Redwall: War of the Four Banners

by PepperDeadSworn

"Young as autumn, old as summer, from sea to forest the cries of war shall come Four armies, one outcome, in ruin you shall find the truth Look to the place of my rest, for friend shall be foe, and foe shall be friend." A epic tale of Redwall in which four great factions battle for the fate of Mossflower itself.

6. The Great Vermin Band

Chapter 5: The Great Vermin Band

Gholand was busy with activity for the coming day, the vermin fortress sat in the deep forests of north eastern Mossflower, and vermin from all over had come to the call of Markem Brownnose. The large battlements were inviting for the common rabble who journeyed underneath them, the brown banners fluttering in the morning wind. Tents were pitched outside the gates, with vermin bands and gangs from across Mossflower gathering to the banner of Markem's horde. However, as each day had passed, more and more creatures gathered in Gholand, each warlord more prestigious than the last to join in.

First came the black banners of Hazul Leffer, the chieftain of Veekun's Burrow. The water rat had not grown in recent years, and in fact seemed to shorten with age. His tribal array of water rats joined in close to him, each one painted with dark symbols of red and white. Some carried pole arms, others carrying bows. Rats were not good fletchers, but Hazul's rats seemed to be the exception. Hazul himself strode into Gholand, nearly mistaken as another remnant of Kasg the Craven's evil army. Following close by was a black fox in tattered outfit, carrying a procession of charms and baubles with her, whispering into Hazul's open ears.

Next came Kylan Bignose, the warlord of Jusbrag, the ancient vermin fortress still standing. Kylan nearly brought a small horde of his own with him, mistaken for an enemy army at first by Markem. Scarl greeted him at the gates, the weasel having grown less fat in time, but more bulbous with jewelry and fine clothes. The weasel drank heartily from a tankard, his paws adorned with rings, his nose pierced by a great golden ring, and his ears nearly flopped down from the weight of his earrings. The warlord passed off his tankard to a hedgehog slave who was acting as his personal servant on the trip, a well whipped and terrified creature who was pitied by the slaves in Markem's fortress. Kylan's brother, Loc, struggled to bear a standard of two skulls, a fox and a rat, adorned on an orange and red banner depicting his nose. Kylan wasn't exactly very creative, so the slaves and hordebeast cringed to see a 'nose' on the flag to be two poorly drawn circles inside another one.

Next came Luzgot, warlord of Luzland, bearing a black and purple banner. The rat strode into Gholand in a foul mood, and covered in a spiked outfit. The warlord knocked vermin aside with his weight, and pushed aside to make room for himself. He sneered and spat at all who got in his way. Luzgot however stopped short when Markem's chief executioner Vake came through his path, giving him a dirty eye, and silently waddled off about his business.

Then came the green and white banners of a newer and prestigious warlord, Parb was her name, a white mink who sipped from a glass goblet and tattered in fine clothes. She looked out from her personal palanquin, hoisted by a group of younger weasels who had sworn to her. The warlord maiden looked out in boredom at the all too common structures of a vermin settlement, but drew interest from the unique look of Markem's hordebeasts and slaves. The horde was healthier, stronger. . .much more disciplined then even her's was. The slaves were just as healthy, some even looking fairly well groomed, all bearing rope collars about their necks and working away in unison with their vermin captors. She sipped from her goblet. She had joined Markem's little cadre, primarily due to personal issues. The Long Patrol looked ever eastward, and Markem came calling not through violence, but through word. She found it droll, but the rat intrigued her. She came from an island ruin, an old cat castle of sorts.

A gaggle of other warlords, chieftains, slavers, and gangsters flooded through the gates for this grant calling. Markem had been planning this day for a while, and no creature in the east who heard his call could resist him. Minor warlords came from distant forts and camps, all bearing strange colors and hoisted with captains and slaves alike as they marched into Gholand or set up camp near it. At the gates, each warlord was checked for poisons and personal weapons, but found only few, for many of these warlords respected the rat. Even in the farther north, the rat warlord Pelchovmar had come down from the far north to greet his ally and impromptu master, bearing his gray and black colors.

Minor vermin came in droves. Markem's horde was large, over 2,500 strong, all were hardened and disciplined from the seasons spent under his banner, but many came to swear themselves onto him. Numbers became increasingly meaningless as vermin as far as southern Mossflower to the highlands in the north came, with their weapons and treasures, some dragging behind recently captured slaves or prized servants, to present themselves before Markem. The rat had a grand announcement for the day, as each warlord crested the stairs to his fortresses above.

Little did any of them know, more than just vermin eyes watched from a distance, peeking out over the forest fields at Gholand, two hares watched and waited, taking notes from afar and approaching ever closer.
_

By all the spirits and all the damned seasons do I hate this thing! Markem mentally screamed. The rat was bound in an armor fit for a warlord, albeit of both his design and that of his advisor Karlgo. The fox trodded behind like a meager servant, trying to adjust each part of his warlord's getup. Usually, this would have been 'Mud' or 'Dirt's' task, but Markem was in a bit of a hurry and did not want to wake the otters a bit too early or wait for them to get ready. It was a chainmail armor which was covered over in a blackened leather armor covered in brown and silver lined taberd, his back covered with his favorite round shield. Markem's belt still held his sword and scabbard, carrying with him a pair of fur boots. A great brown cape draped him, connected to be a single brooch so he could tear it off easily. Karlgo had convinced him to start wearing the cape, as it signified authority, but Markem started to hate the heavy and itchy thing with a passion. What had been perhaps the most offensive to him was a special crafted helm, a large iron helm which covered most of his face, with two jutting stag horns upon it which shot up from the front. Karlgo personally wanted them to be on the sides, giving a wide berth and looking demonic, giving off an 'aura of fear and power' as he called it. Markem disagreed, he hated the horns, they slumped the visor on his face and it took him awhile to even get used to the damned thing. When he walked, Markem complained he didn't wish to bump accidentally into every vermin creature he came across.

However, Markem had to concede one thing, Karlgo knew what he was doing. For a while, the rat ran into an issue of being mistaken as a common hordebeast then the warlord he was. That was helpful when hiding in the front line of missions, sure, but it certainly caused issues of authority. The uniform certainly helped the rat get recognized quickly, even if he privately confided to 'Dirt' and Scarl about how much he felt clownish wearing it. He preferred the armor of his old soldier uniform. If need be, he could easily cast off everything except his helm and be in his more comfortable uniform beneath. Markem shifted uncomfortably as he strode with his posse of advisors into the slave pens, the vermin making way for him as he passed.

Gholand's slave pen was strange, at least by vermin standards. Vermin usually just locked their slaves up in a wooden stockade, a simple and open-air prison for the woodlanders to sleep in when they were done with their work. Markem's slave pen was more convoluted. It was covered mostly, with several small huts, practically an enclosed enclave which held a mixture of cottages and homes for both woodlander and vermin, although the vermin lived in better homes. Markem had a small underground pit dug out and placed in with stone, storage rooms and barracks. Newly captured slaves were thrown into a more central covered cage till they were processed, but at least all of them slept on hay mats. Markem came up to the slave driver of his horde, the former corsair Gutan Seawhip was overseeing an expansion of his new 'home' with the aid of the two hedgehog masons who had helped Markem build Gholand. All three quickly turned their attention to the warlord and made a humble bow.

"Me lord, an' captain! I be see'in Gholand be busy as a shippin lane! If i'd known, i'd have had these layabouts buildin more cottages!"

Markem waved his paw "Nay, this feast be only lastin a day, Gutan. Besides, I didn't think there would be this many to be perfectly honest. Me cooks needin some help in the kitchens. Ya got some layabouts?"

"Aye. Be but a moment." Gutan was a strange beast, he swaggered and within a few minutes, he was pushing up some slaves who had been on standby. Gutan knew nearly every slave, even by name it seemed, under Markem's command. He may have had a whip on his person, but he never used it. Only his subordinates ever used willow branches and whips, and even then, Gutan seemed to punish them for using them. A cadre of slaves bowed their heads to Markem, who looked them over. "Aye, cap'n. I know some have some cookin experience, mums an' all."

There were several species Markem got to choose from, he picked out several hedgehogs, a couple mice, and an otter maid along with her youngster. As Markem was done making his selection he spoke to them. Most were recent captures, having been brought in by slavers over the years, many had awaited cruel words and crueller acts. Yet, Markem spoke to them as if he was their commanding officer rather than their master.

"I ha'v a large feast planned for today, ya lot are goin to help out in me kitchens fer today, an' if ya do well, ya can cook yerself up some grub fer you an' yer families. Maybe I might even keep some of ya, depends on me mood. Gutan, show them up and gettem ready."

Gutan was off straight away, but as he was leaving with the slaves, another approached. 'Dirt' had slowly walked through Gholand and to Markem's side. The otter had taken a quick look at the otter maid who passed by, who stared back in disbelief. 'Dirt' bowed his head to Markem and Markem bowed back. It was a fair routine between the two as they began walking around Gholand.

A pack of vermin children rushed around corners, climbing over mishandled supplies in the muddy streets, many faces were new to the two. "Many come my lord, Markem." Karlgo began to say "All for an anniversary feast?"

"Nay, Karlgo. Not just that. I have a great announcement I planned to make today, and all of our allies are here for this reason. Come you two, let us find Scarl. I shall explain a bit more."
_

'Mud' and Yala were finishing up their hard work on keeping the main hall of Markem's home clean, but their main task was yet to be completed. They came out with water buckets and rags into an open square which sat above the main vermin settlement and was connected to the entrance. The two otters often referred to it as 'The Grounds', which on off days was just the main stoney entrance into Markem's home. On days such as this, it was a meeting area where Markem preferred to do his business, but now it would be the main area for which the warlords of Mossflower would feast. The two were about to begin, when Gutan and a cadre of slaves and vermin began descending upward. Gutan was the more obvious creature, who called out to them in a friendly manner.

"Ah, 'Mud' an' Yala, ain't it? I ger got ya two some fine help fer today!" The two blinked. 'Mud' knew Gutan well enough, but Yala didn't. His friendly attitude, for a slave driver at least, disturbed her. She half expected him to start whipping them for freezing, but the rat simply began introducing the creatures Markem had selected to them.

"This is Malu, she be a hedgewife. Kula an' Nurse ar' huband an' wife. We'z got us some mice, I think they'z be named Jaop, Potice, an Frekkle. The waterdog maid an' her yung un, good cooks an' fishers both. Widowed unfortunately, Olda an' Kelp. Markem said there be needin assistants fer the cookery today! Why don't ya commend dem an' show em around."

"Gutan, we don't even know what Markem is planning." 'Mud' said a bit confused. The rat smiled "Then ya better find out! I'll'a just leav'en them here with ya. More of dem slaver chaps bee'n droppin off their goods in me pens, gotta organize that, eh." The rat was off, leaving 'Dirt' and Yala to face the mostly confused group. 'Mud' sighed, but gave a chuckle to himself.

"Alright, Markem left me some instructions on what he wants. I'll bring the best cooks to the kitchens, but the rest of you are going to need to bring out the tables and chairs."
_

'Mud' never organized something this large before, and he felt out of the loop when he read over the instructions again. It was fairly generic, and in terrible handwriting. He knew how to read in part thanks to 'Dirt', and in part thanks to his own mother. The thought shook him, but he could recover swiftly and block it out of his mind. Markem left simple, but not very clear instructions;

'Entrance need look nice

Tables. Chairs. Many vermin war looks

Big feast. Big annount ment

Will be back shortly

Tell mere

-Mark Bum'

'Mud' again chuckled at Markem's terrible handwriting. He was half tempted to call him a 'bum' as a joke, but half realized that Markem did lack a certain sense of humor. He scratched beneath the rope collar of his neck, also half realizing he needed to get to work before Makrme returned. 'Mud' took the hedgehogs and the otter widow to the kitchens, introducing them to the Brownnose's cooks. The group was a bit surprised 'Mud' didn't do this, with 'Mud' having to explain he only served the food, not actually cooked it. Cooking was more of a hobby of his. There were two cooks in the room, a hedgehog slave named Adoln, and a big rat bandit named Rigpaw. Rigpaw stood villainously in front of an oven, licking his lips with anticipation.

"Ya lot! Big feast today, Markem demands flesh an' bone! Flesh an' bone!" He screamed, waving around a cudgel. The otter maid was frightened and held her young one close, but 'Mud' could only half comfort them "Oh, don't worry too much about Rigpaw. He does that a lot. His speciality is fish and bird."

"More then that, waterdog!" He cried out. "Ya hedgehogs! Get to over there an' cook the bread! New waterdog, you an the youngin begin filleting the salmon! Markem and all the warlords of Mossflower shall have flesh an' bone! Seared with devil fire! Seared with devil fire!" The young otter hid behind his mother. He wasn't a child per say, but he was fairly young. 'Mud' saw the group was frightened, turning to him for help. He got on an apron and began herding them to their tasks until they could tolerate the rat's screaming.

Yala and the mice were busy outside, moving out tables and chairs from the hall and into the main outdoor square. As they did so, the rat children began to pass by them, running circles around the slaves, playing tag with each other. Yala and the mice couldn't help but smile, up until their mother came into the room. Sheera came down to greet the group. "Yala, why are you and these round ears takin away the chairs and tables, eh?"

"Markem's orders, mam." Yala said fearfully. The gray rat sneered at her and harshly took over from her "Ya are useless if ya keep up scratchin the floor! Ya keep it up, near the shoulders! Like this!"

Sheera lifted an end of a table with some struggle, nearly knocking to the ground the mice on the other end trying to keep up. She began yelling at them too "Keep it up! If I see one cursed scratch on me ground, I will flay ya with the whip I will!" Yala simply stood aside, but a loud demand echoed as the group approached the door "Stop standin there like a disobedient pup an' grab them chairs! Come on now!"

Once outside, Sheera began to command the group around with a harshness. She was annoyed not being told anything, as Yala had to explain that Markem would come again soon to explain, but Sheera would hear none of it. "Markem can explain himself when he returns in due course! Sea rat be he, should have told me before his slaves."

At a moment of her saying this, Markem had crested the stairs, along with 'Dirt' and Karlgo. Scarl had joined them, along with Pelchovmar who quickly ran over and embraced his sister. The two were happy to see one another as Pelchovmar laughed and playfully hit his sister with his paw "Ya ol' devil, ya look like a ghost of the past be hauntin ya!"

"Pelch, ya damned sea rat! It be good to see ya."

"Uncle Pelch!" A call rang from inside. Pelchovmar was older, the gray rat strode in and embraced his nephew and niece as he made himself rather comfortable. It made Markem happy to see the three were getting along so well as Sheera gave him a deadly glance.

Markem and Scarl gulped like meager creatures who had just offended their officer. Sheera came over "Ya better got a good explanation fer all this, Markem! Scarl, I should have ya flayed fer keepin me in the dark too! This be ain't some normal feast be it?"

"No. It ain't, but I'll explain it now."

"Why all this secrecy? Ya both be paranoid of somethin?

Scarl interjected and spoke slowly "Aye. More than just vermin eyes be on us today."

---

Jarolom sat on the forest edge, looking out over Gholand. More vermin were coming in by the day, the fox sat alone, with his sword in his lap. He was pleased with himself, seeing the vast horde approaching from afar and wide to Markem's doorstep. Scarl and Markem may have kept their secrets, but he had good ears. Scarl's plan was bold, ambitious, and very risky. If all worked out today, then something new would begin, and he would be in a prime position to take it. A bush rustled behind him, but Jarolom did not move to meet it, for he knew who it already was.

A strong fox woman came out of the brush in a great orange cloak and hood, wearing a rugged armor of lighter chainmail. She carried a plethora of knives, but her main weapon was a halberd which she expertly wielded with care. The fox lady sat beside Jarolom, watching the view. She crept a villainous smile and gave a hearty laugh. "Jarolom, it's been years!"

"Niala, where is yer bow?"

Jarolom turned and returned the hearty laugh. Niala shook her head at her brother "Back in me camp, me an' Taban been wander'n north. Heard ya made a name fer yerself, came down to see if were true an' all an'-"

"Ya want in or not?"

Niala looked over Gholand. She and her brother hadn't seen each other in seasons, as she was off in the far north going about her own business. They had grown since their father passed, and she escaped her mother's grasp. Niala had to think it over. "This Markem giv'en good vittles?"

"Aye."

Niala stood up and grasped her halberd "Let me get me things, an' I'll meet ya at the gates. It's good to see ya brother."

The Foxtrots were once again united, Jarolom did not return his sister's gaze, simply smiling to himself. They would have much to say to each other, but only after Niala had settled in.
_

Jarolom and Niala walked through the busy gates of Gholand, Niala looking around at all the packed in vermin and the busy scamper of hordebeasts running about. To the seasoned fox mercenary like Niala, it was truly a sight to behold in Gholand, and even more so for some of the warlords. The hordebeasts were happy of sorts, many of them diligently working on various tasks without the cracking whip of their captains or overseers. Vermin happily aided one another in bringing in boxes of food and feasting material, with a weasel from Jusbrag being helped by a Gholand rat picking up turned over silverware captured in a raid. Slave laborers worked alongside their captors, many were busy reinforcing the walls and tidying up the barracks. Niala was shocked when a group of mice in rope collars ran past her, playing with some of the ferret children. The youngsters had no even thought ill of each other, and it was truly a sight Niala had never seen. She had been to many hordes, many miserable places where the adultish bandits and former pirates would settle down. She had known all her life of the old traditions, and of how the warlords and chiefs treated them. Yet, to see what Jarolom and his boss had been building, was truly a strange sight to her.

"Yer boss, Jarolom. Ya built all this? Ya see those youngsters runnin? I saw mice en' em. Shouldn't the taskmasters be around?"

Jarolom shrugged "Aye, I did. Thankfully that be Gutan's job, not mine. If I were taskmaster, things be different around here to be sure."

"These creature be diligent, like goodbeasts." Niala commented. Jarolom smiled, it was perhaps the one thing he and Markem could agree on with the way the rat ran things. If anything else, besides the perceived weakness and lacking brutality, Markem had made his horde very diligent indeed.

"Aye, not needin a whip or stick to get dem useless maggots an' bird feed in line, Niala. Markem treats em' well, even if half of em deserven half rations. They workin to help, an help to work. I be thinkin we not even needin slaves if we keep it up."

"It ain't unheard of. Lot'sa slaves I see."

"Aye, we raidin in Mossflower, always a lot to take. Nearly all of north eastern Mossflower an' the lower highlands are ours to pillage an' burn. However, we don't kill'em as often as other warlords do. It be borin if ya can't stick an' prod them dumb work beasts with a spear from time to time, but Markem insists we don't. So we obey. We got's lots of mouths to feed now, and casualties be so low we growin by the season. Our not-slaves do most of the work of feedin this horde, although I wish Markem didn't rely on em."

"Not-slaves?"

"Aye, he be callin them 'tributaries' or sumthin. He heard the term but once, an' all of a sudden he actin like he a expert on the subject. He let slaves go who farm, mine, an' chop em' wood. In return, the horde protects their communities an' villages from other hordes, collects a nice amount of food, metals, an' other resources from em. If they don't pay up, we punish em."

"Ya kill them I imagine."

"Nay, actually. Markem just takes a couple of der' yung beasts or chides them, he sends me out to investigate em' sometimes. They give dem the dumb excuses ya know. 'Oh the harvest be poor this season' or 'Nay, the quarry be filled wit snakes' or somethin like that. Lot of time it be true, but if not, I tak'er yung uns first back to the fort. Never complain again after that. Markem chided me once fer doin so, but he relents eventually."

"Why he chide ya brother? Is he a weak one? Ya the real brains, I imagine."

Jarolom shook his head "Nay to that too, sis. Markem be stronger than most I come to know, an' got a real brain fer himself. He just meek about treatin creatures poorly, poor vermin material if ya ask me, but it be workin out."

Niala and Jarolom entered a small tavern, a makeshift little thing busy with various vermin thugs, bandits, and eastern pirates who were visiting the fort. Several larger and fierce vermin were in a corner, two warband leaders who had come to pay Markem their respect, and maybe make room for them to join in. The two foxes sat at the bar stool table, a ferret tender approached them and upon seeing Jarolom, quickly poured him a drink of grog. He offered it to his sister who greedily drank it. "So whatcha think. When I be hearin ya came down here, first thing I thought to meself was 'I'd like to have me poor sis might wanna join on in.'

"Whats the catch, Jarolom. Fox's honor." Niala raised an eyebrow "Ya didn't send out a messenger all the way here just to recruit from family."

"Aye. Lets just be sayin that things are gonna heat up, an' a good ally on me side in a horde like ya would go a long ways. Partners an' siblings?"

Niala took a swig of the rotten drink, surrounded by the noise of the tavern. She gave him a greedy smile "Aye. Partner an' Siblings. Where do I sign up?"

---

Outside Gholand, past the tents and gathering vermin, several figures were watching from afar. A red squirrel of an older age watched from afar, above in a tree, but covered in a green and brown uniform which was stuck with sticks and leaves. He was spying on the camp far off, with several others below. Most were escaped slaves of Markem, two were shrews, one was a sea otter, and one was a mouse who were all mixed up in the whole affair. The squirrel sneered as he spotted the hordes entering, and gripped a knife close to his chest on a bandolier. There were two others however hiding in the brush, with a spyglass peeking out and into Gholand, two Hares of the Long Patrol were keeping a good watch on the coming and going of the horde, growing more concerned.

"Ah. Luzgot that bloody an' cruel cretan. Haven't seen him in years, wot. Markem's little call to all the warlords truly brings out the best of Mossflower, eh?"

The squirrel came down and shushed them "Be silent you two! We are too close to their sentries. Markem is planning something, I am sure of it, no reason to give them warning we are watching."

"Lefen, your bushy tail is more of a concern then our voices. Them vermin may be disciplined an' healthy, but it is by vermin standards." The two Hares perked up, looking out over Gholand. The one with the spyglass shot up "I think I see an opening, near the southern wall, a smaller gate I think."

Lefen perked up. They group had been on a specific mission today, and it was to end the life of Markem for good. The Hares were Tussock Hares, they had experience fighting and spying on the vermin of eastern Mossflower. Markem had grown in strength under their watch, but had been powerless to stop him. Had they acted sooner, a lot of miserable creatures in Markem's fort would have been living freed lives. Lefen was a victim of the rat's rise to power, his nut farm was burned down by the rat in his earlier horde days. Lefen and his family survived, but he came to know far too many of his friends and loved one to become slaves of the horde. The Hares had been helping him and his rebels for some time, preparing for a time to strike him down. Yet, Lefen grew impatient.

"We need to strike. Now, and fast."

"Not yet ol' bean. Those sentries at the southern gate aren't tired looking yet, and likely won't be till tonight."

Lefen had an idea and turned to the sea otter, sharpening a javelin. "Walkmor, grab some of the old rope collars you have in the pack. I think its time we returned to Gholand."

The sea otter rummaged through the pack, bringing up some old ropes which had once hung on his neck, and the necks of his wife and children. He was captured while at sea by eastern pirates and was sold by them to Markem's horde. The sea otter and his family was forced to work chopping up wood for the horde but was rescued by Lefen in a daring raid. He tossed them to Lefen who grabbed it in mid air.

"Now all we need is a cart."

One of the Hares pointed to a cart in the distance, being pulled by struggling vermin bandits with what looked to be ill-gotten goods. They were alone and a gaggle of trees and bushes blocked the sight of the other vermin. However, it was a well tread path, and any vermin could use it. Lefen took out his knife and pointed to them.

"Knock them out swiftly, and we'll take the cart on in. We'll pull around the side, not to look suspicious at the front gate. Once we got it, you Hares can get inside, an' we'll strike out from the southern gate."

The Hares looked at each other, and smiled like two devils. It was daring, risky, and difficult, and they liked it. A lot less boring than just killing Markem in the middle of the night, why not kill him in the broad daylight, cause a bit of chaos. Had their commanding officer been there, they would have been kicked out of their position at that very moment, but the two Hares nodded in agreement.
_

Scumak and Bagroff were having troubles, the two ferrets were struggling to hoist up their wagon past the brush of the path. Scumak made a terrible mistake in general today, having foolishly decided to use the southern path rather than the western one. Yet, he still yelled and cursed at Bagroff from afar, blaming him for his troubles.

"Curse ya Bagroff, ya weak an' lazy blunderer! Push with yer paws! Push!" Bagroff was behind the wagon, cursing and sweating as Scumak was at the front of the little cart. They were carrying a lot of ill gotten goods, stolen off a merchant they had beaten to unconsciousness or death. Scruak didn't stay to find out, he just knew Markem would love what he had gotten him. He didn't even know what it was! Scumak dreamed of a captainship, a mix and match of obedient vermin serving his every whim, maybe even a personal cottage. Slaves to tend to it. Maybe even settle down. Yet, Bagroff was a bit more down to earth currently, and quite literally as he slipped and fell into the well tread dirt.

"Bah! Get'up ya disjointed bungler! Ya aren't a cripple yet, but will be if ya don't help me get this cart to Gholand!"

The two continued to struggle, it wasn't a very steep hill they were carrying, but it was an incline large enough to cause the southern road to dip downward. The ferret in the back kept getting nearly crushed by their looted cart, with a tumble of smaller objects falling from it and landing on top of him.

"Catch those, Bagroff, ya useless blighted ant sniffer! Dem be me gifts to de chief!" Bagroff cursed to himself and continued to help, although he began to second doubt himself. Scumak could see it now, he could see Markem coming off his throne and gifting him all manner of things, he could see a vast patch of land to call his own, a thousand happy servants tending to his every whim, a large family, two large Hares to stop him and his antics.

Scumak stopped, as two Hares stepped out from the brush, having easily gotten the drop on the two ferrets. Scumak was about to call out in anguish, but a blade to his throat stopped him. Lefen had jumped down from a nearby tree and held the ferret at knife point.

"Ah, so that is where ol' Budal's cart went, the poor merchant was furious when he was dropped on by a group of foolhardy vermin thugs, with stolen swords an' terrible breath. Practically injured the poor beast with that foulness of yours, wot."

Scumak gulped, his eyes peered to the side as Bagroff was marched forward by a shrew. The hares bent down to Scumak, smiling pompously "How about it chap, you turn about an' keep running the way ya came, and we take this here cart. If you turn around at one moment, we'll just have to sing a fair funerary lament for you lads."

Scumak got the message very clear and gave a nod. Lefen was less pleased and turned to the shrews "You two, make sure these two keep running off, and if they resist. Kill them."

The shrew obliged, and jabbed their swords into the bums of the two vermin captives as they were led off. Lefen turned to the Hares as they began to get comfortable in the cart, filling it with small sticks to better hide themselves. "We should have just killed them."

"An attract vermin to the smell of blood? Dear Lefen, we are Long Patrol, not savages like these folk. We don't kill simply because it pleases us. Now start loading us on in! Adventure is that way, wot!"
_

Lefen and the sea otter began to dirty themselves, uncovering their old armor and leaving it with the others outside, and putting on the rope collars. Lefen was astonished by Markem in truth, the rat was organized, more so than other warlords, which made him far more dangerous. He didn't violently conquer in the normal way, he put his brown banner down on every village he got his filthy paws on, and forced the creatures there to toil. The sea otter and Lefen began to haul in the cart, the two Long Patrol hares hidden within a bramble of sticks and muddied supplies. At the southern gate to Gholand, several sentries stood guard, although the array of vermin tents were not as many as towards the west gate. Lefen had kept a knife on him, just in case everything went very wrong, for if all went well today, Markem would be gone for good, and his horde descended upon itself.

The squirrel made his way up to the gates, where two vermin guards stood. The dumb brutes looked over Lefen and his companion. "Aye, I dun' be rememberin slaves be haulin in woods. Whacha got in the cart, sea dog an' bush tail."

The sea otter quickly answered "Aye, me lords, we were out in the north forests, looking for wood for the camps of the slaves inside, chilly it be ya know. Would ya know, we were gatherin this here wood when we finds some abandoned jars an' chests! I be thinkin to me self, we should bring it to our good masters, an' Gutan be rewardin us fer finding it." The otter gave a thick accent. The vermin humbly nodded, with Lefen half expecting them to just rummage through it. However, the sentries responded "Go on through, an' straight to Gutan too, slaves! Boss would love to see der loot."

The sentry next to him look dumbfounded "Breakspine, ya daft fool. Can't ya see there be loot. Can't we just take a little bit off the t-" He was quickly silenced by a wack by his companion "No! If the captains see ya takin the loot fer yerself, they'll flog ya well! Captains say Markem wants loot piled, an' well split. Ya gotta earn yer loot, ya fool thief!" The other sentry shut himself, and grumbled. Out of danger, the two moved inside Gholand unharmed. The hares, slumped in the cart, looked outward, their vision may be blurred, but both felt a tingle of true joy as they were now inside, the assassins were making their move.

---

The warlords across eastern Mossflower were all gathered in once place, and their many disputes became apparent. Markem had made room for some of them, but even he did not, so many chieftains and vermin also came with their own bands to join up. Markem could only smile from the upstairs window of his home, watching Gholand become more and more crowded. Sheera however touched her husband's shoulder and comforted him. She had just been told the plan, and she looked on with worry.

"Ya don't gotta do it, Markem." She mentioned, hoping Markem would take her advice to heart. Markem sometimes did, and he took his wife's paw "Aye. I did not tell ya out of fear ya would have convinced me by then. I made up me mind."

"Ya got a good life Markem, with good pups to keep ya company. They'll grow into strong warriors, and stronger rulers. Ya got no one else to prove to."

"I got a lot to prove to Sheera. Look at all those beasts down there, all of our peoples. Rats, weasels, ferrets, foxes, all of them once a lot like me, alone and disillusioned. Scarl and I made up our minds on this, an' I cannot go back. Not after today. It's not fer me alone, its for our children an' theirs. They gotta grow up in a new world, not the one we leave behind with little to comfort dem." Markem turned to his wife and held her close "My dear, Sheera, how can I ever forgive meself if I grow old an' feeble an I see me children grow to fear the day they or their children die by a hare's sword or crushed by a badger's paw? What I do today is not just fer us alone, but for every damned and cursed beast, every vermin cretan. I think I be knowing what I am doin, I thinks at least."

Sheera held her husband close "Ya better, or I'll flay ya alive, Markem."

The two embraced for what felt like an eternity. As Markem made his way to the door of his luxurious office, he gave a final look to Sheera and gave her a wide smile. She returned it, finally approving of the rat's plan.
_

Markem exited his office, with Scarl facing him with his paws firmly held behind his back, giving an expression of concern. The ferret had once been youthful when they first met, but being much older did not phase him as much as Markem. Markem slumped, often scratching at his old shoulder. Pain would always return every so often, it tingles from time to time, but the old assassin's mark did not phase him until now. He'd prefer to be assassinated then to go through with this little plot Scarl had cooked up. 'Dirt' had been outside the office room, guarding the door until the master exited. The three were already walking off as Scarl piped up the conversation they had just had in secret.

"Sheera approves?"

"Aye. Kind of. Although, me an' her are a bit worried, an I dun' blame her." Markem was a bit shy to admit it, but he had a lot of second thoughts. Scarl patted him on the shoulder with friendly abandon. Any other warlord would have sneered or insulted the ferret, but Scarl knew Markem all too well, although it did give 'Dirt' a bit of a jump who was trained on trying to catch such things.

"Ya worry too much, me friend. Jarolom been about spreadin the word, an every warlord in Mossflower be at yer back, ready to listen to what ya gotta say. If bet me tail it will go all too well! However, I do got some. . .quick things I gotta take care of. Ya got a handle on what ya wanna say?"

"Aye. Karlgo had some thoughts on what he wanted to put up for this here impromptu feast, I'll practice wit him."

"Aye good idea." Scarl was off already, bounding down a hallway.
_

Markem came out of the great hall with a burst of the door, nearly frightening the slave creatures setting up the chairs. Markem looked around and yelled at Yala who was just starting to dust up the tables of their previous night's grime "Yala! Where be 'Mud'?"

"I'm sorry master, 'Mud' is in the kitchens!" Yala shrunk at the warlord's voice, turning her gaze in fright to 'Dirt' who gave no comfort. Markem saw the fear in Yala and spoke at a ground level "Fear not, girl. Ya not in trouble. Thank you. Karlgo!" He called out, the lowly fox appearing to his side like a trembling infant. Markem was half annoyed with him, even if he was skilled, the fox had a perpetual fear of him. "My lord, an' master? Ya require me aid? All is well?"

The fox could have gone on and on, but Markem silenced him "Ya know the lot down in Gholand's inner circle, the feast i've been preparin is bein cooked, but ya think all this out here is good enough, ay?"

Karlgo was quick to point several things out "Nay, ya see, I be thinkin. If we be feastin, we should be gettin' flag hoosiers, set up some colors. Maybe bring in some musicians for a low tone music. All de warlords are use to bein pampered, from Kylan to Luzgot. All will wanna be impressed. I be thinkin. . ." Markem cut him off with his paw "Yea, yea. Get to it Karlgo, start makin things look purdy fer them. What about manners? Anythin I gotta know?"

Karlgo gulped, not wishing to offend his warlord. Markem may have been a powerful warchief in eastern Mossflower, but at heart and mind he acted much like a common hordebeast, perhaps far less selfish or greedy. Karlgo began to mention to him several simple things "Aye, let each warlord speak his fill, even if be insult. All the warlords like to talk over each other, so always keep a control over the conversation, me master. They will respect ya more, like common soldiers. Be violent if need be, fer there will be fighten no doubt regardless of what ya say."

"Well, thats what I got 'Dirt' for."

Karlgo was about to say something, but Markem cut him off again "Get to gettin this place prepared, we but have a few hours before the featin begins. This time constraint be apart of Scarl's plannin. Do the best ya can, an' be efficient. I gotta observe what we be lookin to eat tonight if ya don't mind."

Karlgo was left with Yala and her helpers, turning a sudden and confident glance to her "Well! I'm in charge now, ya dumb work beasts! Get to it, start cleanin! I want these chairs an' tables spotless! Water dog, come with me, we got ol' supplies we can use in the back storage!"

Yala gave a deathly glance at Karlgo, who had once a twitch of pride and authority quickly sunk low again at the gaze. She obeyed regardless, going off to aid the advisor on his new found mission.
_

'Mud' was in the kitchens, helping to bake a pie with the enslaved otter maid, her young one carrying pots, pans, and spices about the cramp kitchen with 'Mud' singing a small time jig he learned from the hedgehog cook Adoln.

"Told'en true, the ol shrew wife cleans, a tale of loafs an' lards

Dey say a shrew wife, small as can be

Made a loaf that could not be seen

It be brown and round, the size of a mound

An' she finished it up, with a frown

'Who will eat, an' who will clean'

To the shrew wife, so few could see

An' out of the blue, did a badger did come

An' ate the shrew wife's load, in a single morn

The shrew wife swore an cursed!

The badger laughed and pursed

'Take yer vengeance, an make it fast!

Fer you will not last!'

The shrew wife baked him a pie

So round and so beautiful

It was a beauty to his eyes

He ate it an' tasted till he was full

An tumbled into a ditch, stomach in high aches

The Shrew wife did made a foul pie

An made it fast!

Fer now she could make loafs, till she could last!"

Admittingly, to 'Mud' at least, it was a terrible song, but it had a nice jingle to it which made time fly by. The young otter pup who busily helped out his mother, carrying pots and pans hummed along with a playful and ignorant tone, that he nearly would forget his terrible situation. Most were singing a version of the song in the kitchen, all except the rat Rigpaw who sat transfixed on his own cookery. The group was preparing a grand feast, of fish and bird, breads and salads, with the hedgehog fixing up the last of his favorite pecan-cherry creams. Markem entered the room, nearly blasted away in an instant by the smells. Most of the others stood at immediate attention, 'Mud' being covered in flour which turned his fur white.

"Ah, there ya are 'Mud'. I see ya tenden to the kitchens?"

"Aye, sir." 'Mud' was fairly calm, although the others in the room. . .perhaps except Rigpaw who was still mumbling to himself, still cutting into a bird despite his chief's presence.

"My instructions were clear at least. I think." Markem began to personally check each of the completed and fresh dishes, making small comments and suggestions. "Adoln, all this looks well an' good, but what about our stock of beers an' grog? There be a lot of rats amongst the number of guests, an' they do like their grog."

The hedgehog nodded "Not any of the stuff ya like, I'm sorry to say. Only the traded stuff we got from the sea rats from the north. You know the kind."

Markem sighed "Won't do. Can ya make a batch of something fierce an' strong?"

The hedgehog had to think for a moment "Aye? Maybe, sir. Take a bit of time though. Give me an' hour an' some help."

"Ya got it, make just enough fer a small host. All this lookin lovely though." Markem smiled, eyeing the deserts. He peered down at the frightened otter pup who was watching from behind the dress of his mother. It reminded him of when 'Mud' was little, a little thing with beady eyes. He looked to the otter mother, who lowered her head instantly at his gaze. "Ya two, names."

The otter widow struggled to blurt out a name "Olda. Olda Rivercross. This be me pup, Kelp."

"Well Olda, take a rest with yer pup fer a moment. I know all too well raisen youngens on a near empty stomach." Markem poured her some stew from a nearby pot and handed it to her, it was their rations. To the slaves, this was rather concerning. Normally when a vermin acted like this, there would be trouble, but Markem showed no sign of deception, his voice of valid concern. Olda was frozen in terror, expecting him to just kill her right then and there for some mistake. Yet, Markem simply shooed them out the door "Return when yer finished, now 'Mud', lets get cleaned up, I gotta discuss some things with ya."

---

In the commons of Gholand below, the various hordes had impromptu set up camp within the fortress, and the various and strange creatures awaited for Markem to greet them. They had all come for a glorious dinner with the warlord, under the impression there was some large anniversary feast of Markem's arrangement with his wife Sheera. Pelchovmar was the only one who had crested the stone stair leading to Markem's home and spent time with his niece and nephew, telling them war stories. When the gray rat rejoined his fellow warlords below, it was a cramp group all sitting with each other, feeling partially uncomfortable sitting so close to the common hordebeasts and slaves. Only certain creatures who knew Markem well enough knew this was intentional.

Kylan Bignose was in a mocking argument with another warlord when Pelchovmar entered the camp below, with Hazul Leffer angrily cursing the weasel.

"You defile the names of the spirits with your heretic tongue, Bignose! I should have you gutted and thrown into the sea, an' maybe shut you and save your soul!"

"I fear ya spirits as much as I fear ya, which is not at all! Face it tribal, ya nothin but a two timin wretch an' bastard!"

Hazul nearly was about ready to draw his short sword, but was stopped by a tap of a halberd from Vake. The fox was watching over them all, sneering down at them in order to keep the peace. The older fox didn't need to speak, but his presence did command a lot of authority. The warlord Luzgot watched on with amusement at first, but a tap on his shoulder quickly soured his mood.

"Me lord, Look!" an all too familiar voice whispered to him. Garzlo had been at his warlord's side in disguise, pointing at the ferret Scarl came rushing down and bounding elsewhere into Gholand. Luzgot had secretly disguised his captain as a common guard, but despite his authority, the warlord treated him like a common rabble. "Ya bounder, don't ya see I already knew that! The ferret spy makes his move, and so shall we!" Luzgot got up and pulled Garzlo away from the bickering group of warlords and towards an alleyway between several barracks where he could yell and spit without being heard.

"Listen to me Garzlo, I gots a plan, to finally get rid of that wretched burglar of eastern Mossflower! Markem may got all these fools on silver leads, but he ain't got me yet, ya hear! My little surprise ready?

"W-what surprise?" Garzlo looked at his boss was a mix of confusion and fear. The rat slammed him against a barracks wall and held him there "Ya know! The surprise, ya bungler! The poisoned wine ya laced back in Luzland! Remember!" Garzlo had suddenly remembered, how had he forgotten? In Luzgot's trunk of treasures and tribute to Markem was a bottle of wine laced with a special kind of poison, a fairly tasteless one.

"Ya goin to give em' poisoned wine, chief?"

"No! Of course not, I'm goin to have another bumpkin do em' in. One of the soldiers gotta do, takin the fall. Promised him an' entire season of vittles and triple rations, eh. Last thing I need is the rest of these fools thinkin I did Markem in. These cretans would tear us limb from limb in sheer anger, which is why we escape an' conquer em before he croaks! Now make sure me perfect plan works, or I'll use ya fer target practice back in Luzland!"

Garzlo was dropped to the ground and was running off, with Luzgot following close behind. The rat was confident in his planning, but what he couldn't prepare for was a simple creature in the barracks, listening in on the conversation in amazement. A big rat named Skabit, who smiled with undue villainy.
_

"Ya were right, Scarl. That blighted fool is goin to try an' kill the boss." Skabit began. Scarl and the rat were in a small and cramp basement of a room, a hidden office located between three of the barracks which was easily mistaken for walls, and hanging about the room was maps, papers, and small torture impliments. Scarl shifted about his small office and gave a hearty chuckle "Good work, let me guess, Luzgot goin to use poison?"

"How'd ya know, boss?"

"Predictability, my friend Skabit. Luzgot ha'd been sendin out his ol' spymaster Garzlo huntin for rare herbs, the poisoned kind. Knew it a mile away, I did. Not sure how he will try to do it though, which is where ya come in."

"He'll send out a hordebeast, sir. Promised him rations, lots of them, to give as a gift."

Scarl scratched his chin. Luzgot may have been a traitor and scoundrel at heart, but he certainly had his uses, and this presented an interesting opportunity to not only humiliate him, but to shackle him further to his grand plans. The ferret began to think more on it, taking out a large pile of notes and journals which all read 'Luzgot' on it. Long ago, Scarl had learned to read and write and it made his job ever the more efficient and ever the more fun in his opinion. Naturally of course, his teacher had to be coaxed with a knife and it was a travelling redwaller who he ultimately let go. He regretted not keeping the abbeybeast in the horde, but now was never the time for past mistakes. He looked through his notes and tapped a passage with his paw "Aye. Seems about right. I think I know the beast too, younger fox. Recent arrival an' all that. Shame he will make a fool of himself?"

"How do you suppose chief?"

"Simple. We are goin to bribe him of course to join us instead. Come along, Skabit, we got some cleanin to do."
_

Scarl loved being in the common areas of Gholand, rather than being far above in the keep of his 'official' office. Markem may have been good company, but nothing compared to listening and overhearing every tidbit of conversation in the horde below. It was more than a job to the ferret, keeping his eye over an entire horde and all of Mossflower, but it soon became his favorite hobby. The rats who may scurry past whisper of their families back home, wondering if they should bring them to the horde. A drunken ferret near a tavern as they pass by complains loudly that he wishes he was warchief and things would be different. A group of slaves eating their rations would speak about Lefen and his group of outlaws, hoping to be rescued. Scarl loved it all, he loved listening and plotting, and simply getting to know every creature's simple secrets and dark desires. As he and Skabit walked the streets of Gholand, the ferret know-it-all breathed in the rotten air of vermin wandering about their day.

Skabit followed closely, as they began to enter and exit each tavern and open camp fire. Most were filled with the warlord's guards, and finding a worried fox, anxious about the coming events was easy enough. Scarl found him alone near a campfire and plopped down by his side with a thud.

"Ah, young soldier! It seems ya drink alone, perhaps ya might enjoy some company of ol' me and Skabit here?" Scarl looked like a common hordebeast, although perhaps much more cleaner. The fox only nodded in appreciation as Scarl offered him a good drink of ale.

"I see ya are from Luzland, how goes workin for that rotten, no-good cripple in waiting Luzgot?"

"Ay! Do not speak of me warlord so ill!" The fox said angrily, but also fearfully as he looked around to make sure his companions did not hear. "Me boss goin to be rulin here, ferret. Things will change, I guarantee ya yet!"

"How do ya know?" Skabit, almost on cue, said aloud. The fox shut his trap and tried to shoo them off "I think we are done here, 'friends'. Be off an' leave me to me troubles."

"Can' just do that yet." Scarl took a swig of ale from the fox's cup, swishing it around in his mouth to make sure he wasn't tasting anything deadly. He swallowed loudly, as if calling for attention, much to the torment of the poor creature.

"Ya see mate, we be knowin things, things like what ya goin to be doin tonight. Name's Scarl, ya heard of me?"

The fox slowly shaked his head as Scarl pulled him close "Ya see mate, tis a good thing ya don't know me. Not many do. What ya need to know is that I got information, an' I got Markem's ears. Ya a young lad, at least, kind of. Ya got many seasons till ya croak, or start croakin. Don't gotta be today, but let me give ya a damn good deal. Yer boss gonna give ya a bottle of wine, poisoned wine, and ya know that. Instead of passin it over to Markem, ya goin to dump it right onto the ground in front of him, an' ya best be doin it too. Cause I'll be there watchin. Do it fer yer friend Scarl, soldier, an' ya might find a place in this here horde. Good vittles, as ya should know."

The fox lipped its lips at the mention of vittles. Luzgot had a policy of starvation in his horde, eternally annoyed that on their watch Markem had assaulted from within. The fox gave a slow nod. Scarl continued "An tell no one, of course, especially not yer boss if ya got second thoughts. See, we kill traitors quickly. Ol' Vake beheads em' real quick like. Luzgot? Well, he may just leave ya with open guts in a ditch. I should know, seen his work, I did."

The fox cringed as Scarl patted him on the back. Skabit was always amazed how quickly Scarl could turn the would-be assassin into his willing pawn. The ferret was already up and about, bounding to return to Markem. This is not the first, or the last, time a vermin 'ally' would try to have Markem assassinated, but most attempts failed and faltered. After tonight however, it would end. It would have to, for all their sakes.

Scarl was rushing ahead, until he heard Skabit call from behind him "Boss! Wait!"

"Waitin be for slaves an' slowbeasts Skabit. What is it?" Scarl was planning to just ignore his spy behind him, as Skabit called again "Look boss, someone left some big cart here!"

Scarl turned. A wagon was perched at the base of Markem's home, abandoned and dirty. It had an odd pile of sticks and shattered pots full of what looked to be dyes. Scarl looked close to the ground. A squirrel's prints were obvious, having avoided the fallen over dyes. The colors mixed into the dirty ground. An otter's paw, large and bulky, was plastered near the stone base. Then Scarl saw it, the fur on head stood up as he touched a small imprint. It was a Hare's paw, having slid some of the dried dyes from his feet onto the stone haphazardly. Lefen, you wretched burglar was the first thought to enter into Scarl's mind, the ferret wheeled around.

"Come Skabit. We got a lot of work to do." He turned his attention to the above, looking for further signs in Markem's home. None were seen, as he suspected. Long Patrol, they watched us from afar before. Now they are bold enough to enter? No doubt at that rebel's insistence! Oh well, time to bring a quick end to this business then.
_

It was nearly time.

Markem was being dressed in a more formal set of clothes, which Karlgo had specially prepared. Even though he had laid out an array of golden chains and earring for Markem to give him an aura of wealth, the rat refused to wear them. Markem hated jewelry in personal honesty, he found it clownish and far too heavy. He always feared that even wearing a necklace could accidentally strangle him, and Karlgo never pressed further. Instead, the rat wore a warrior's dress, his chainmail armor underneath brown garments lined with silver. It was specially made for the rat, as 'Dirt' helped tighten his master's armor. Years of helping dress the rat for war, battle, and otherwise had made the otter a near master in his own right, the two often talking of the coming events in a fair manner.

"Jus' remember 'Dirt'. Som of 'em folk out there will be cruel in word, don't let em' bother ya."

"It usually doesn't, sir."

"Good. Today is a big day. Haven't beaten ya in years, ya know? Don't make me restart now."

'Dirt' didn't take the threat very seriously, but showed his displeasure in a different way, accidentally tightening a rough spot in the armor. "Hey! Careful there. Arm' be actin up again, last thing I need is ya crushin me in this thing."

"Forgive me, sir."

The two were talking with Karlgo simply watching. He was always astonished by how friendly both master and slave were to one another. He had known 'Dirt' and 'Mud' for seasons now, the two never causing trouble for Markem. As Markem was getting ready, Scarl burst into the room and quickly slinked his way up to his friend and boss, the rat Skabit keeping to the door. Markem could see something was wrong, especially as Scarl paced about the room, his paw not far from his favorite knife.

"Ya got somethin to report, Scarl, or yer goin to keep pacin like a scared pup?"

"Aye. So I was right, Markem. Luzgot got it out fer ya, got it taken care of though."

Markem knew it, and angrily spat. "'Dirt', grab me sword! I'll lob off that wretch's head here an' now!"

"Nay! Delay that, Markem, we got bigger issues, an bigger assassins. Luzgot may be after ya, but its not like the last few times? Gettin sloppy he is, an' he got a big horde. If the plan is to work, we gonna need his horde."

"I don't need Luzgot though."

"Maybe, but let me handle it." Markem sighed. He trusted Scarl with this kind of fool business and delayed his order to the otter. He hadn't really moved, as he finished up dressing up his owner and brushed off his shoulder. Markem shivered at it however, the old pain would still tingle in it despite the medicine he took for it.

"Got other problems. Lefen, ya know."

Markem was starting to really hate that name. Lefen was a nut farmer he raided a while back, and on accident his ill trained horde burned down his farmstead. Markem didn't have the resources, nor the patience, to compensate him. Now the squirrel raided him and his horde, killing vermin soldiers, smashing up his outposts. He gained most of his number from escaped slaves, the bandit had all manner of divine providence about him. The creature came very close once to killing him, very close, having lobbed a javilen which only Markem's shield protected him from a quick end. The rat spat "Is here then? Good, I look forward to breaking his arms an' throwing him in a pit!"

"I think they got an' otter wit them, probably that sea otter an' his family that escaped. However, his companions on the other paw. . ."

"Companions?"

"Long Patrol tracks. Do keep calm. Like I said, handlin the situation. Likely hidin nearby. If they be this close, their target is no longer spyin."

There was a knock on the door to the room. A tense look amongst all the creatures looked at it as a familiar voice called out. "Hey boss! It'sa me! Jarolom!"

Markem sighed with relief, as he ordered the rat near it to open the door for the fox captain. The fox veteran walked in with another thinner one, the creatures in the room swearing Jarolom had split into two. Niala joined them in the room with Markem looking her over. The fox maiden was not only well dressed for battle, she carried all manner of weapons and gear on her person. She was practically ready to move right on in, but stood like an obedient lapdog in Markem's sight. At first glance, he was kind of impressed. Then, turning his gaze to Jarolom he blurted out.

"Odd catch, a girl to keep ya company?"

Jarolom was about to give a deep laugh, but held it back although through his breath he could barely contain it "Oh! Oh no, boss. This be me sister, Niala Foxtrot. She came down from the north, servin a warband an' heard of ya. She wanted to join us."

"Not the best time, to say Jarolom, but is good to meet ya, sista." Scarl commented. Niala gave a glance at the ferret, and gave an annoyed sneer. Markem came up to the door and closed it as Niala looked about the room. She was again a bit culture shocked, seeing 'Dirt' standing vigilantly with his paws behind his back and neck lowered. From the rope collar, it was clear to her he was a slave, but the good clothes and sword he carried gave her odd thoughts. She turned to Jarolom for answers, and reading her mind, he whispered "Aye, that be 'Dirt'. He an' his brother 'Mud' are Markem's personal servants. 'Dirt' be a bodyguard, but don' mind em much."

Niala tried not too, as she was curious. She heard only very rare tales of slaves taking on the duties of a Hordebeast, at a chance of freedom or better food. However, there was good reason why it was rare, most were easily betrayed, died in miserable conditions, or were ultimately backstabbed by their fellow slaves. She wished to know more.

"Jarolom. Long patrol may be just skulken around nearby." Markem broke the mood. Niala quickly jumped to attention "I've come to join yer horde, let me hunt the Hares."

Scarl was unsure at first, the fox woman looked very well armed, and was Jarolom's sister. The two had known each other well, but Jarolom was still a fox, and Scarl knew foxes had a rather odd series of ambitions.

"Ya can join, but like all other beasts. I don't hand out promotion quickly." Markem reminded, but mostly to Jarolom "Ya work an' fight fer the food an' loot. If ya wanna join, then-"

"Then she can help me and Jarolom hunt the Hares. In secret. Ya got a feast to attend to."

"Is now really the time?" Markem had secretly hoped that this new series of events would at least delay the whole thing till tomorrow, but Scarl shook his head "We ain't gettin younger, an' we don' wanna give Luzgot a better chance. I'll keep ya safe chief, ya can count on me an crew!"

"Ya best. 'Dirt'. Join with me." Markem and 'Dirt' marched off, leaving the entire court behind. Scarl began to draw up some plans in his head. "Niala is it? Grab yer bow. We'll start at the base fencing around the keep. Keep vigilant, Long Patrol can be sneaky bugards!"

---

The two Hares cursed having stepped into a whole broken pot of dyes, blue and wet liquids smeared off their feet as they had climbed the great stone base up into the keep. Lefen had easily climbed, abandoning his getup entirely by the time they reached the top. Lefen helped the hares and sea otter up onto the base, keeping to the shadows as the group rounded about the entire base of the keep, keeping low and their weapons at the ready. The Hares had one bow between them, one being an excellent marksman in his own right.

"So what now?" One of the Hares asked "We got this far in, should we do the Bungle Burgle, or the Burgle Bungle?"

"Burgle Bungle sounds good."

The sea otter looked at them as if they were mad, and was joined by Lefen who needed to ask a rather important question. "What is, per say, a Burgle Bungle. . .and a Bungle Burgle?"

"Oh? It be a Tussock stratagem, master Lefen! Blighters like the vermin don't like big sounding words, so we just make things up. You see, the Burgle Bungle is when we break a window, go inside, and knife the blighter in the stomach. Easy in, easy out. However, that lot of warlords down there must be waiting for something, so perhaps he won't even be inside at all. Poor work beasts must have worked and toiled to help build this place, and set up those nice decorations at the base of the entrance! They be feasting for some blighted reason, so maybe my good friend we should do a Bungle Burgle instead."

Lefen was annoyed, but he trusted the Long Patrol as far as he could throw them. This was well worth the risk in his mind.

"Whats a bungle burgle?" the sea otter asked

"Aye, thats when he just snipe the blighter, wot. Got me arrows all well an' sharpened for a moment such as this! Help me climb the roof, ya see, so we can get a better vantage. Bloody wretches won't even know what hit them."

The sea otter was about to object, but Lefen silenced him "Come Streamwaddle, we can keep an eye on Markem from inside. Keep the getup on. Only one of you has to be on top, if things go wrong, we'll cause a distraction and escape. Likely, if the lot of them are outside, only few are inside."

The sea otter obeyed, and a Hare obliged. The one with the bow began to climb up into the rafters of the roof.
_

Lefen began to prod the glass windows for an opening, finding one near the side window, and it had been just in time. Bounding around corners, Scarl and his fox companions were alerting sentries in secret, Lefen spotting him just in time as they crawled inside a window to an empty and poorly lit room. The assassins were inside the hall, and one was keeping low from above. Lefen began rummaging around, as he and his companions exited the doorway and into the hallway. They scouted around corners, keeping to darkness and listening for creaks. Markem didn't really need to worry about these things, so it was no surprise to either of the rogues that there were few guards. One rat in familiar black armor marched through the hallways, bearing the faded mark of Kasg the Craven. The Hare cursed his name.

"Kasg, I grow to hate his ghost, wot!" He whispered "Years ago we defeated him an' his ilk, and still to this day his shadow looms. I miss the days when vermin were a rare sight in the woods, but since Kasg came down, now the bounders are all over the place! Can't even go a mile in the woods without tripping over one!"

"Too bad eastern Mossflower is basically lost." Lefen cursed. "If you folk had taken care of Markem sooner, we wouldn't be in this situation!"

The Hare became flustered "Wasn't my decision, lad. My good commander kept Kasg's other lieutenants at bay. Ol' Barfoof himself led the charge to kill every last one of those blighters. Killed Pelg the Tall when he fled in the warlord's armor. Markem was just a horde beast then I imagine, a common warband, easy to maneuver. Not enough Hares to keep all of Mossflower's problems at bay, ya know."

"So what are these black-clads doing here then?" Streamwaddle asked, the sea otter fearfully looking around corners.

"No clue, likely just followin any old and successful horde then can get their filthy paws on. They suicidally charged many poor creatures to Tussock, and now they meekly follow this Markem I bet. Lets not get ahead of ourselves, Markem isn't dead yet.

Markem's home was a squarish U shape, with the central stone courtyard being where the feast was to be held. The group had seen the preparations, and thankfully it was still fairly light out for the summer, but evening was coming. As Lefen bounded a corner, He saw an opening to the main hall, and within sight was the kitchen.

"Kitchens won't do." Streamwaddle reminded Lefen. "If I remember right, an' logic be dictating, that entire section will be busy. There must be a store room nearby, with a big window for the kitchens. Maybe we can hide in der?"

"Its worth the shot."

The group mustered the strength and bolted past the kitchens towards the storage hallway, quickly closing the door behind them. When they turned, they stared straight into the face of a shocked hedgehog slave who was picking up a small barrel of honey. Lefen slowly lifted his paw up to his mouth, shushing him. The hedgehog recognized the Hare as Long Patrol from his colorful vest, while he recognized Lefen from the tales the other slaves told.

"Keep up the act, lad." The Hare whispered. "Just act like everything be normal. Can ya keep any ol' vermin away from this store room?"

"Aye." He answered. "Be lookin forward fer me an' me brothers an' sisters to be free of deez." He played at the rope which clung to his neck softly. "Not goot on me throat."

"Agreed." Streamwaddle answered back. The hedgehog carried the honey out of the store room, and closed the door. The three then slowly crawled over to a window.

"Plan is simple chaps, we will be back up if our sniper misses. We'll keep a good eye on Markem, especially if he gets dragged back inside where we will finish him off while his guards search for my comrade. He's a good shot however, for once he slays that wretched warlord, we will be home free to collect him, and help him out of this place. We'll be back at camp Tussock to plan our next move against this whole lot in due course!"

"How long do you think it will take?"

"Its too light out now, so it'll take time. When the sun starts setting, he will make his move and fire. Just enjoy, or dread, this show till it is all over." The group looked out from the darkness of a window, looking at the feasting grounds with a decent look. It wasn't comfortable, but Lefen gripped his weapon with grave intent.

The hunt is over Markem, and you and your entire brood will pay a price in blood what you did to my home and all the woodlanders of eastern Mossflower!

---

The warlords were getting more rowdy as the evening progressed, as the time drew closer. Markem descended the stone stairs in his full getup, his bodyguard at his side as Markem looked over the host of bandit chiefs, villainous scum, and allied warlords who he had met and aligned with in his long years. Of them all, before Markem could speak, Kylan Bignose came forward, the fat weasel giving Markem a crushing hug. "Hail to Markem, eh! Markem the Brown! Markem, friend of Kylan an' all of Jusbrag! It been barely a season!"

'Dirt' was mortified, gripping the handle of his sword, but the weasel shot him a deadly glance. The otter knew Kylan was overly friendly, especially to Markem, the rat struggled to break free until he simply accepted his fate. "Good to see ya, too Kylan. But now is no time for friendliness down here. We got feastin to do, as I called all of ya here. Now come with me! I welcome ya all to me home!"

The warlords descended upward, with 'Dirt' dragging himself behind Markem. Kylan shot on over, gripping the otter by his shoulder "Ya should keep yer paw from yer sword, work dog. Ya should be knowin yer place if ya were at Jusbrag!"

'Dirt' had a lot of things he could say to Kylan, but kept them to himself. The weasel laughed as he bounded up the stairs and into the main hall, taking his favorite seat near Markem himself. Markem was starting to like Kylan a bit more, the warlord having placed his morbid standard right on a pole fixed up by Karlgo which flapped right into Markem's own. The tables were set with a mix of fish and bird, filled with ales and deserts, as Kylan greedily began to already chomp down. It was light out still, each of the warlords and their guards stood on by as they embraced Markem's hospitality. Slaves brought out more and more food for them as each set their place. Of all of them, Kylan was a dumbest and most incompetent creature Markem knew, but he was friendly and loyal, liked by the vermin. He had made a mockery of Markem's horde, poorly borrowing his ideas and disciplines. Markem liked the loyalist, an easy tool to bash his enemies with with sheer numbers from the vermin fortress of Jusbrag.

Hazul sat closely to the right of the warlord, the tribal water rat who had been a close ally to Markem since he met, but a reminder of his evil always found its way to give Markem discomfort. On a belt the water rat wore were skulls, the skulls of mice he had slain all those years ago, decorated in dark purple symbols. Hazul sat in patience, slowly walking about, sneering at the food before him but then grumbling a prayer. Hazul had offered many services and allies to Markem in the past and present, the two worked well with one another, although it was clear neither Hazul nor Kylan liked one another.

"Keep yer sniveling snout away from the food, ya flea bitten maggot eater!" Kylan pounded the table. "If ya don't like dis here food, then ya should just get out an' take yer tribal filth with ye!"

"I mean no offense, ya ill bitten worm! I prefer me meat raw an' fresh. The spirits be demanding it today of me, as the bones are saying! You would do well to obey the words an' regulations of the spirits, atheist cur!"

"Enough." Markem shouted at them both "Today is not the day for cruel words. Not yet at least. Now everyone, sit an' eat."

Sheera came out of the door, with Markem's children scampering about and being seated close to their father. She sat next to her husband. 'Mud' came out to serve the two their own meal, a fresh meal of bird hunted recently, parts of a goose found dead, and several bloody and bread crusted chicken. Chicken was a rare sight, and Markem thought himself blessed to have traded with the vermin who sold him it. Luzot and Parb, the two warlords, sat close to each other on the other side, divided by another warlord from another part of the woods. Luzgot shot Parb an eye of distrust, disliking the female for her luxurious position and her oddly equipped guard. She sat uncomfortably in her chair and called out to Markem.

"My dear Markem, perhaps a couch for my form? I'd prefer to eat like a Mink of my station."

Markem nodded and snapped at 'Mud'. "Go fetch one of the couches fer Parb, will ya?" The Otter bowed and obeyed. In a moment, 'Mud' and Yala came out with a couch, in which the mink lady shifted comfortably in. She sipped from her goblet and thanked her host "My good Markem, as always, you are a gracious host."

Markem only gave a reassuring nod. The warlords licked their lips in anticipation of the feast as Markem called out, raising a glass so all heard him before they ate. All except Kylan who ate regardless, the glutton only stopping to listen intently.

"My allies an' friends, today is a special occasion for me as' much as ya. This day alone does not belong to one Vermin, nay, it belongs to me dear wife. Some time ago, I slew the warlord who tried to trick me, tried to have me killed, an' now he be dead. As Pelchovmar, me friend an' ally will tell ya, me brother in law, I did not claim his fort even if by tradition it be mine to take. I take not of yer forts when I defeat ya, I trade an' talk with each an' all of ya. Help ya even when I can. To you, who I know best, I can only say with heart an' sound mind that this day belongs to the day I founded me horde, runnin from Pelg's doomed campaign. Today we celebrate with more then just our feast, but fer our hordes."

There was a confused murmur and some stone walled faces amongst the various warlords, as Markem sat down his cup "As much as this day belong to ya to eat, I will be holdin court as well. It be time I show ya the face of the vermin as we eat an' munch an' talk amongst ourselves. Many have come, to join me an' to give me tribute." He touched Sheera's paws who was sitting next to him. "Today be also a special day of our anniversary, a special day to me ol' heart. Not one of ya care I imagine, but know I will not take well to any of ya in me presence to act ill towards Sheera or her brother in me presence on this good day. Now feast, me buckos!"

Markem was about to dig in, and so were many of the warlords, but Hazul lifted his paws and slapped them on the table. There was another awkward silence amongst them as the water rat stood "Before we begin, give praise to your ancestors, and your spirits you lot! I wish to lead prayer, to our creators an' our heavenly watchers."

Markem didn't want to offend the water rat, with Kylan making a mocking slop of his mouth. Hazul rightfully ignored him as he bowed his head and made his prayer. Some of the warlords were religious, especially the more tribal ones, and bowed their heads as well. Others like Parb and Luzgot looked on with contempt and cringe.

"Give us strength, oh seasons, yee who take us from the wombs of our mothers, feed us with the fruit of your trees, and lay us down to rejoin you in the days of yore. May those who die, free or slave, woodlander or vermin, bird or toad embrace you as the true mother, and the sky our father. Give to us rest when we pass, and to our enemies the same. Amen."

There was a short and shallow echo of Amens, with Sheera having joined in. Markem had pretended, not having much faith in what was said. Kylan on the other hand was making gestures with his paw, entertaining Markem's children in mocking the water rat who then began to pass his meal to his subordinates. Markem ordered out something 'fresh and raw' for Hazul, Rigpaw gleefully already obliged the warlord's strange diet of the day. The vermin warlords were munching and eating, the only creatures who did not slop and pick bones were Parb and Hazul. Hazul may have been a tribal, but he ate slowly and gently, as Parb had brought her own silverware to eat and dine on her meal.

The warlords are a varied bunch and came from many backgrounds. Of the least important but yet most notable was Pelchovmar himself. The warlord had a lot to discuss and tell, with tall tales of his near valiant attempts to pierce into the abbey of Riftguard itself. Pelchovmar was only stopped when the abbey called for aid from Noonvale, the mouse kingdom having sent a garrison to keep the rat at bay. There was a stout bandit chief who swore to Markem in the season before, a powerful pine marten warlord who came from the far east plateau, several rat brothers and sister called the Bloodrack clan who had conquered a small dynastic territory for themselves in the name of their conquering father in the highlands and southern far northern parts of Markem's realm. There were others seated near Markem, as each warlord got their fill. However, the warlords had not come to feast alone, as Markem held court as well. The other warlords called this little event 'Markem's Taxes', but to 'Dirt' and 'Mud', they preferred to call it 'Markem's Gifts'.

Vermin who had come to the call of Markem were allowed to bring their issues to Markem openly, it was a tradition devised partly by Markem and partly by Karlgo. The fox may not have been there per say, but he was watching from somewhere nearby. The warlords found it strange that Markem would always burden personal disputes and issues with vermin, and it became a form of entertainment for them. However, today was a bit different. As the first vermin rabble began to crest to the front of Markem's open table, they began to swear fealty.

"My lord, I Rag the Gutless, Swear meself to you an' yer horde!"

"I swear upon yer blade an' yer tail to follow ya!"

"Me an' me family shall join ya, oh worship!"

"Me sword is yer's to command."

Each vermin brought trophies and gifts to Markem, some of the warlords stopped eating as they began to realize they were duped. Kylan looked on in amazement as vermin one by one willingly parted with treasures and piled them at Markem's feet. It was clear that they were not just there for an anniversary, they were there to bear witness to something.

A pile of loot began to fill up. Nose rings from fallen foes, golden and silver coins from bandit homes, spears of hare and badger make, valued tools and oaths of increasing fanaticism. Each one who came, Markem addressed them.

"I accept yer service. Ya shall join me horde an' I shall grant ya vittles an' comfort."

"Thank ye, I shall accept yer service well."

"It is good ya made this choice."

The only warlord not surprised was Luzgot. Luzgot had known for some time this was ultimately going to happen when he received word of Markem's grant feast, and that he sent the word out wide. Garzlo had ultimately been correct on this matter, even though he took the credit for himself. Luzgot smiled to himself, eating happily on his meal as he awaited his minion to make his move. He could see it in his mind, Markem taking part in a deadly drink of wine, choking and gagging, and finally falling over in a slump. All in front of his precious horde and children too! Luzgot ate happily.
_

Scarl was in a partial panic.

He was looking about the halls, and met up with Jarolom and Niala who were done searching around the less obvious rooms and corridors. Scarl was half convinced the Hares did not exist, it had all been a part of his imagination, and that Skabit was just an idiot. He knew better, or should know better. Scarl scowled at the two "Anything? Tell me ya found a squirrel lying somewhere!"

"Nay. We are runnin out of places to check? We need a new plan. Knowin Long Patrol, they don't take long to make their strike."

Niala was less exhausted or worried. She was new to the horde, and it showed. "Maybe they ran off? What are a bunch of Woodlanders goin to do anyhow. Kill Markem while he be surroundin by every warlord in Mossflower?"

"Aye." Scarl said without a single hint of sarcasm "Long Patrol work well enough alone, let alone in a group. A single damn long ears can quickly despatch several of us without a sweat. We got the store rooms and several other areas around the keep we gotta check, and I hope they're not just movin between room to room, waiting for us to give up the chase."

The three bounded down a corridor, checking in vain for an unused room on the left side of the keep. Scarl grew frustrated "Damnit, Lefen is usually a lot more predictable. He must take the Long Patrol's advice an' tactics to heart."

"Whose Lefen?"

"Rebel an' bandit, red squirrel. Been a thorn in me side for some time now, he an' that other bandit. Zangan."

Jarolom seethed at the mention of a fellow fox's name. Niala only remained confused and again looked to her brother for answers. He nimbly answered "Nomad type, Niala. Fox from the farther seas. He an' his tribe of foxes have resisted us and raided us for some time now."

"Lots of enemies for this Markem it seems."

"Aye, Niala."

The two bounded a corner again, and were about to head towards the storage rooms on the right side of the keep. However, as they neared them, a hedgehog slave carried away some dishes called out to them. "Oi! Stop!"

Scarl and the foxes turned, the hedgehog slave wide eyed with fear. He collected himself and tried to speak. "The storage be. . .ummm. . .filled with a nasty ol' smell. I told other beasts not to go near it till it be cleared out. I think em' barrels is rotted out, and leaking. . .ehhh. . .a rotting lard of butter! Aye, rotten butter! Nasty stuff, can clog up teeth and damage fur ya know."

Scarl grimly frowned at the hedgehog. He was amused the slave was clearly trying to cover for something, but having a realization, he gave a large and sadistic smile. He crept closer. "I see, an' this rotten butter, ya sure it be rotten? An ya sure it be butter?"

The hedgehog sweated and crumbled as Scarl came closer. "Now, why don't ya show us that rotten butter, me friend, an' I might just see to it ya don't get yer head lobbed off by me other friend, Vake. Ya two, keep silent an' follow."
_

Markem's piles of treasures kept growing, as the warlords looked both impressed and worried. The common vermin were getting done, and Markem's horde had grown by 50 new members, with more yet to come. Next came several slavers, carrying both fresh and broken slaves to bend their knees and heads to Markem. One enthusiastic slaver, a bandit from southern Mossflower, sadistically smiled as he brought forward a vole family he had captured along with his gang. Markem looked down at the small creatures, newly captured and bound tight in rope, since the slavers were too poor to get chain. They bowed humbly to Markem.

"Me lord, I bring ya slaves to serve ye, if ya have me to serve you in turn! Me boys will fight for ye!"

"Then ya shall. You there, Voles. What be yer names?"

The elder of the voles stood up "C-Colkar, Me lord. This is my family and youngsters. Please, we have done no wrong to you or others!"

"Ya haven't." Markem reassured him "What did ya do before ya were captured?"

The vermin slavers looked on with some confusion, as Markem seemed to have a casual conversation with his newly acquired captives. The captive father blurted out "We were farmers, sir. We grew wheat near the inland lake."

Markem only nodded "I see. You lot, ya shall join me horde as ya say, but bring these creatures unharmed to Gutan. Ya will move yer farm to the River Moss, an grow wheat in return to solely sellin it to me."

"Sellin?" Whispered one warlord. Normal vermin, at least in the eyes of those around him, would have just had the poor creatures hurled off to the pens to join the laborers. However, Markem had no need of such things. He already had a lot of slaves and laborers, but he always needed more food, and his system of tributaries worked very well for him. The Vole was relieved. The vermin slaver chief looked on, a bit embarrassed. His new boss had just freed his slave in all but name. Markem however called him over.

"You. Come over here."

The vermin came, looking whipped. "Whats yer name?"

"Gashgut, chief."

"Gashgut, aye? Hordebeast name. Name's Markem. Ya lads ya got, how many in total?"

"4, use to be 5."

"Ya look barely old enough to be called mature, I take it?" Markem was speaking to the slaver chief as if he knew him personally. The vermin was confounded, but answered truthfully to him. "Aye, I am only a few seasons into me profession. Pa use to take me out huntin an' raidin, boss."

"It is good ya brought farmers to me, Gashgut. I may not remember yer name well with all others, but ya will find comfort, vittles, and work in me horde." Markem had done something rather unthinkable to others, giving a humble nod and bow to Gashgut who looked on with pride. The slaver was already off to gloat that the great Markem Brownnose not only knew his name, but also gave to him humility. The other warlords were a mixture of impressed and sickened by such a display. As the vermin left, giving some peace. Luzgot spoke out in anger.

"Givin mercy to a bunch of flat nosed, wallopers, aye chief? Maybe ya would like to drink yer fill with the rabble below us then real creatures of authority up here?"

Kylan smacked his paw on the table harshly, raising his voice to Luzgot who slinked into his armor in fear of the massive weasel "Ya call out' the chief for gettin to know his horde, ya blighted, old, useless chair warmer! Do ya also throw yer own slaves off yer walls in Luzland!"

"Calm yourself, Kylan. Yet he raises a good point. Do any of ya truly know yer horde like the back of yer paw? Even ya give yer own horde a hard time, my weasel friend, an yer captives a worse time still. What I do here is different as ya all know. I don't abuse neither me vermin or me slaves, since I was much like them once. I fought an' struggled like them, served like them in many a' army, and don't plan on forgettin all those years simply because I live in a bigger house then them. These creatures come lookin fer a horde to call home, and I shall oblige them."

Luzgot sat back into his chair, as Parb the mink warlordess lounged comfortably and intrigued. She was enjoying his show as she ate her dinner and watched as Markem dealt out his orders, and got to know his new recruits. She called to an otter maid who had been carefully bringing out more desserts from the kitchen for the warlords to eat. "Young slave, bring me a pie for myself, and do so quickly."

The slave bounded for the kitchens, bringing out a reddish dessert, a cherry and nut cream pie. Parb licked her lips with anticipation, but the slave accidently tripped and tumbled, bumping into Luzgot and tripping the pie over. She looked on in horror at what she had done, collecting herself. Several faces turned to look at her, as Luzgot got up and grabbed the otter widow by the rope collar of her neck. "Ya damn fool, how dare ya bump into me, Luzgot! Warlord of Luzland! I should have ya flayed alive!"

"I'm sorry sir! I'll clean it up at once!" Olda had said frightened. Markem was about to pipe up, but his servant 'Mud' was already coming over to stand between the two. "I'll have it cleaned up me lords! I am sorry, miss Parb, we shall get another one straight away!"

The Mink looked on annoyed, but gave the otter a dismissive nod. Luzgot however wasn't done. He then took 'Mud' by the neck and pulled him close "Clean this mess up, work beast, or I'll flog ya till ya bleed."

There was a ringing of a blade being pulled from its sheath. All eyes came to 'Dirt' who held the blade aloft, looking as Luzgot in absolute fury. His angry glance was joined by Markem who sneered "Let 'Mud' go Luzgot, an' sit back down in peace, or I will have ya thrown over the railing. Touch me slaves like that again, an' see what happens."

Luzgot let go of the otter who brushed himself off. The two slaves were gone as the warlord sat down awkwardly, cursing and ranting under his breath as he returned to his meal. The mess would be cleaned up, and Parb would get a new dessert for her to feast upon.

Just ya wait Markem, I'll see ya die slow an' steady today. Just ya wait. Luzgot thought, waiting for his minion to come.
_

Lefen watched the host of vermin, seeing many birds served to their wretched kind made him sick to his stomach. So much meat and bone was thrown around like trash, with slaves expected to quickly pick it up into small buckets and weave around to serve them. New creatures were brought to bend knee to Markem. He hated the sight, but yet his companion was oddly intrigued.

"Odd. Usually, they just kill or torture the poor lads. Glad to not see it happen, wot, may have just caused a distraction early just to avoid it."

"Don't let it fool you." Lefen lowered his head, hearing the noises from behind the window and wall of the store room. They had a good eye on the backside of Luzgot and Parb. "Markem may be the least worst of the lot, but he ain't to be excused. He enslaved many creatures, an deserves to die for it."

"Agreed. Bloody blighter is aligned with Parb, the wretched heiress! Warlord of Great Marsh, a miserable place to end up in. More prison than castle. Captures woodlanders, makes them mine in her pits. Hopefully we'll get a shot of her next."

The three listened in, as the next series of victims and new found vermin approached. Lefen watched as another group of slavers, looking like northerners, forced two younger otter warriors to bend their knees and were held in chains. The poor creatures were still in a very odd garb Lefen never seen before, depicting the colors of Noonvale. They were clearly younger guards or soldiers, likely new recruits who were unfortunately captured in battle. Markem looked over them from his chair.

"Look fairly strong fer otters, Noonvale I take it?"

"Aye chief! Captured them a season ago." replied a rat slaver "Come from the line of Keyla, Bane of Marshank they say. Part of Noonvale's Holt."

Markem blinked in ignorance. He looked to Hazul, who was mesmerized by what he heard "Aye! I know that tale well, stranger. Companion of Martin the Warrior, bane of all vermin! Wraith of Redwall Abbey! Truly a fine catch!" The two otters shifted uncomfortably. 'Dirt' and 'Mud' could not help but feel sorry for them as Markem quickly made his decision.

"As war beasts, they will make good laborers. Put em' in the pen. I thank ye for this mighty gift. Ya shall have extra rations an' a good position in me horde fer this."

Lefen cursed. Markem's associates grew bolder, to a point where even Noonvale, the bulwark of the north, was being assaulted and raided to appease the whims of Markem. The Hare twitched his nose and lowered his head. "Odd, didn't even think a common bandit would even know the Redwall tales of yore, wot. No doubt made it up just to sound more impressive if you ask me."

Before the two otters were hauled away, Hazul stood "My lord Markem, if I may ask as gift of you?"

Markem already knew the question. He looked at the two frightened otter captives and then back to Hazul who took particular interest. "Ya may, on some conditions."

"If I may, these creatures have a special blood, which is important to me. Markem, give me these two as a gift."

Kylan interrupted "Ya ask fer slaves, when ya have plenty? Go sod off to the hole ya call a home, Hazul, these be Markem's now."

Markem thought it over and raised two fingers of his paws "As a gift, I'll agree to two conditions. Firstly, no harm need to come to them considerin the last few 'gifts' ya were given an' what ya do to woodlanders in that fort. Secondly, this gift be a gift, an' if I hear of damage of me gift onto ya, there will be consequences."

"Agreed." Hazul said eagerly. Markem nodded to the slavers "Put em' in Hazul's camp, a gift from me to Veekun's Burrow."

"Poor otters." The hare said in a low voice to Lefen. "We hear terrible things that come from Veekun's Burrow. Terrible things. Markem may as well sentence those two to death. We will hopefully collect them before all is done here today." Lefen only nodded, but secretly he held no concern for the otters themselves. His only focus was on Markem himself.

There was a sudden creak in the door. A voice of the hedgehog the group met earlier shouted out, a bit with concern and worry in his voice "I'm sorry, sirs! I be just collectin the butter from storage! Be but a moment!"

"Loud bugger ain't he?" Commented the Hare. The group peaked out of the window, looking around. The hare looked up on the roof of Markem's little keep, and on the shingles, a single Hare was crouched, readying his bow and arrow. They would strike soon.

"Once the deed is done we can leaaaAAAHHHH" The hare recoiled as he was pulled back by a fox's paw and a knife quickly came to the edge of his throat. Lefen was about to strike, but he and the sea otter also found themselves in a similar predicament. Lefen looked up, looking into the face of a smiling Scarl.

"Evening, Lefen."
_

A fox approached, a bottle of wine in his paws as he descended the stairs to the warlord, looking about nervously. He wondered where the ferret was, and wondered about their deal. Was it too good to be true? Would Luzgot slay him right on the spot for betraying him? Would Markem just kill him for trying to poison him? He did not know. He passed by two happy slavers, pulling two otters in ragged guard armor down the stairs, keeping them close by. The fox continued, until he was at the base of the feast. In front of him sat Markem Brownnose, looking him over as the fox came forward, a bottle of wine in hand.

Markem motioned him forward, the fox clearly nervous. He shot a worried glance to Luzgot and then to Markem. One rat was clearly happy to see him, watching intently. Above him, an assassin began to prepare to draw his bow. The Hare would shoot for the head.

"Looks like a nice bottle of wine." Luzgot motioned "Maybe our dear warlord may like a drink, eh?"

The fox kneeled and was about to give the wine over, but then uncorked it. Luzgot's happiness left him like a dam breaking, as the fox began to pour the contents onto the stone. The warlords were discussing and talking at first, but one by one each stopped to look and listen. Luzgot fumed from his chair.

"A tradition I take it?" Markem asked.

The fox had made his choice. Damned be to Luzgot and his ilk, the wretch had never treated me right! Threatened to kill me, flay me, and promised me his full set of rations for a good job? Damn him. The fox looked up and replied "Nay, tis poisoned."

"Poisoned, eh? Markem! Call yer guards, an kill this wretch! Assassin!" Luzgot yelled and raved. Markem however looked on, his eyebrows furled.

"Poison? Ya wanted to give me. . ." Markem stopped himself. This was likely Luzgot's plan that Scarl warned him of earlier, but then played along regardless. He liked to see his ambitious rival squirm. "Ya wanted to give me poisoned wine as a gift?"

"Nay not me. Him, I be in his service. Ya say ya got a place in yer horde fer all beasts? I wish to join." The fox pointed to Luzgot and looked on in fear. He knew he was dead, one way or another. Even the sniper above him gave pause as Markem came up and bounded the table to him. 'Dirt' followed close by, sword in paw.

Markem took the fox by the paw and lifted him to his height, being slightly taller, he was nearly looking up at the creature "Much like ya, I once was in such positions. Doin the ill work of other warlords. A long time ago, it never worked for the likes of me, an' if ya were dumber, ya would have just left it at that. Ya do a brave thing. . .uhhhh. . .ehhhh. . ." Markem motioned for a name. The fox gave it. "Gauzbred."

"Gauzbred, eh? Ya did a brave thing, defyin yer lord an' master to serve me."

Kylan shot up from his chair, angrily looking at Luzgot. The warlord was about to draw his blade, make a run for it, as Kylan called out "Grab yer arms, lads, were goin to skewer this oath breaka! Come Luzgot, I await to bring ya to me blade!"

Luzgot however did have some allies, as other warlords soon drew blades on one another. Had this not been a typical outcome, 'Dirt' would have been panicking. The warlords were bickering, but Markem raised his voice and yelled out "Stop the lot of ya, no one is goin to be a dead beast tonight!"

Ironic. Thought the Hare sniper from above. The wind was right.
_

Scarl had his prize, but gears began to tick and tock in his mind. He looked around, as Jarolom and Niala held down their prisoners. He asked a rather terrifying question "I saw several hare tracks down in Gholand's commons. How many Hares do ya both see?"

"One? Maybe ya are just blind?"

The Hare being held retorted cheekily "And dumb." The Hare made a mistake and the knife on his throat came closer.

Scarl looked around in a panic wondering why they came here. They weren't here for spy alone, oh no, maybe they were waiting for a vermin to pounce out to reveal himself a Hare and kill Markem. Maybe an entire army had infiltrated the fortress, disguised as a silly pair of weasels to kill Markem. Maybe they would pounce out of hiding when he was alone inside and kill Markem. Kill Markem rang through Scarl's head, trying to figure out what brought them to this window. Why not the rooms on the other side. Niala snapped him to attention.

"Ferret! Look! Up there, in the rafters on the roof. I see a shadow." Niala was already pacing her eyes outward through the window. The commotion outside was distracting, but Scarl could see the figure. The marksbeast was ready to strike. He didn't know what to do, but the Hare held by Jarolom did. Catching the fox's knife, he quickly quicked the brute aisde as the others struggled. Found out, the Hare attempted to take out his own sword, but a struggle in the back rooms by Jarolom kept the two from using their weapons. Niala had held onto the sea otter, but she quickly bashed the creature's head into the wall, knocking him into a daze. Acting swiftly, Niala smashed the window with her elbow, catching herself on some glass and brought out her bow. She twinged in pain as both she and her target began to draw their arrows for a swift strike. Lefen tried to hurry and catch her, he would not be denied this day of his vengeance, but Scarl was there just for that purpose. Scarl caught Lefen and slammed him into some barrels.

Freed from distraction, Niala took a shot from the window, her pained arm half missed. The Marksman had been too disciplined and focused to not care of the smashed glass. However, he fired his own arrow just as Niala's shot passed his cheek and into his ear. The sniper screamed out in pain and tumbled. His shot missed, as it slammed into the table. The warlords gave a panicked shout as Markem and 'Dirt' stared at the arrow.

Huh. Scarl did take care of it. Markem's first thought was.

---

There was a warning call to those trying to get to Markem's feast and began to fling themselves upward into the area. The Long Patrol sniper had unfortunately survived, having fallen from the roof and landed on his back, shattering his muscle and bone. He groaned in agony as he was lifted up by angry guards and eager vermin wishing to prove themselves who gathered the would be assassin. Others in the camp awaited with baited breath, wondering if the sounds were good vermin fun, or if someone was dead. Even the slaves stopped their evening chores, wondering what was happening above. Many eyes were on Markem, and he knew it.

Sheera collected her children and held them close as the would-be assassin was thrown to the feet of Markem. The fox Markem had just congratulated fell in line and to his side, although was kept a safe distance in case he had second thoughts by 'Dirt'. The other warlords stood up, ready to deal out harsh and cruel justice, just as Scarl and his posse came out of Gholand's keep, with disarmed and battered woodlanders. They were thrown to the feet of Markem who looked down with contempt, especially at Lefen who could only look up in hate.

"Lefen. Nice to see you are well." Markem mocked "Hows the young'uns?"

"Don't ya dare speak of my youngsters, again, ya damn rat!" Lefen cursed, but was hit sharply by a paw of one of the vermin rabble behind him. Markem calmed down the crowd as he strode about them. Many eyes were on them. The hedgehog who had helped the group could only watch in shame from the frame of the door, as Markem paced around. He raised his voice.

"Two attempts on me life, one from an ally, the other me enemy. If I gotta say this, to ye lot, ya all make poor assassins."

"Poor assassins, but good spies, ya bounder!" One of the captured hares replied "The Long Patrol will muster and put you an' your whole bloody crew of villains down!"

"Hang em' chief!"

"Spill there guts!"

"Boil em in scalden oil!" A clamor of loyal vermin made suggestions to their fate. However, Markem yelled out in anger. "Do I look to be a common murderer, ya daft fools!" There was a silence from the horde as Markem turned about him, looking into the face of his horde, his supposed allies, and obvious enemies. "Long have I held me tongue, an long enough do I gotta say to ya lot many things. All these treasures, all these manners befittin a warlord, be useless as an infant's garbage to me! Seasons I have been taught harsh lessons an' harder truths, an I see now this one truth. Ya are the livin dead, the lot of ya!"

"Ye act like ghouls, an' many of ya look an' smell like Ghouls!" He pointed at the gathered and shocked horde. "I come from a line like ya, travelin between horde to horde, servin me former masters dutifully fer kind words an' good vittles. Well, none of that I shall give ya, for i shall give ya the truth. Most of ye are dumber then bricks, deranged cretans who murder each other fer scraps an' promotions. I am sick of it, sick of it even now!"

He turned to his warlords, the fire of fury burned in Markem's eyes. "To ya lot, I have many things to say in contempt. No lot of fools is more clownish an' damned then us! How can we call ourselves leaders, warlords, an chiefs when we act like crying children playin with lands an' schemes. Ya all hate each other, an' ya hate yer own hordes! Ya show nothin but contempt and disdain fer something ya rule, an no wonder yer slaves always escape and yer horde is beaten time an' time again by Hares! Ya fight each other to standstills, fer little reason, and punish yer beasts with whips an' death! Even on simple feastin days, ya lot try to have me killed." He turned his attention to Luzgot who tried and failed to slink back into the crowd. The crowd looked outward in disappointment and dejection, but Markem's voice lowered and spoke like a father to his children.

"Ya may be terrible beasts, bandits an' murderers. Slavers an' wretches of the ol' world. However, ya are vermin! Strong, brave, an' damn good fighters! I see in ya horde more then what ya think ya are, I see sons an' daughters. Mothers an' fathers. Brother an' sister! Ya are alive in this world, so why shouldn't ya take it fer yourselves, aye? I see conquerors, an' kings. Chieftains of high standing as any other in the woods! Yer fathers would be proud of what their children have become, rulin hordes an' driven the whole forward! Yet we are lost, aimless in our power mongering, an' I am sick an' tired of it!" Markem whirled around and broke off his banner from the central pole, leaping onto the table he began to shout now, so all nearby could hear. Scarl began to smile.

"I say now to ya! Vermin of Mossflower, are ya tired of being brought low time an' time again by ourselves an' by the cursed Long Patrol?! I say this with sacred oath, by me tooth an' claw, tail an' heart, hear me! Mossflower be ours, my brothers, my comrades! By right of conquest, an' the authority of this here flag, we will bring Mossflower to it's knees! We will cut a swath to Salamanderstron itself an' topple down its cursed lords! We will march to the Red Abbey and fly our banners! Let all here, rabble an' captain! Warlord an' servant! Slave an' free! Join me, join us all together into one band, a great vermin band! Let me lead us all to the dawn we all deserve!"

The vermin rabble began to cheer, shouting "Markem! Great Warlord! Markem! Great Warlord!"

The other warlords were caught in the frenzy, many taking out their blades and lifting them high, others kneeling to swear their fealty. Many looked around, seeing even their own guards having joined on in with Markem. The rat looked down proud at his collection, and seeing Luzgot try to make his escape, Markem formulated a little idea. To show the changes he was going to make. "Bring me Luzgot, warlord of Luzland!"

Kylan grabbed the struggling cowering rat's shoulder, pushing him to the front to where Markem was. 'Dirt' was prepared to strike Luzgot down on Markem's orders, but it did not come. Markem instead gripped Luzgot's shoulder harshly. "Luzgot, ya tried to have me killed, mate. Again. An' again it failed."

Luzgot whimpered "It was not me, the fox lies!"

"Luzgot, I know it be you." Markem whispered but then began to speak highly so others could hear "Long have we all fought one another, long have we tried to get each other killed an' sabotaged our own efforts! Let the band know this be me first law, no vermin shall come to harm another, an' all crimes forgiven by me order! All they but have to do is bend knee."

Luzgot gulped and quickly fell to his knees. He swore right on the spot, for it was either that or death. Having the rat humiliated again brought a cruel smile to Markem's face as he turned his attention finally to the woodlander prisoners who sat in horror. They had just watched Markem unite every warlord in Mossflower's eastern quarter under a single banner, and now looked upon the strongest rat and threat Mossflower would ever face, and they have all failed to stop him.

Markem came forward and folded his paws, the rabble behind him awaited their judgement, ready to dish it out. Markem looked down at the Hares first. "My terms of surrender are good fer the lot of ya, if ya take it. Ya surrender peacefully, or do I gotta kill ya?"

The sniper painfully looked Markem in the eyes. He was more frustrated then angry, and spat at the warlord defiantly, although his bloody spit weakly landed at Markem's feat as well. The irony wasn't lost to the Hare "Should have listened to my ol' commander, wot. Been less focused on trying to steal vittles and better learned how to fire me bow. Might have even made the difference, you blighted creature." The Hare received was knocked to the ground by a nearby hordebeast and he groaned in pain. He had to be helped up by his fellow Long Patrol. Marekm only gave a sigh.

"I knew ye folk all too well, more brave an' honored then sense. Ya wish death?" Lefen and Streamwaddle looked at the Hares. They already knew their answer as both looked on. They knew what would happen if they didn't, and perhaps the rat made a crucial oversight. This wasn't overseen by Scarl who crept closer to his master and whispered into his open ears.

"Spare that one. I could squeeze the information right outta' him boss."

Markem nodded. "Spare this one, as yer ya." He turned to the sniper, awaiting his answer. The other Hare was grabbed and pulled away by Niala and Jarolom at Scarl's command, looking for a final time at his companion as the sniper sniffed and dusted himself off.

"Ya may kill me now, Markem the Bulgenose or whatever your name is. The Long Patrol will stop you, mark my words."

"Your words are marked." Markem quickly brought out his blade and slashed deeply into the sniper's throat as he came over to Lefen and Streamwaddle, awaiting the same fate. Lefen and his sea otter companion knew they had lost, but Markem only gave a loud sigh. The hordebeasts and warlords watched on. They were curious what Markem was doing as he addressed them.

"When we go an' conquer, I have seen many of ye act in cruelty to beasts like these. I use to think the same way as the lot of ya. I realize now, how useless it be. Why do we kill em', torture em', and starve em of all their worth? The woodlanders are apart of this world as all of ya an' me, and I do not wish e'r deaths or there demise. I know many of ya see in me a mad beast fer sayin such things, an' if I was younger, I'd call meself a fool. Yet look about ya, at me home an' all of Gholand. It be hedgehog make, build by woodlander paws. I do not desire their enslavement till there end of days, but der obedience in our cause!" He looked to Lefen and then to Streamwaddle. The vermin had been less enthusiastic, thinking perhaps Markem was showing a sign of madness.

"I'm give both of ya mercy this day, but yer both stayin in me fort till ya break. Consider yaselves lucky an' blessed I don't send you to the stone pit."

The sea otter gulped. He knew what the 'stone pit' was, a small quarry outside Gholand which was under heavy guard. Slaves and newly captured creatures who showed resistance were sent there and worked day and night, but it's more hidden purpose was simple. It was an alternative to obeying Markem directly, and instead being worked to death. He had seen slaves come from the pit before, covered in whip scars and with soulless eyes accepting the vermin's authority over them. Lefen only sneered, and shot up in anger "Ya don't give mercy, Markem, you rat! You only offer slavery or death!"

"An ya would have don' much differently if someone else tried to assassinate ya? Don't lecture me, squirrel. I ain't even given you lot a choice. Not yet at least. Take em to Gutan, an' know I spare me enemies this day." The two were dragged off, as Luzgot watched. A plan began to form in his head, as the vermin cheered to Markem. Maybe not today, you wretch, but maybe I'll take a little page outta yer book. Maybe a little diplomacy will go a long way in bringin ya down!

Scarl was jubilant as his plan worked, perhaps not exactly all this considering, but the vermin hordebeasts and warlord alike were cheering Markem. Many had sworn, and now every warlord was in a frenzy to align with Markem more. Kylan and Hazul were the first to fully swear themselves.

"Ya have the vermin of all the highlands an' all the north to swear to ye! I, Kylan Bignose, swear the vermin Jusbrag to yer service Markem. The great vermin band, eh? A terrible name in me opinion, for soon we shall all be kings in Mossflower! Right lads! Clang yer swords to Markem! Shout for the great warlord!"

"The spirits predicted these events far in advance since we first met, Markem Brownnose. My tribe and your horde have fought, bled, and died together and I will happily join you. Let the vermin of Gholand and Veekun's Burrow pillage an' burn across the woods these coming days! May the seasons goad us to war!"

Luzgot swore himself beforehand, but of the last of the warlords to swear, only Parb seemed to give the worst and generic oath "I swear Great Marsh's wealth and armies to you, great warlord of the great vermin band. May you use them well."

Markem accepted it all, his horde was now large and terrible, he waved his brown banner to all to see, as word spread. Lefen and Streamwaddle, the would be assassins, were pelted with stones and garbage from the other vermin who heard as they were led away to the prisoner pen to await an uncertain fate. The vermin howled and broke open casks as the true, and bloody, party began. Markem descended to personally meet his horde, leading the other warlords to party amongst the common rabble as he did. Scarl was already off to torment his new prisoner as he brought Jarolom and Niala to watch, leaving only Luzgot and Parb alone in the feasting grounds, along with a gaggle of slaves who began the impossible task of cleaning.

"An interesting creature, he goads all the vermin to war. Reminds me of Kasg a bit." Parb noted.

Luzgot turned to the mink and spat "Interestin indeed! Ya take that stupid oath seriously, ya white puff ball?"

"Not really, although he does have. . .uses."

Luzgot was already off, he was going to drink his sorrows away for the night, maybe even try to get at the fox who betrayed him in the madness of the vermin party as they celebrated. The vermin were going to go to war, and their campaign would be all of Mossflower.