wide gesture, "'Old on, lemme get on this side, an' you'n' Tinga get on that other side, an' we'll see if we can't shake th' line loose from both sides."

Moving into position, the teamwork of the rats proved instantly successful. They submerged together on opposite sides of the shrimp trap, then a great flume of stirred-up river mud and debris rose in the surrounding waters as the three beasts shuffled the whole trap from side to side, shimmying the tightly jammed anchor cord from the jetsam it was entangled in and allowing the algae-slimed line to bob free, floating due to the air bubbles in the aquatic plants. Tinga grasped it with a grimace as the other two came up for air.

"Yech. Dunno why ye insist on leavin' th' traps out 'ere so long," she grumbled, picking bits of the stringy green scum from the rope. Troggol shot her a look as he hefted the trap onto his shoulders.

"Because, if it ain't out long enough we don't catch enough watershrimps," he huffed. Ento shook dead leaves from the bottom from his plastered wet headfur and stepped into the argument, but he didn't really appear to side with either of the rats.

"It don't matter how long ye leave it, th' watershrimp come in any'ow," he began, "But th' algae don't hurt it neither. Really it's just a matter of preference."

"Preference that smells like a wet dog mixed with rotten parsnips..." the female muttered to herself. Troggol rolled his eyes, keeping them on his work.

If he had been watching downstream more carefully, what happened next would probably have been avoided. What the black rat missed entirely was not lost to Bramm, who stood frozen in shock at the vision for a full four seconds before he was galvanized into action by the whirr of slingstones.

"Noguoooooooooooos! Logalogalogalogalog!"

"Iiiiiiiiiiicevole! Kiiiiiiiill!"

The discordant war cries clashed together in the river bend, striking a moment of terror into everybeast that heard it. Distant figures of farmbeasts in the fields between Norwood's encircling walls and he streamside stood straight as ramrods, instantly turning to look to where Northstream rounded the low wooded hill--then the figures scattered in a stampede, rats, weasels, stoats, ferrets and foxes all bolting in fright for the nearest gate into the safety of the village. Iffrit was nearly run over by a horde of ratmaids and an old vixen as he opened one such door casually. Clinging to the door's timbers until the fleeing creatures had fled, the dark-furred weasel straightened and watched in horror from the portal:

A dozen logboats and a large longship had slipped into midstream without a sound, creeping around the river's bend and coming unnervingly close to a trio of rats and a crowd of youngsters and their guardians. Iffrit gasped as he realized that two of those babe-watchers were his friends Bramm and Shaggfur, and the third was the rattess Wheatberry, with her infant son Drivenn held tightly in her arms beginning to set up a powerful wail. Bramm suddenly dropped onto all fours in a burst of clear thinking, shouting as he did at the top of his cavernous lungs:

"DUCK!"

The innumerable shrews on the logboats released a volley of stones from their small slings, swift and brutally accurate. Troggol suddenly relaxed, knocked senseless by one slingstone to the jaw, letting the end of the shrimp trap he was carrying sink as he disappeared under the surface. Tinga screamed, but she was cut off as another stone glanced off of her forehead, stunning her as well. Ento, sensing danger and quickly reverting to his battle instinct, did not even turn to see the faces of those attacking him and the other Norwooders as he dove, shooting through the water as he sought a place where the stones couldn't strike him.

Froll set up a cackle, urging his few archers to string up their bows and fire at will. The lemming archers were clearly not used to doing long-distance battle, preferring their swords and war hammers and such. Most of the some fifteen arrows missed and only served as a further reason for the shorebound beasts to duck and cover. One which was a bit more true in flight found its way into Berrynose's back.

"Aiiiieyaah!" the rat nurse's cry was as if she herself had been hit, and she immediately stood and rushed towards the fallen weaselbabe, face-down in the edge of the river. Shaggfur stopped her with a strong paw, finding it hard to restrain to flailing, shrieking rattess. Drivenn began howling in terror, having no understanding of what was happening.

"Th' gate, get ye t' th' gate!", Bramm commanded hoarsely, shoving and pushing the shivering masses on the ground towards the fields and walls of Norwood, "Run now! We're bein' attacked! AAGH!" The fox gave a sharp yelp as an arrow grazed his flank, tearing a large hole in his tunic and opening a shallow wound in his side. Hefting his fishing spear, the vulpine turned furiously and threw the weapon for all he was worth, tripping and falling in the followthrough from the painful injury to his side.

A shrew drew back in alarm as the spear embedded itself in the bottom of the lead logboat, right where he had been standing before he had stepped back to whirl his sling. Water seeped into the bottom of the vessel; the spear had gone all the way through the wood hull and streamwater was leaking in. Grueson averted a panic in his creatures, hurling wooden bowls and various drinking vessels at several of the shrews.

"Shuddap an' bail! This is nothin'!" Flickblade roared confidently, drawing his rapier and pointing towards the shores of Norwood, "Put in and stand th' boat up lengthwise! Move yoreselves!"

Reddtail leaped into the shallows, dragging and pulling at the lifeless carcass of the young weasel with tears smearing the mud upon his face. Bramm, limping awkwardly now that he was weaponless, grabbed his younger sibling roughly and threw him over his shoulder, forcing the cub to drop Berrynose.

"Concentrate on th' livin', bairn!" the fox grunted, sending the terrified babes and youngbeasts before him as he pushed forward laboriously in the direction of the opened gate, "Where's th' alarum?! There should've been an alarum!"

As if on cue, shouts were heard form inside the confines of the village, as well as a unified roar, a hastened version of a Wuulvite warcry:

"RADDHIYAAAAAH! WUUUUUUUULVIIIIIITE!"

Two arrows, larger than the lemming ones by a wide margin, whizzed down from slats near the top of the village's short walls. A shrew and an icevole fell suddenly backwards, splashing into the stream, as they were simultaneously struck with Wuulvite arrows. Froll rose a paw in a jerking motion, signalling his savage raiders to raise their round shields of wood and iron. The shrews, having no such variety of gear, began falling in considerable number as Norwood archers and slingers, mostly militiabeasts but also a few commoners who had armed themselves with hunting weapons, mounted the posts along the southern portion of the wall and began fighting back. No slingstone could reach them--they were too far away and too high up, and protected by wooden slats which dropped down when the archer was done firing to boot. Grueson cursed, clubbing a shrew near him with the hilt of his sword.

"Why aren't we on shore already?! I thought I told ye t' git on shore an' stand this boat up!", he snarled, snatching up an oar and poling the log canoe towards the bank with sheer brute strength, "Do I 'ave t' do ev'rythin' meself?! Move, laggards!"

The vixen Mistletoe was the mother of Bramm and Reddtail and one of the experts in healing in the village of Norwood, but she was also something else significant. Unlike most foxes from the western areas, she was darker in fur and browner. Her eyes were dark navy blue, rather than the usual amber, pale green or brown. These traits marked her as having Volmani blood, a particular race of foxes from the far east. This was no great surprise; many vermin from many outside regions who knew of the Wuulvite Kingdom had traveled here, seeking a life of fairness and opportunity, away from the squalor and inequality of their former lives.

Her sister, Shanna Wisetung, was also a healer, but not to the same degree. The younger vixen was more of a warbeast, being a militia member of the elite Guard Unit, a division of fighters who were allowed to carry any manner of weapon rather than a specific type like the bows and slings of Missile or the swords and light axes of Light Infantry. Shanna had chosen a long trident and a curved messer sword, a deadly combination against foebeasts and herbs alike. At the moment, she was aiding her healer sister, using her blade to chop the herb fumitory into tiny slivers for an herbal paste.

Mistletoe adjusted the deep violet-hued shawl about her shoulders. Her muzzle was starting to grey already, she noticed it self-consciously everytime she saw her reflection in her glass decoction dishes and beakers. With a slight sigh she turned to see if her sister was ready with the fumitory yet. The younger vixen was hacking away, her blade stained green from the soft seagreen leaves, almost through with the large pile of the plants. Mistletoe shuffled over, cupping her paws gently around the moist mash and scooping it up carefully to take it over to where she could transform it into health-restoring tonics.

Both Shanna and Mistletoe jumped with alarm as the door to their little cottage clinic burst open and an exhausted band of creatures tripped their way inside, most of them wounded. After seeing the face of the first fox who came in Mistletoe's face creased with worry and she bustled over to him in a bit of a panic, groping her son's shoulders and burying him in questions.

"Bramm! Ye've been hurt! What 'appened?! Where's yunng Reddtail?!"

Bramm, wincing as the healer's paw discovered his arrow wound, took his mother's paws in his to calm her, stepping aside a pace to allow the others to enter and Reddtail to be visible behind him. The fox cub was shaking and said nothing; he just walked past his brother, mother and aunt and found a corner to sit down in comfortably. Shanna quickly went to the task of accommodating the overflow of injured and shaken creatures, which she noticed were overwhelmingly young creatures or bawling babes. She split them efficiently into two groups: Those who would need to be cared for now and those who were only slightly hurt. Bramm was one of the worst thanks to the icevoles' terrible accuracy. The grand majority were slingstone wounds--bad bruises, split scalps, welt-ridden tails and swollen paws. A few unconscious creatures were carted in later, borne on makeshift stretchers by some of the militiabeasts. Shanna listened carefully as a chaperoning weasel--an obvious soldier named Sherpp Fogrunner and the father of Raosk--informed her of what had occured. The lean mustelid was in his issue armor and fully armed: A light and beautifully crafted chainmail tunic, overlaid with a tabard in Wuulvite green that hid the fact that the chainmail was also studded in places with plates of steel. The helm was a simple round affair, steel as well with more chainmail hanging down as neckguards, and his weapons were typical of the atypical Guard Unit--a long-handled battleaxe with a single metal head and a sling-like weapon known as a arrowslinger. A beltpouch of the ammunition for this weapon hung at the weasel's belt; heavy, arrowhead-shaped darts flighted with several duck feathers. Sherpp let his axe hang loosely in his paw, eying his back as if watching for enemies, as he muttered the strange and terrible news to the confused vixen healer.

"It's those damned shrews agin, the Noguos," he growled, "They came up th' river in silence an' ambushed a band o' playin' youngbeasts. Troggol an' Tinga are missin', as is Ento Smallfang. Berrynose the weasel cub is dead--one o' th' cowards shot 'em in th' back while 'e was runnin'. We've got 'em pinned down with archers an' slingbeasts on th' south wall fer now, but who know how long that'll last. There's more 'n' a hundred of 'em countin' the lemming..."

"Lemming, this far south?" Shanna gasped, overhearing the information. Sherpp nodded gravely.

"Aye, they come an' go where they please, killin' an' burnin' any ripe victims they kin find. Surprises me th' shrews joined up with 'em."

"What has Captain Warscythe ordered?" Mistletoe chewed a claw nervously. Sherpp bared his teeth as he responded, loud enough for all the creatures inside, and some of them loitering curiously outside, to hear:

"Th' Chief wants all fightin' beasts not already holdin' th' foebeast off on the wall t' gather in the Council Shelter. He says come fully armed an' armored fer battle!"

Grueson ducked as a Wuulvite javelineer once again had the fat old shrew in his sights. He felt the wind off the long light steel-tipped projectile, and heard the scream as the unlucky shrew that had been standing behind him was struck in the chest instead of he. The fighting was now slowing to a stalemate in the absence of any other actions being taken by the aggressors in this situation. As Flickblade had ordered, the shrews had all nosed their logboats ashore and together heaved the vessels up on to their sides, forming a shield against the Norwooders' missiles. Loach's father Wilneg was in charge of the rats, weasels, stoats, ferrets and foxes on the south-facing wall. He stood and whirled his plumbata sling, or dartslinger. It was like Sherpp's except that the darts it fired were smaller and lacked flights. Narrowing his dominant eye, the tall, lean ferret resisted blinking as a slingstone grazed off his helm, then launched the metal dart. An icevole raider was his target, the creature's footpaw jutting out from behind the beached longship that was also being used as a barrier. The lemming roared as the pointed metal stuck into the footpaw, embedded in the bone and effectively taking the beast out of the fight. Wilneg smiled grimly, commenting to another warrior beside him, another veteran ferret named Drubber Hidemaul.

"Don't give 'em an' inch, that's what I say," Loach's father said curtly. Drubber nodded in agreement, scowling as he nocked an arrow to his shoulder bow and staked out an area of one of the logboats, waiting for an enemy head to offer itself as a target, "Let 'em know we ain't kiddin' with 'em. If we keep it up may'ap they'll give it up."

"We'll be in trouble if they change position t' nearer th' walls, "Drubber observed, "We lose track of 'em, an' they can scheme to pass our walls however they want. It'll make it hard t' stop a breach."

"Aye, yore right. We need those infantrybeasts soon t' repel wall-crossers," Wilneg watched as Drubber loosed his arrow, pinning a shrew's paw to the logboat he was peering around, "Chief Raegnor an' Lady Snakeroot're workin' on it."

Water went by in a rush as Ento opened his eyes, the current making little difference to his speed and agility in the water. He had drifted downstream a bit, disappearing to the eyes of those on the shore and to his attackers, sweeping the river bottom back and forth with desperate claws. The small stocky water rat had seen Troggol and Tinga go down, and senseless in the water they were sure to drown. After several minutes of searching his whole chest burned, begging for air, and he conceded that it was probably a futile effort to save them now.

With a harsh wheeze the rat tipped his snout out of the water, spy-hopping as a whale might do and offering very little of himself up to arrows or stones. A hundred paces or more upstream the war party of shrews could be seen, hunkering behind their boats. A huge lemming was conversing with a somewhat large fat shrew with thoroughly ashy fur; they looked to be the leaders of the rabble. Ento, having gotten a relieving breath, sunk back down and kept his eyes open as he crept along the bottom, grasping with all four paws and beating his flattened tail strongly to stay on the bottom. If he moved slowly and conserved his energy he could canvass the whole streambed up to the north wall where the river curved about again, but only if he was careful and stayed out of sight. If he could not bring the two Norwood rats back alive, he could at least do their families right and recover their bodies.

Smallfang could still see the figures of the shrew assailants through the muted brown river sediments. They appeared to be mostly gathered behind the two leftmost boats, with a scant few still slinging from behind the others. His tactical training from his few seasons in the army of the Wuulvites told him that they were going to attempt a distractionary measure, probably while the remainder of the force came around the eastern, wooded side of the township in search of a place to go over the wall. Though he didn't know quite how they would do so, Ento knew his reconnaissance would be valuable to his side.

The water rat became serious about swimming then, tucking his limbs in close to his body and giving a strong flick of his swimming tail. He shot off, giving off a wake of ripples and stirred-up mud, as fast as any watervole or otter.

And quite a bit faster than a water shrew.