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.

25. Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Rat

Chapter 24: Cometh the Hour, Cometh the Rat

The horde of the Great Vermin band marched out into the night, and like a creeping shadow across all of Mossflower it consumed all in its wake. Woodlanders, once thought safe under the careful eye of the Long Patrol, soon heard the marching cries of vermin near their villages, followed by groups of armed rats coming to lay down their laws upon the villages. The elders of the villages were torn from their homes by the rats who forced them before various captains, with a single paragraph given onto each one.

"You are now apart of the Great Vermin Band, by force or otherwise, rightful ruler of all of Mossflower by right of conquest, rightful ruler of Mossflower's vermin and woodlander alike, every bird, stone, and tree belongs to the band, and those who resist and damage our cause will be given the ultimate punishment. Death. You will give tribute to the band, food and otherwise, at the discretion of your overlords. If you refuse, your villages will be liquidated, your people put in chains, and dragged behind as laborers for our army. By orders of the united warlords under Markem Brownose."

These words wrung across many woodlander villages, mice and squirrels, hedgehogs and otters all listened and were frightened by what they heard. The Long Patrol, from their outposts could see the burning torches of the enemy, moving across the north as if a wild fire had broken out. The sound of alarm filled the air as Long Patrol hares abandoned their stations, regrouping and heading their way towards safer areas to warn of the incoming danger, or towards Fort Tussock. All of Northern Mossflower could feel the dark presence of the band moving across its hills and glades, its eye set upon its prize. From the wooden battlements of the fort, Busk Rattlebush looked out over the plains. He could see Markem's host far off, their lights dancing in the far off distance. His captain whispered something in his ear, and he perked up.

"Send a runner to Salamanderstron, we hold Tussock till Galgor arrives. Blood an' vinegar, we will not lose this fort!"

Busk fixed his monocle and sniffed the air. I will make this band of scoundrels bleed with every foot they take into this fort, and I will overcome. By the seasons. I will overcome.
_

Markem was marching forward, half hunched as he carried his own things. Despite the best efforts of Scarl who huffed and heaved next to him, he could not convince his boss to have his slave do it. Markem preferred to carry his own things, a wanderer at heart, he never stopped truly being that naive soldier who had to do it all himself. If Markem could, he would have fought the entire host of Tussock, but it took creatures like Scarl to hold him to account. Scarl on the other hand was miserable, spiteful, and regretting his decisions. He didn't like marching, and he certainly did not like the warm weather overhead. Markem looked tireless, even as his bodyguard 'Dirt' looked to have bags in his eyes and dazed. However, at long last, after a long blitz into Tussock's quarter, they had arrived at the fortress.

"Alright! Were here lads! Begin surroundin the main fortress, I want to cut off their supply lines as soon as we can!" Markem barked. The vermin horde passed by him, doing as they bid, pitching their tents to the walls of Tussock itself. Markem had hoped he would be hardened to war, but now that he was looking at Tussock, he felt a twinge of regret.

Tussock was a massive wooden fortress, sitting upon a stone base. Towers, moats, and a small wooden keep laid onto the far end of the fort, but the fortress was truly bigger then Markem remembered. He and 'Dirt' looked up, both amazed for different reasons at the sheer size of the fortress. Markem could see dots of hares scurrying about the walls, all armed with bows. The gates to the fortress were sloped, and a series of sloped ditches would make it impossible to scale the walls without breaching the main gate. Markem had numbers, he didn't have the means to siege down the fortress.

Coming up behind him, a large wagon was being pulled towards a higher slope, a perfect spot for his command tent. As the laborers got to work, Markem continued to gaze over the fortress, thoughts popping in his head. Markem's daze was broken by the sounds of his fellow warlords behind him, arguing loudly.

"Ya be a fool if ya think praying the walls away be a legit mate tactic, ya daft bumbering. . .fool!" Kylan's voice was as boisterous as ever. Loud and obnoxious.

"You again purposely misunderstand me, I say we march around the walls, prodding for weaknesses. Then again, I am not surprised, since you seem so dead set on mocking the will of the seasons." Hazul's voice came next, but it was strained and oily.

Markem didn't want to really turn around to greet them, and looked to 'Dirt' who was surveying the fortress.

"Well. This here be Tussock, 'Dirt'."

"Yup." 'Dirt' sadly agreed. "Do you wish me to help set up the pavilion, sir? I don't imagine you need me with that circus of loudmouths behind us."

Markem nearly snickered, but held himself back. "Keep. . .keep yer tongue silent around that lot of clowns, they be less friendly den me, and ya know it. But yes. Go an help em', but keep close, alright?"

'Dirt' nodded and went off to help the other laborers, or well slaves, who were setting up the pavilion. Markem was joined by the other warlords, looking over Tussock in the distance, some already disheartened as they looked out over the killing field. Markem was tired, even though the sun was hanging overheard in the afternoon, and the vermin were spreading out around the fort.

"Hey chief." Kylan began "So what be our plan wit Tussock?"

"We'll talk wit dem first, Kylan." Markem began, although his words shocked the other warlords. "An when or if they deny us, den we plan for an assault."

Hazul interjected "Not to be disloyal, Markem, but that sounds foolish. The hares are as treacherous as the sea, and their words cannot be trusted. An assault would be costly, and we barely have any siege equipment as it is. An assault would be pyrrhic at best, disastrous at worst." Many of the warlords nodded in agreement, but even this was interjected by Kylan.

"Are ya all deft! We got dem outnumber over a hundred to one! Maybe even more so! Besides, dey be gentle beasts, even if skilled wit der blade, dey will not act on der pragmatism."

Markem spoke to the gathered warlords "I know it sounds unorthodox, but trust me, it will be worth our time. While I try to talk down this enemy, I will entrust Hazul and Resker to begin plotting our assault, since you two have the most experience in it. Scarl will aid in this endeavour. The remaining number of you will begin directing the vermin to lay down siege works, and begin building ladders, for time is of the essence. Tussock is not the home of the hares, nay, it is but an outpost. An outpost and thorn in our side for generations, and we cannot afford it to remain there."

Luzgot spoke out "Truly you are hopeful, my 'lord', but let's be real here, this will be costly. In life and in time if we fail."

"True, but we waste even more if we do not deal with the hares now."

The other warlords did not look sure, but obeyed regardless. Kylan stayed by Markem's side, and once they left, Kylan looked to Markem with a worried glance.

"Ya be confident we can assault Tussock? Ya gots a plan, right?"

Markem nodded "Kind of, Kylan. Kind of."
_

Markem waited till evening, sitting in the grass and looking out over the fortress of Tussock. He barely noticed 'Dirt' coming over and standing next to him, giving heavy breaths. Markem glanced over at his pavilion, and noticed it was done and set up. Markem was for the most part resting from his march, but in reality he was in a daze of worry. Time, organization, it was all a troublesome act that could collapse with a single mistake, and he would have no help or idea on how to fix it. Too much depended on speed, and his plan was risky. He wondered if Pelg the Tall had this same anxiety when commanding troops, but perhaps it was best not to make comparisons with that fool. Markem spoke up, although with a strain in his voice.

"'Dirt', need ya to find me banner beast and a couple guards. Maybe Scarl if he ain't busy."

"Yes, sir." 'Dirt' went off to do his duties. Markem continued to look out over the fortress, the sun setting in the horizon. The vermin were snug in their siege, building trenches and setting up outer defenses. This vast horde depended on food and protection, and he hoped his fellow warlords kept to his designs. Thoughts clouded his mind, images of brutal defeat, dead vermin scattering the fields like a red sunrise looming in ominous horror. Markem shook the thought out of his mind, he had no time for such fantasies.

In due time, 'Dirt' returned with several vermin, with Scarl amongst them. Scarl tapped Markem's shoulder, and the rat arose, putting on his big and cumbersome horned helm. He turned to Scarl, looking less then well.

"Are ya okay, mate?" Scarl raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. . .yes. I am. We are marchin off to Tussock's gates. However, I need ya to scan the battlements Scarl fer marksbeasts. Last thing I need is the Long Patrol bein suddenly dishonorable."

Scarl slowly nodded his head as Markem turned and headed towards the fortress. 'Dirt' was about to go elsewhere, but Markem's voice called out to him. "'Dirt', to me. Don't a sudden lazy, slavebeast."

'Dirt' sighed and obeyed, awkwardly coming by Markem's side as they approached the fortress gates. The younger vermin holding Markem's brown banner was holding for dear life to the banner, as Scarl came close to his chief, whispering to him.

"Chief, Ya know I never questioned ya before, but why this? They know, and we know, neither of us be surrenderen. We be risking a lot fer talken to our enemies."

"True. However, Scarl, it ain't fer the likes of the Long Patrol. Look behind us."

Scarl did so, looking behind to see several warlords looking out with curiosity at Markem and his group. Scarl was unsure of what he was supposed to see, but he could see Kylan and Hazul on different sides, watching intently with their captains. Several others, such as Lusker and Jakker were all watching as well, but this number was added to several curious vermin marauders and slaves who looked on with confusion and wonder. Scarl thought a bit and turned back to Markem.

"They be watchen, Scarl. If we are to set an example fer them all, we gotta make sure we be setten dat example right. Don't ya agree?"

"Hmph. I suppose, but I don't like the risk either way. What does speaking to the hares do besides saying we speak to our enemies?"

"Well, to me it be simple. We don't attack first, we talk first, and if we get something out of this, all the better. It is more important to others that talken wit the woodlanders is far more important then just goin on in, butchering their lot. You see how paranoid dat lot is, I don't want dem to think every meeting ends in violence, every encounter is life an' death. Giving our enemy a chance to speak before we attack sets us on a pedestal they should be looken up to. . .right?"

Scarl was nearly in full agreement, up until Markem seemed unsure. Despite all their years of success and glory, Markem was still the ignorant oaf of a soldier at heart. Scarl spoke, although with some understanding "Sounds good an' all, but if this does end in violence, we just proved to them right. We should be careful, Markem, regardless."

The group came up to the gates of the Tussock, the massive wooden frame hanged over them like a shadow. The hares on top were looking down, their bows in paw and their colorful vests gleamed behind the dimness of the evening. Scarl peered his eyes to the towers, he could spot at least one of their snipers looking down, but his bow was relaxed, his dark green vest was harder to spot than others. There was a booming voice from the top of the gates, which spoke down to the group below.

"You come to Fort Tussock, wot! What do you want, vermin?"

Markem perked up and yelled back "I wanted to talk, mate! Who I be speaken to?"

"What? I cannot hear you! Speak louder!"

"No, I mean to speak to speak to you!" Markem's voice grew strained and annoyed. Was this a Hare tactic?

"Sorry, you said No? No to what, well speak up!"

Markem was taken slightly aback, speaking to a small group of vermin or a crowd was a lot easier when he could at least see them. Markem yelled out even louder, straining his voice.

"Send yerself or someone to treat wit me! Yellen ain't me strongest boon!"

There was a tense silence, and a small door within the wooden frame of the gate opened up. Coming out of that gate was a smoothed hare, monocle wearing commander. Scarl whispered into the warlord's ear, informing him that he was staring as Busk Rattlebush, commander of Tussock. Markem only nodded as he witnessed 6 other Long Patrol hares come out with spears, surrounding their commander, and looking with shifty eyes in all directions. They expected a trick, and Markem could not blame them.

There was an awkward silence between the two groups. Markem sniffed and took out his sword, and the hares tensed up. Busk did not move, wondering if Markem was this stupid to try to kill him so close to his gate. Instead, Markem leaned on the sword and took off his helm, letting it slap onto the dirt below him. Markem gave a weak smile to Busk.

"Name's Markem. Not sure ya care fer surnames, hare."

Busk fixed himself and fixed his ever falling monocle. He straightened himself up and began to speak "Busk. Busk Rattlebush the III, Commander of Tussock's garrison, Long Patrol Senior Officer, and receiver of over 20 good metals. Servant of Salamanderstron. As for your surname, I know enough, Markem Brownnose."

Markem nodded. 'Dirt' and Scarl looked oddly at one another, much like how the hares looked oddly at them. 'Dirt' felt a bit embarrassed, keeping his paws as far away from his sword as possible, although he had wished he could hide the shame of his neck. Scarl on the other hand looked like he was about to grind his teeth, anxious at what either Markem or Busk would do. He paid attention as far as he could, but he was truthfully quite worried.

"I'll give to ya straight, and skip yer formalities, but by me own protocols I will give ya terms of surrender regardless. You and yer officers will be imprisoned, but the remainder of ya will be left alone. Disarmed and under me own's care, but disarmed. Those who resist will be taken in as slaves, but will be treated fairly."

Busk grunted "As protocol demands of me, I can bloody well tell you that is unacceptable. We will not surrender this fort. I will only offer you this, your vermin are to lay down your arms, turn around, and leave Mossflower and its people. Your slaves will be freed, and you will be someone else's problem. Failure will mean death, chap."

"Quite confident in victory, eh?" Scarl interjected. Markem turned to give him a vicious stare, and Scarl silenced himself.

"It is not a secret, Salamanderstron will come with an army, it will devastate yours, and we will still be holding this fort by the end. We are well prepared for your arrival. Our water source is clean and well dug out, and we have enough food to keep us alive for years. Even several of your 'tributaries' joined our cause all too eagerly, wot."

"No big surprise, but there be a reason I am here."

Busk raised an eyebrow to Markem, and listened.

"We both got families, and I know all too well yer's are snug in der. I will not convince ya to surrender, but I will offer ya peace an a pact, if ya hear me out. If worse comes to worse for ya, I will spare yer families death and indignity, but I cannot offer the same to yer soldiers. In turn, if worse comes to worse fer me and me lads. You will do the same."

Busk was silent, not sure of what to think of this 'deal'. He squinted his eyes and coughed "Is that it? I am a Long Patrol commander, rat, not some jumped up barbarian like the company you keep. Regardless of your assumptions of me and my hares, we will not harm your families as we always have. However, I will accept this 'pact' of yours in due term. On one condition."

"An that is?"

"You will delay your inevitable assault for a week." Busk smirked

Then something happened in which Busk didn't particularly respect. Markem only smiled "Agreed." Busk was unsure of what to make of this, but his honor would not demand to further delay it. All he would need was a week to patch up all the holes in his defensive lines, and any assault would be impossible. Busk came forward and extended his arm to shake Markem's. Markem happily accepted. 'Dirt' was dumbfounded, unsure of what Markem's game was, but the rat and hare parted their ways and made their way back to their respective camps.

"If I may ask, Markem, what was dat all about?" Scarl looked concerned at Markem, he smiled as they walked back to their camp.

"I'll tell ya more when we get back to camp. Fer now, Scarl, lets drink. We got a week to make ready."

---

"A week?!"

There was a murmur in Markem's pavilion, his personal tent and command center. The other warlords and Markem were all huddled around a table, each flanked by guards or family. Hazul had his brother, and so did Kylan. They were opposite of each other, neither able to stand one another. Markem stood across from a sitting Luzgot, who was flanked by his own bodyguard. Of those around the table, Scarl was missing, and this made 'Dirt' nervous. Being Markem's bodyguard use to be a lot easier when he wasn't a warlord conquering Mossflower, his time amongst the vermin had taught him one important lesson; trust was nonexistent. Nearly all at the table, except for Hazul and Kylan, had tried to kill or usurp Markem at some point. 'Dirt' stood off to the side, his eyes peering around at the gathered vermin who did not bother to look at him. Yet, the sickening feeling in 'Dirt's' stomach did him no favors.

"Yes. A week. You all have time to prepare." Markem sighed

Luzgot shot up, as Markem would predict he would "An what exactly are they gonna do fer a week! Sit on der tushes. These are Long Patrol, they are fortifying their weak position, fixing up their gates, every moment we delay will make them more defensible then before!"

"Aye, I gotta agree with Luzgot, it was foolish to give em' a week fer such a poor offer." Related Lusket. The others nodded their heads, but Markem was quick to reiterate.

"Yer right, it be foolish to think the Long Patrol are going to sit an' wait, but an assault now will, as ya all reminded me when we got here, would also be foolish. Were not here to bash out entire army taking Tussock. We are here for Mossflower itself, and less casualties the better."

Luzgot raised his voice "An pray tell, 'Great Warlord', is yer plan in all this? There ain't many means to siege the hares. It's not like we can wait a year, even with good food supplies from yer realm."

"We will assault Tussock in a week. Hazul and I have the most experience assaulting forts like dis. I have a plan, mates, but it be risky an' needs are full attention."

"This plan is?"

Markem laid out a poorly drawn map of the fort, one of Scarl's quick paws before he left. Hazul was quick to speak up, pointing to the main gate "Our attack will need to come from multiple directions, and all at once, dividing the Long Patrol's archers. One group will build a covered battering ram, but there will be no ram for it. This will be both our main force, and our distraction."

Markem piped up, a bit proud "Two other groups will assault the fort, one larger group from the back, and an elite group who will fight to the main gate from one of the sides. Using ropes and ladders, we'll open the gate to allow the main army in. Tis risky, an difficult, but I will be leading the main assault in group three."

The other warlords looked to one another, it sounded like a great plan on paper, but they were not so sure. They whispered to one another, but they eventually began to nod their heads. Luzgot looked to Markem, wondering if he was being tricked. How can this lout think for a second that this 'plan' will work. Is he leading us all into death? Is he secretly a Long Patrol spy this whole time? Would surprise me none. Luzgot remained silent, but eventually nodded as well, not wishing to look foolish in front of the other warlords. As everyone backed away from the table and began to shuffle back to their hordes, only Hazul and Kylan stayed. They both stared as Markem, who couldn't hold back a smile. Once they were all gone, they began to converse in private.

"Risky, ain't it Markem?" Kylan abruptly said "Trusten Luzgot an' dat lot. Ya leaden the assault be brave an' all, but what if Luzgot decides to run, or any of them do it in poor spirits?"

"That is exactly why I agreed to hold it all off till a week. Gives us time to make our siege tools. . .and to coax loyalty from the rest of them. Scarl has already begun his work, so I ask ya two not to bother him much, but I have tasks fer the both of ya."

Hazul and Kylan listened intently as Markem spoke in a hushed tone "Hazul I need yer religious expertise fer once. The Bloodrack's hordebeasts, dey be a religious lot, an both ya an' I know it. I need ya to work on them, getting them loyal to me cause. Kylan, ya know Resker's crew well. I need ya to do a little more then just bribe them. I need ya to befriend der captains and hordebeasts, make em' loyal more to the Band then to Resker."

"And you?" Hazul gave a cold and silent whisper.

"Mossflower's hordebeasts be my domain. Ya have yer commissions. If der hordes are unwilling to abandon this cause, their warlords will follow suit, an any damned plot of betrayal is snuffed out. Let hop to it."
_

A group of vermin were huddled around a small campfire in the night, a fairly large group comparatively to all the others around them. Vermin did not make many friends, especially amongst each other, as each belonged to different hordes. There were three rats, a fox, two weasels, and a ferret. One rat, who called himself Dacum, looked about himself, and the company he was keeping. They were on a farther end of the camp, near the forests, having heard nothing but construction crews working on something. Dacum gobbled down his lukewarm soup, washing away his many regrets for having been conscripted into a horde and not fleeing the moment he had a chance.

"Don't burn yerself, rat." The fox perked up "Er at least, don't make me hungry again, eh?"

"Oh stuff it, Roachmane. Ya already had plenty, more den enough!"

Dacum didn't know Roachmane well, and by his name, he probably didn't wish to know him. The fox was scraggly, revealing he was a part of Lusket's crew. The fox had a sea worn shirt, and patches of his fur looked bloodied from poorly healed wounds. Even though he was probably the oldest in the group, he certainly did not show it.

"Lay off, starch breath. I just be hungry again is all. The surgeon says I got big stomach, so I need plenty of rest an' food."

"Big Stomach me behind, ya are just lazy layabout." Dacum recognized the voice as his new friend's. Stagver Blacknose, a member of Daskom Bloodrack's horde. The rat was odd to Dacum, as Stagver not only proudly was quick to remind everyone of his surname, but also a very proud northerner. Stagver wasn't funny, a prideful idiot, but he was kind to fellow rats.

"Heh. To not get too hung up on the whole foolery, whatcha thinkin ya boys wanna do tonight?" Spoke up one of the weasels. Dacum was unsure if that was Gasvick or Nurvick, twin brothers.

"Bah to you an' yer cheaten games. Ain't any of ya worried about Tussock?" Spoke up another voice, a rat named Losgar, a fellow rat and a member of Luzgot's gang. Dacum sat down his bowl and listened intently as his newfound friends and compatriots bickered.

"I don't cheat."

"Aye, we don't always cheat."

"Even if ya don't wanna cheat, you lot brought nothin but loaded dice!"

The ferret in the group chuckled to himself. He smiled all around, which made Dacum rather nervous. Dacum was unsure of who even he was, as everyone just called him 'Slinky' for short. 'Slinky' came from. . .somewhere. Maybe Mossflower. Maybe Jusbrag. Or maybe from the depths of hell itself. Dacum was never very sure, but 'Slinky' spoke up to address the group.

"Listen to ol' Losgar over der fer a moment, mates. What we even doin here, aye?"

"Siegen, ya nitwit." Stagvar sneered "Whacha think we be doin? Havin a vacation to the edge of an' ol Long Patrol fort?"

"Aye, that be what I sayin. Were here, why aren't we siegin it. It all seems rather odd if ya thinks about it."

The two weasels spoke up "Our captain said" "That we be readin in a weeks, he says" "Yea, and that we gots to be all tip top an' in shape he says" "I thinks, or maybe top tip in shapes." "Maybe, he speaks w-"

"Aye, Cap'n says we gotta be all ready in the week, but he an the mates aren't so sure. That dem Markem fellow be a bit cuckoo, ain't he? Right?" Roachmane spoke with caution. There was a reason for his caution, as there was soon a silence in the camp. Nearly everyone respected Markem, but knew only so little. Dacum didn't really know the warlord really well, nor his own for that matter. He was conscripted when he was young to march with Jakker's horde.

"Aye, he be a weird one." Losgar shrugged "Ya ever been to Gholand before, lads? I was der, odd folk Markem an his horde be. Dey treat der slaves a lot better then me cap'n treats me it seems. Der folk be happy, even consider abandonen to join up wit Markem, really."

"Aye." "Same." The two weasels said in unison, although albeit sadly. Dacum only partly knew why. They had related a sad tale of their 'conscription' into Resker's horde. They were taken young as well, but were brought as slaves to Resker's footsteps and brought into the horde together, although their experiences there had left them shaken. Only Roachmane seemed hesitant.

"I don't know about ya lot, but Markem be this 'great warlord' now, an it gots me thinkin. Are our bosses our boss, or is Markem our boss, cause he is our chief's boss? I ain't so keen abandon me cap'n, even if. . .erm. . ." Roachmane seemed to silence himself. The fox licked his lips. "He gots food, ya know? Lots o' it. Never seen so much food in me life, ya know, even stealen an pillagin."

"Its cause he make the woodlanders do it, eh? I mean, he don't enslave em' workbeasts like me chief does."

"Aye, sounds stupid to me. Works I guess, though."

Another figure approached the campfire, and none of them really cared who it was. It was likely just another soldier. The group spoke to each other, conversing and sometimes occasionally laughing. A large and older rat sat down next to Roachmane, with a bowl of soup in his paws. The shield was to his back and a sword to his side, and he looked quite well armored for a common hordebeast. Dacum lazily looked over, and soon others did as well to see their new guest.

"Evenin night, folk." Markem coldly said, sipping on his meal. One by one the other soldiers realized who sat amongst them. They could recognize him only partly, and each stumbled their words in an awkward silence. Stagvar shot up to give a humble bow to the warlord, but Markem gave him a stern look and spoke "Do not do that, no need fer it. Sit. Please."

Stagvar shot back down, as Markem casually drank from his stew. The group was silent as Markem looked about them as if they were trembling babes "Well, ya lot be silent? Did a wildcat rip out yer tongues?"

"No, no, nay sir!" Roachmane stumbled. Markem patted his back in a friendly motion as he looked about the group, giving a pained smile.

"I know it ain't really 'orthodox' fer yer cap'ns and warlords to sit amongst ya lot, but much like you, I started around campfires such as this. I am more use to you lot then others are, an I frankly enjoy the company of fellow hordebeasts. I'd ask ya not to tell yer cap'ns that, if ya would so kindly." Markem chuckled. Dacum also partly chuckled. Markem continued "Bah. Sieges an' assaults, ya lot ever been in one?"

The group collectively shook their heads. Markem related a fanciful story, of his siege of Veekun's Borrow. Stagvar listened intently as well, he had heard tales of Hazul and his tribe, but Markem spun quite a tale in a rather relatable fashion, telling the most brutal truths he could. The vicious fighting, the shoving, the difficulty of pushing between enemies and friends alike. Markem related to this small group all these difficulties, and never spun it in the best way. Roachmane interrupted "Ya make it sound like were goin into a death trap!"

"Aye, cause likely we are."

"We?" 'Slinky' raised an eyebrow.

"This assault will not be my first, nor me last. When you folk are all ready, I will be there amongst ya. No doubt yer cap'ns will tell ya later."

"Why later?"

"Well, folk better acquainted then me say if you lot know everythin, and one of ya get captured an' tortured by the Long Patrol, den it won't be much of a secret anymore. Making a death trap a lot worse for the lot of ya. . .and me." Markem looked around, seeing the group collectively agreeing with his logic.

Dacum was impressed, but silent, he watched as his friends eagerly joked and then played cards with the Great Warlord himself. He knew all their personal rituals of the hordebeasts, all the slang, all the personal problems they had with their captains. Dacum once wondered how this warlord who his captain once called 'weak and clownlike' under his breath could be so wrong. Markem joked with them, laughed and heard their concerns. Roachmane worried heavily about the upcoming battle, but yet here the Great Warlord was, talking to him as if they were equal. Dacum smiled, as the group soon began a game of dice with the weasel's brother loaded dice, and Dacum would join them soon after. When all was said and done, Markem told them he was bad with names, and left them to go back to his tent.

Unbeknownst to them all however, Scarl and 'Dirt' were hidden in bushes nearby, watching the group intently. 'Dirt' had a tight grip on his sword as Markem returned to his tent in peace. Once far away, 'Dirt' rushed to be by his side, and Scarl followed shortly thereafter. Markem was smiling to himself as Scarl felt a touch of nostalgia.

"A couple more nights like dat, Markem, and their hordes may just throw their entire lot in with ya."

"Dat's the plan, Scarl. That's the plan."
_

It was day three, and the morning sun showed over the vermin siege, although it was not in the best of moods. There was an unease across the camp, as lookouts looked worried at the fortress. The camp was closer than normal for comfort, but far enough away to not be targeted by enemy arrows. The Long Patrol hares looked like stone statues, in comparison to their vermin counterparts across the fields. The vermin began to build a large series of trenches around the outside and inside of their siege, placing wooden stakes and other small defenses. In the far off field, under the careful eye of overseers, several woodlanders were building a covered ram in secret, while other teams worked on ladders. The vermin foraged for food, but the food situation of the camp was well stabilized. Food shipments from Markem's tributaries arrived every other day, and forager kept the massive horde well fed. Although the Hares expected laziness on the part of the vermin, most of the horde was partly training. Hazul observed exercises of his bowbeasts, while Kylan and his captains trained the newer members of the horde to march.

Markem sat in his pavilion, alone mostly, his attention on his desk filled with scribbles and reports. His otter bodyguard was outside, keeping visitors to a minimum. Markem would have preferred to lead an army as a soldier or captain, but as a warlord himself, managing everything was difficult. He needed a constant stream of information that hurt his head, reading through report after report.

Parb and some allies from Luzgot's realm had been very successful in the south, they had overwhelmed many of the main villages beyond the river, and had kept to his orders. However, news also poured in which concerned him. Busk had been right, several woodlanders had disappeared from the tributary villages, and likely had made off to the fort, engorging the numbers within. Parb's force was successful, but the horde was ambushed near the river and was forced to retreat, taking some losses. The Long Patrol outside the fort had entirely escaped, likely regrouping with a larger force elsewhere in Mossflower. Markem was tempted to send a relief force to Parb, but he needed his armies here. A victory as Tussock will toll the end of Salamanderstron's badger lords, I just need a victory here.

Markem was snapped back to reality with a furl of cloth lifted in his tent. 'Dirt' came inside and said "Sir, Resker is here to see you."

"Send him on in, 'Dirt'." Markem icely replied. 'Dirt' did as he was bidded, and the fellow warlord stepped into the room. Markem looked up at the pine marten who came over to his desk and folded his arms. Markem was a little worried, Resker usually had a grim smile or a bored expression, but today he seemed to have a saddened frown.

"Markem, we gotta talk about yer. . .policies."

"Which ones?" Markem quickly retorted

"A bunch of em'. Ya set up a bunch of slaves to work on the ladders fer the upcoming siege, but instructed the overseers to not oversee em'? I'd ask if ya gone mad, but I think we both know the answer."

Markem shrugged "What be the matter? Last time I saw yer overseers in action, they practically crippled one of yer workbeasts and killed another. To be honest, Resker, I find that kind of thing wasteful. I thought it more prudent to just have the work beasts work on der own thing with limited oversight, so I sent yer overseers to do somethin else. So whats the problem?"

"Its best I show ya." Resker grunted. Markem grunted back, but obeyed his fellow warlord. The two set off, with 'Dirt' in tow as the group veered around the massive siege and into the woods. Markem and 'Dirt' could sense something was wrong with the abnormal number of vermin in the building site. The section of the woods they were in was well covered, hiding the prying eyes of the fort from a clearing where siege ladders were being constructed. As Markem looked around, the builders of the ladders, a sizable group of slaves from his own realm, were sitting or kneeling on the ground, a group of very angry vermin looking over them. One slave in particular, a dormouse, was held by one of Resker's hordebeasts by the gruf of his neck. Markem didn't really recognize him, but the creature looked like he was frightened. His eyes shifted to his work, a siege ladder that was halfway finished.

Resker wordlessly went over and brought the ladder to Markem, partly lifting it up. "Gently touch one of handles of. . .erm, about here." Resker pointed to a top rung of the siege ladder. Markem looked awkwardly at it and lightly touched the ladder's top rung and it fell apart quickly in his paw. Markem stared down at the broken wood, realizing what Resker was getting at. Sabotage.

"Ah. I see." Markem sighed

"Dis be why we need overseers, Markem. They don't watch the slaves doin this kind of thing, dey will start to sabotage things. Me lads caught it in time, thankfully, and dis idiot be the main trouble. The other ladders were fine, but it be clear as day that this lot didn't particularly care when they knew full well what was happenen."

Markem pondered for a moment, he and 'Dirt' looking over at the dormouse. Markem moved his way over, but 'Dirt' stood still in frozen fright. He didn't know what Markem would honestly do. When Markem was standing in front of the dormouse, he spoke firmly and calmly.

"I don't need yer reasons, or yer apologies if ya have them, but I will ask ya this. Any particular reason Gutan added ya to me builders?" Resker watched from a distance, observing the 'Great Warlord' in action. He was curious as to Markem's organization, even amongst his serfs. The dormouse froze for a moment before gulping and speaking up.

"I. . .I. . .yes. I was a mason in the northeast, or well, ya know, apprentice of sorts, kind of, it wasn't re-"

Markem held up his paw and he stopped talking. Markem nodded, thinking and then decided. "Your gonna be sent back to Gholand for Gutan to take care of ya, an' ya should know the consequences if ya continue to fail me in such a manner again." Markem's voice was calm, but cold. Resker was about to interject to this supposed mercy, but Markem went over to the others woodlanders.

"Which one of ya is an engineer by trade? Or Mason?" Markem shouted. There was a murmur, but a mouse raised his paw weakly. Markem came over to him.

"Congratulations, you have a promotion. Your gonna teach a group of vermin of me choice to build these ladders. You start today. Your rations of food, and a tent, will be provided rather then yer typical barracks. I expect results by tomorrow. You need anything in particular?"

The mouse was stunned in silence but spoke up "Ya. I will need. . .erm. . .maybe a guard at best. For protection from any of your. . .uhhh. . .students?"

Markem nodded and turned back to the rest of the group "The rest of you are going to another site, to work on another project. Guard! Get em' moving." One of Markem's embarrassed overseers did as ordered. Resker was curious at what game Markem was playing at, but when Markem returned to him, he didn't seem sure of himself either. Markem in fact looked rather embarrassed.

"Odd choice of decisions, Markem." Resker sneered "Don't know ho-"

"No Resker, you were right."

Resker paused, lifting an eyebrow "Well, yes. Of course. I am right." Resker was honestly quite surprised, although hid it under his tenure of arrogance.

"The goal of me horde, Resker, is to do more then just conquer these lands. Its to uplift our people. Not just rats, but all vermin. We rely too much on slaves to do even the most basic tasks, which is why I'd ask ya to send yer own hordebeasts, to learn what woodlanders know."

"Ya get yerself an 'our people' wrong, Markem. They know full well how to do basic tasks. We wouldn't have hatchets an swords if there weren't vermin who smithed. If der be one thing I can agree on with ya, is that more vermin should know how to do basic things, but we need em' on the front lines, not meandering in workcamps."

"True, but what about what comes after, Resker? When ya got nothin but angry slaves worken, dey die an' who replaces em? More slaves? My thinkin be simple. Ya teach vermin today, ya don't gotta deal with the problems tomorrow. I am gonna have to drag our people, the vermin, to better themselves. Even if I have to do it kicking an' screamen."

Resker gave a friendly chuckle "Yer a strange one Markem, which is why I like ya. I'll give up some of me younger conscripts for this endeavour. Just don't be wasten them, cause we don't got much else to spare."
_

The week had dragged on, and the vermin grew ever more anxious. The day of their planned assault approached fast, but their commanders kept silent about the affair. Luzgot on the other hand stood near his own pavilion, sneering and spiteful as ever. Luzgot still wore his overly ornate armor as he looked over Tussock, the final day slowly going down in the distance. Luzgot was annoyed, as he awaited an 'old acquaintance' to make his appearance to him. Luzgot had waited for Markem to inevitably mess up, so he could make his moves, keeping an eye out for that wretched Scarl and Markem's little pets. Luzgot was joined by the slow and trudging Dannek, carrying a silver platter with his food and drink. The mole gave a silent sigh, as Luzgot angrily took up his goblet and drank greedily.

"Fool creature, where is he?" Luzgot said annoyed. Just on cue however, a shadowy figure began to climb up the hill and towards Luzgot's tent, which Luzgot instantly recognized.

"Evenen Luzzie." Lusket's voice rang out in a friendly, sea ridden tone. Luzgot cringed and snarled in turn "Yer late, Lusket. We got much to discuss." Luzgot turned in harsh order, knocking Dannek nearly to the ground. The mole snapped to attention and returned inside, before his master noticed that he had dropped some of his precious food.

Luzgot and Lusket were perhaps the only warlords who were on friendly terms with one another, but then again, everyone liked Lusket. Markem enjoyed his company the most, viewing the sea rat turned warlord as a fellow underdog. Luzgot had made favorable trades with Lusket, and even enjoyed his support in earlier years. Luzgot however had his distrust of the Lusket regardless. A warlord is a warlord at the end of the day, no matter how much they profess their beliefs. Luzgot and Lusket sat down in Luzgot's personal pavilion, a monstrosity of both richness and poverty. Everything Luzgot had with him looked smashed, misused, and expensive. Lusket awkwardly sat down on a broken looking chair, which was barely stable to hold his weight.

"Ya know why I called ya, Lusket. Here, have a drink. A toast to our lord an' master, Markem." Luzgot sarcastically sighed, offering the pirate a drink. Lusket eagerly accepted, practically chugging down his drink.

"Ya may not like'em, matey. However, Markem did do something few can even dream of, eh? Ya gotta give em' credit fer that."

"He only wins because we let'em. Remember when I approached ya way back when, sayen that this little upstart is gonna have us all on leashes if we didn't crush em? An ya said, an I quote 'Whats he gonna do, become the next Kasg?'"

Lusket stopped drinking and seemed a bit ashamed. He and the other warlords became aware of Markem when he first assault Jusbrag and puppeted the fortress under Kylan. They weren't really concerned then, Markem was just another upstart who overthrew Jusbrag's ever revolving door of warlords, and no one expected much. Then Markem assaulted Veekun's Burrow, bringing over fanatics and zealots under his thrall. Then he defeated Parb. Then Luzgot. The list went on, and all the warlords tried their hand on murdering him, but all failed in increasingly embarrassing ways.

"Now look where we are. Ya may not see it, but the yoke on us is tighter den ya think, Lusket."

"Perhaps. . .but is it really so bad?"

Luzgot nearly spat out his own drink, but choked on it instead. The choking brought attention to Luzgot's new bodyguard who came in, and helped the warlord out of his choking fit. Luzgot shooed him away quickly, and recollected himself.

"Say again, cause I better not have heard ya sayen ya like bein Markem's tool."

"Look, Markem may be a bit power hungry, sure, but he gots everyone wrapped around his paw. Yet here we are better fer it. Ya think he be some blood thirsty tyrant, an I mean, he is, but he ain't really dat bad, mate."

"You cannot be serious."

"I am! Just the other day, I be speaken to me crew, an dey all like the rat. I even gave Markem some advice, and by the sea he listened and observed. Resker likes him. Kylan. Hazul. The rest. He takes everyone's advice quite seriously, an' even better, he is liked by every hordebeast in dis here camp. I like to think of myself as a prag mo tist, an when I see dis rat bringing everyone together to assault Tussock? Ya gotta admit Markem is doin somethin right."

Luzgot was beside himself. He had hoped to sway Lusket to his way of viewing things. Even if Scarl knew through his double agent, that ferret would not have the means to get rid of Lusket without suspicion. Instead, Luzgot was witnessing a vermin who he thought as just slightly beneath him willingly accept his place in Markem's accursed hierarchy. Subservient, what has this world come to when a warlord willenly makes em'self a serf! Luzgot collected himself again as Lusket smiled. The two rats talked only briefly there afterwards on small details, but Luzgot hid his spite for him. When Lusket excused himself, Luzgot wondered if he should have started far earlier in getting the others on his side, but the moment had clearly passed. Alone, listening for Lusket to be far off in the distance, Luzgot stirred.

Slamming his paw into the table, nearly smashing it to splinters, he roared out. "Snackfur! Gazla! To me, you dolts!"

Rushing inside, both captains appeared and bowed to Luzgot. He angrily looked them over and spoke with a seething tone.

"Markem's plan is simple, but I want. . ." Before Luzgot spoke, he coughed and looked to Kudgel who stood nearby. Luzgot gave a pained smile "Kudgel, I need you to go out an' get me a. . .secretive accounting of me beasts. All of dem. Specifically the bigger ones." Kudgel hopped to his task, in which Dannek listened intently as Luzgot felt more comfortably speaking.

"Now listen ya two, I gots a plan. If this works, we can kill a bunch of birds wit one stone. Markem gots everyone in a hustle, but I want you two to bring our horde to the front of the battle line at the gates. When Markem takes the gates, I want ya to purposefully stop and 'misinterpret' the orders, an try to push the other armies to a crawl. Ya two got that? Spread the word amongst the other captains, and make sure our orders are crystal clear."

Gazla and Snackfur nodded and went about their task, as Dannek went about his, listening to their conversation in full.
_

Markem stood in his tent, the night of the attack was about to begin in earnest. His final preparations were in place, and he was pacing impatiently in his pavilion. 'Dirt' was relaxed, he had no doubt that Markem would once again be victorious as he always was, but he was more comfortable knowing he would not be going. Markem forbade him from joining him at Veekun's Burrow, 'Dirt' was confident he could rely on a more elite guard. Markem however looked nervous, and he had every right to be, there was a lot of risk in his plan, and a lot could go wrong. Yet, it wasn't the assault that he was waiting for.

Scarl came into the pavilion, a smirk on his face. He came up to Markem and nearly burst into laughter, but held onto his dignity.

"Alright, so my spies tell me. . .were pretty much good to go."

"Really? Dat be it?"

"Ya. All that extra planning and conversing certainly paid up as ya hoped. Much to me own amazement. Nearly all the warlords are ready an' on our side, our siege equipment is up to par, an' our troops be in position. At the height of the moon, dey be ready fer the assault. Ya sure ya wanna lead the assault yerself, though?"

"Personally, no, but I want dem to see der leader an' commander in the fray. Looks good an makes a lot of promises fulfilled. We aren't here to impress the likes of Kylan or Hazul, but to make an impression on der hordes. The warlords had some. . .interesting ideas."

"It just be reality knocken, Markem, ya cannot account fer it all."

"Yer right. Its just things been a lot simpler when it was just us an' a horde."

Scarl chuckled "it was, an speaking of warlords, our ol' pal Luzgot does got somethin planned it sounds like, but I took care of it."

Markem paused and squinted his eyes "Aye, really? He plannen on killen me again?"

Scarl didn't say anything at first, but he comforted Markem "No, no no. Nothen like dat. Just a little trick he wants to pull to embarrass ya. I took care of everything, Markem. Remember, we need-"

"I don't need him trying to murder me, Scarl. . .but if ya say its harmless and yer handelen it, I believe ya." Markem began to pace. He snapped at 'Dirt' who came over, and began to dress Markem in his armor. Although 'Dirt' picked up the horned helm that signifyed his authority, Markem depressingly called out. "Nay, just get me regular helm 'Dirt'. I don't want dat thing in the way."

"Of course, sir."

Markem turned to Scarl, as the warlord looked more and more grim. He looked the ferret dead in his eyes and uttered "If anything goes wrong, Scarl. I die, or worse. I order ya to get my family out of Gholand. An if Luzgot be still alive, stab him."

Scarl could see Markem was shivering with concern. Battle hardened he was, he was never prepared to face another assault, especially in his age. Scarl wordlessly bowed, accepting his orders, and left to go about his business.

'Dirt' finished up dressing his master in the fine chainmail that was like a second skin to Markem. Giving a loud crick in his neck, Markem turned slowly to 'Dirt'. The otter peered back and frowned "I will be here if you need me, sir. I don't imag-"

"Ya have a moment or two, and then ya join me at the front."

'Dirt' froze, as if time stood still, and then frowned. He fumbled his words "Sir, Tussock isn't a vermin encampment, it's a woo-"

"No excuses, 'Dirt'. You will be joining me in the battle." Markem turned, his shadow oppressively gliding itself on 'Dirt' form in the candle light. The otter didn't know if this was some joke. He shaped himself up and spoke. "Sir, I. . .I cannot kill fellow Woodlanders. Please, I-"

"And I don't like killing fellow vermin either, but here I am."

'Dirt' was silent, and then bowed his head, emotion overcoming him. Markem partly knew this, but said nothing of comfort. If only he were a rat, he'd probably understand. Hes gotta learn eventually if he is gonna be dealing with the likes of the Long Patrol, and dis is a perfect test of his loyalties. An' skill. Please, don't disappoint me, otter. Markem walked out of the pavilion, leaving 'Dirt' to his thoughts. The otter stood emotionless and relented. He knew the consequences if he did not go.

I don't need to kill anyone. Maybe just parry them. Maybe just injure them. I will never kill them. By my father and mother. I will not kill another fellow woodlander. Please spirits, don't kill them.

---

It had been the final hour to the date when Busk had met with Markem. In Tussock itself, Commander Busk Rattlebush was sitting in the camp's main officer lodging. In mostly a calm silence, Busk sat with his wife opposite of him, his two young sons off to the side enjoying some meager rations. Busk sipped lightly on his bowl of soup, knowing it would have to satisfy him for months at a time. Busk wanted to awkwardly comment to his wife that it was the finest soup he ever had. He feared she wouldn't believe him, and he continued unabated. There was a ferocious ticking of a Southward clock in the room, and a silence which disturbed him. Busk thought about the rat who surrounded his fort, and wondered about their deal. Markem had weirdly kept to his part of the deal, but Busk found it foolish.

The Long Patrol was waiting. It wouldn't take long for their runners to make their way to Salamanderstron and a proper army to form. 12 standard hours, and an entire division will set out from the mountain. In less than two weeks, they will break the siege. The speed of which a Long Patrol army could move would shake any vermin to his core, and all Busk had to do was wait. The gates were well secured, they wouldn't be opening any time soon. Logs were placed to keep rams from battering them down, and archers were posted day and night. Their new found allies, several tributaries who fled Markem's grasp were proving themselves well. Two mice were able to slicken the walls with oil, making climbing equipment difficult to hold onto. Two otters who joined him were excellent fighters, and a hedgehog slinger had nearly shamed his archers. Let Markem push into Tussock, the blighter. If he were smart, he'd probably just bloody well leave.

There was a noise, then several loud thuds. Clambering beyond the office door. Busk froze and came to attention. Something was happening outside, and he somehow knew fully what. He looked at his wife and muttered "Take the young ones down into the bunkers with the rest of the families, my dear. I won't be long." Busk set down his spoon and his wife obeyed, gathering his children and making their way outside. Busk never needed to worry about the Long Patrol families of Tussock, the bunkers beneath the fort were well stocked and secured, nothing but catastrophe would be needed to break into them.

Busk came outside, and was caught by an officer who looked panicked. He stood at attention and saluted.

"Large vermin force, heading towards the gate sir. Bad news, they built a covered ram."

"How large, officer?"

"I cannot count their number, but sizable. They got shields in front, and are guarding the ram. I think they mean to assault the front gate."

Busk climbed the walls of Tussock and looked out, surrounded by his archers and a couple of marksbeasts. In front of him, slowly climbing the hill was a massive vermin force, illuminated by torches. They were shouting war chants and blowing horns. Several of the vermin slingers were throwing flaming pots onto the ground to the side of the horde. This was a tactic Busk recognized, the vermin were lighting the way for a night time assault. However, Busk squinted. Something was wrong. Why were they going so slow?

"Take the archers to keep an eye on our other fronts, but keep our main force at the gates. Something isn't bloody right."

"The blighters!" One other hare at the far end yelled out. Busk could see the light from the far end, rushing over with some of his officers. He could hear the loud yelps and yells, as another large group of vermin began to ascend the hill. Busk looked into the distance, seeing Kylan Bignose and his brother, leading a charge from the back as hundreds of Jusbrag vermin began to climb the hill, ladders in tow.

"They mean to divide our number! Notch your arrows! Fire! Fire! Bloody fire!"
_

A small, but sizable, group was making its way on the side of Tussock. Cloaked in black cloaks, and knelt to the ground, the group made its way up to the walls. Silence was their main opportunity. The leader of the group held up his paw, and the group stopped, spotting a group of hares looking over the side before heading off to either the front or backside of Tussock. Once they were gone, the group moved again. The battle was beginning in earnest, and the group could hear cries of enemies and friends alike being felled. The Long Patrol unleashed long ranged bolts into the vermin in the back, slowing down their progress, while the Long Patrol in the front gate were preparing oil to burn away the shields of the vermin vanguard. When the group got to the gate, its leader let down his cloak and softly sneered.

"I saw a shine on the walls, Markem. They probably oiled them. We will need to do a few tries to get a proper hooking." Hazul silently relayed to his companion. Markem and 'Dirt' groaned in unison as Markem looked up. He could see the sheen of the oil in the moonlight, and cursed his luck.

"We don't got a lot of time. Get ready fer a breach. It won't be long till the main horde is in firing range of the hares. We have to unlock the gates and distract them far enough until Kylan and the other warlords come inside."

"I know, I know." Hazul anxiously said. He looked at his rats, one of them slowly carrying a ladder, a short one which wouldn't make a lot of noise. Hazul had an idea, a terrible idea, but an idea nonetheless.

"Markem. You and your guard kneel below the ladder, having it lay on top of you. Me and my rats will use our ropes to pull up the ladder quickly onto the walls, and other rats to push to get your climbers momentum."

Markem looked to Hazul as if he was stupid, but had no time to argue with him. Markem gathered his soldiers and laid on their backs, and Hazul's rats put a ladder on top of them. Hazul took 'Dirt' to the side, and the two latched ropes onto the ladder, and began to pull up. When it got to a certain height, with much heaving and huffing, the other water rats began to push on the ladder with Markem and his soldiers hanging on for dear life. Although they would nearly slip, Hazul went to the front and helped push on the ladder, allowing the vermin to safely land on the wall. Once the ladder was secure, the rats quickly jumped into Tussock's wall, followed shortly by a swarm of Hazul's water rats.

'Dirt' had second thoughts going on the ladder, but he didn't want Markem to think he ran. He reluctantly climbed the ladder, and began to hear screams of horror and battle on the other side. 'Dirt' finally found himself in Tussock, after many long seasons, as he felt the wooden flooring of the wall beneath him. He looked around and slowly drew his sword, looking for Markem. He was half panicked when he couldn't find him, but a tap on his shoulder shook him.

"Quickly 'Dirt'! Get to the ground level!"

The battle inside the fort was intense. Markem waited for Hazul and some of his rats to get inside, which was then they got the jump on the archers on the walls. When the soldiers below saw what was happening, they began to climb and jump the stairs to fight the vermin on the walls, only to come face to face with Markem himself. Markem's shield and sword extended as he crashed through the Long Patrol, cornering one and thrusting his sword into the hare. Hazul and his rats quickly began to fan out, trying to battle for the walls themselves and giving Markem and his elite soldiers space to regroup. Markem saw, much to his horror, the reinforcement on the inner gate, large sandbags and logs keeping the door tightly closed. Markem saw 'Dirt' standing around, confused, and drew him back into his line. With a charge down the walls, the elite guard were soon met with the Long Patrol and their allies below, swords drawn and ready for action.

Vermin fell like flies, but the Long Patrol were surprised by how effective and coordinated Hazul and his rats were. Markem charged down into the fray, but arrows protected his advance as black rat archers reigned down fire on their enemies. The tide however was turning fast. Markem could see how futile it would be to smash up the defenses of the gate itself, and he looked to the end wall. Markem called out to Hazul who was directed his archers.

"Hazul! Cover me, were gonna help Kylan climb the walls!"

Hazul directed his archers to distract the enemy, making it seem they were heading directly for the gate. Hazul's tribal rats rang their swords against hare steel. The archers on the walls were confused and dismayed, and regrouped at the end of the other wall, reigning down volleys on Hazul's archers. When they couldn't take it anymore, the black rats dived into the fortress grounds itself, taking potshots from buildings.

Markem was rushing with his guard, and fast, towards the far end of the wall. As he did, 'Dirt' kept pace. His eyes darted all around, clumsily and without purpose. He was better trained then this, but this was different. He didn't want to fight, especially not now. As Markem was closing in on his target, 'Dirt' tensed up. Without warning, a group of hares bursted from the alleys of the buildings and into Markem's line. Two vermin were felled instantly as Markem held his ground against others. One hare, a younger lad which 'Dirt' could guess, came between him and the others. The vermin fought ferociously, but once they learned they were fighting green recruits, they were bringing the hammer down upon them. The hare stared at 'Dirt', not sure what he was seeing in the dim light and attacked with a spear. 'Dirt' barely parried the spear out of the way, desperately trying to yell out.

"Wait. . ."

The hare did not listen, thrusting again into the otter's direction. 'Dirt' was forced to duck at this and slid closer to the hare. He yelped and struggled to speak.

"No. . ."

The hare struck a third time, grazing 'Dirt' across one of his shoulders. 'Dirt' grabbed the spear and tried to chuck it away, only to catch in time the hare pulling out a small shortsword to strike him down. In a single moment, 'Dirt' thrusted forward and the two were face to face. 'Dirt' terrified visage stared into the confused and mortified face of the young recruit. Both realized what had happened, but only 'Dirt' would remember it as the hare slid backwards and fell over dead. His blood stained 'Dirt' sword.

The otter froze in horror, practically falling over himself. He was frozen, but one of the vermin guards shook him "We are assaulting up the stairs! Get up there!" He shouted. 'Dirt' wasn't allowed the time to think it over and began to rejoin with Markem.
_

Below the gates themselves, the vermin host could see things happening in the distance. The various warlords watched from afar as Markem and Hazul breached into the main outfit and began to wreak havoc inside. Snackfur and Gazla were in the front of the horde, slowly marching up with a massive wooden battering ram behind them, although it was empty and non-functional. Its goal was to distract the hares. Snackfur had his orders, but he was again regretting his service to Luzgot. An arrow sneezed past him and embedded itself in a shield carrier behind him, meaning to scare them off. To Gazla, this would have been enough to scare them off, but Snackfur continued to lead the host forward. When the assault began, it was time for Snackfur to try to stall the group.

"Keep at it! Steady as she goes, lads! Keep her nice an' slo-" There was a ringing voice in the crowd.

"Horde of the Great Vermin Band, yer chief is on top of the wall! Ya need to go now!" There was murmur in the host, as Snackfur looked to his other hordebeasts "Keep it slow! Halt! Ha-"

"Markem nearly has the fort!" The same voice called out, a bit higher pitched. "The ladders! Charge up with the ladders! To arms!"

There was pushing behind Snackfur, as he screamed out "Halt! Ha-" He was cut off again, as he saw his own horde charging forward. He realized he was losing the crowd and needed to do something fast. In a desperate cry Snackfur called out "The boss needs ya to keep yourselves nice an' slow! Remember yer plan, mates! Halt! Halt!"

Rather suddenly, a vermin captain surged forward waving the brown flag of the Great Vermin Band. It was a ferret captain of Markem's named Kyth who waved the flag in short order. He yelled out, far above the pitch of Snackfur. "Vermin of the Great Vermin Band! Yer chief be in danger and ya all stand der like slack jawed idiots? The time is upon us to bring an end to Tussock once an fer all! Ready yer spears, hoist the swords froth their sheathes! Raise yer bows high an' mighty! Pillage an' Burn, Vermin!" There was a roar from the crowd, fanaticism in the air, pride in the voice of Kyth. The vermin continued to wave the flag as the pushing became a messing trample. The entire host surged forward, with warlords and captains behind. Their own ladders, although fewer, were brought up as Snackfur and Gazla were forced to surge forward. Kyth continued to wave the flag of the Great Vermin Band, all the while looking at Scarl who stood far off in the distance, grinning at the sight.

As the vermin horde pushed forward, arrows rained down all over them, which slowly began to ease up. The horde was beyond the halfway point, and soon several archers and slingers were unleashing their volleys on the hares from a reasonable distance. The horde surged ever forward, their roars and cries bringing them to the very maw of Tussock itself. The hares fired more and more into the crowd, killing some, but never enough. Ladders began to be placed in front of the wall, and several hares surged forward with axes, slapping at the vermin climbing them. Yet, the crowd at the door worried the officers, as they pushed and clawed at the gates. If they breached the gates, the battle would surely be over.

However, as the officers looked down, keeping the horde at bay at the gates, Busk Rattlebush limped over from the side of the wall. He looked bloody and shaken.

"Officer, get your hares down below as quickly as you can."

"Sir?"

"Markem and his warlords have overrun us on the opposite side. We need to defend the gates." The two looked over, seeing Markem being guarded by his bloodied guards, and the rat helping a weasel of Jusbrag onto the top of the wall. Jusbrag vermin surged to the ground, rushing to the center, only to be stopped by Busk's rangers who shot arrows and javelins into them. Busk looked restless, covering an injury he sustained with his paw.

Markem and his breaching forces were soon charging into the fray once again, using shields as cover. Markem bashed his way through the desperate Long Patrol, trying to prevent the vermin from reaching the gate. More and more Long Patrol regrouped and began to ambush the vermin inside their own forts. Markem was able to finally find himself in the shadow of the gate, hearing his horde on the other side. He called out to the Jusbrag and Veekun's Burrow vermin. "Push aside des fortifications! Push the gate! Push the gate!" Markem's yell was heard by more than just vermin, as hares on their safer part of the wall turned their arrows on Markem. Two arrows embedded themselves in Markem's shield as the rat noticed the hares commanding a volley on him, but another arrow struck into his armor in his lower chest. Markem winced in pain and looked down to see an arrow sticking out. He growled, breaking the arrow and keeping close to the ground. He soon began to realize he would not get the gate pushed if he didn't control the walls.

"Hazul! Kill those archers!"

"Were running out of arrows! Can ya charge up at em?"

The two were thankfully answered when the two watched as Loc Bignose and his Jusbrag vermin approached from the side and began to battle the Long Patrol. Loc didn't like battle himself, and simply led his vermin into the fray, but as a few vermin slid from Long Patrol rapiers, he was forced into a duel with one. The Jusbrag vermin reinforcements gave Markem only limited time, as the vermin began to knock and yell on the other side of the gate. Markem commanded his guard to cover him, as the two armies viciously battled for control of the gates.

Markem busied himself, pushing and pulling at sandbags, his other vermin knocking down the logs (sometimes ontop of themselves for the effort), and unlatching the lock on the gate itself. It felt tedious, but the vermin were doing well. The Long Patrol could see this, trying to find better positions to fire into the vermin crowd. One group of Long Patrol led by Busk was able to regain control of the walls, smashing and tipping the vermin siege ladders from the side and back of the fort. Busk focused his remaining Long Patrol on the gate. Busk looked for a marksbeast, one of his snipers. One of them was behind a building, desperately trying to train a shot on the vermin smashing apart the gate's defenses. Busk came up to him and took his bow, being a trained archer himself. He took his target, Markem himself, and trained his bow onto him.

He fired.

Thunk.

Busk looked on in amazement and terror. He did not miss, but an otter grabbed Markem and threw him to the ground in time, looking at Busk. The arrow was sticking out of the gate. It began to slowly open, piece by piece, till Busk could see a suffocating vermin on the other side trying to desperately get through. Busk called out to his Long Patrol "Long Patrol to me! Give em' Blood an' Vingear!"

Markem rallied his vermin with his own war cry, as the gates burst open, and the vermin charged forward "To the victor, the spoils!"
_

The sun rose on Tussock, a red glow of the morning was a cacophony of crows. Three crows in particular circled the fort, looking down at the bloody fortress of Tussock. One crow tried to land, to pick off a corpse or two, but a bolt whizzed by him for his efforts. The crows, seeing that they would have to return at another time, flew off. One looked behind him at the delicious carnage, the dirt and blood was hard to distinguish from the sky so high up, but he could see and imagine what happened. A gate was open, a camp silent. A single brown flag flew over the walls of Tussock. The crows began to laugh, the vermin had won their victory, and they would all the wiser be fed in time on their spoils.

Markem was in Tussock for the time being, being treated for his small cuts and wounds, especially the bolt which had pierced his armor earlier. He was sitting on top of Busk's table, looking around with grim curiosity at his foe's home. The hare had quite a collection of dinner plates, family portraits, and an overly neat drawer solely dedicated to the cleaning of his medals and monocle. It was too bad Busk was dead, Markem had found him after the battle, his monocle broken and smashed into the mud of the fortress. He was slumped over, having been impaled by a javelin. His death marked the end for Tussock, and the remaining Long Patrol surrendered. They expected little mercy from the vermin, but Markem had forbidden their deaths. For now at least. 'Dirt' stood motionlessly to Markem's side, having said nothing since the battle ended. The only other creature in the room was Dala Blackeye, Hazul's chief shaman.

"Your wound is superficial, my liege. You should be lucky you didn't get worse injuries." The black fox calmly said. She began to stitch the wound as Markem related his concerns. "I suppose I be lucky yer more then just a con artist. I suppose."

"Its not a con to others, my liege." Dala half knew that Markem had no trust for Hazul's religion, and thus had no trust towards her. "I did tell you and Hazul you would have had victory this day."

"Did chicken bones tell ya that?"

"Nay. Although bones were involved. Now hold still." Dala patted a powder to one of Markem's wounds which made him wince. "I'd prefer me own healer, to be frank." Markem muttered.

"This powder will prevent infection, my 'magical power' if you will. Consider yourself lucky I am not also a full con artist, like my pa. You'd really regret it then."

"I need to hear of this no further." Markem slid off the table and fixed himself up. He snapped at 'Dirt' to put on his armor again. There was no movement. Markem snapped harder this time, and 'Dirt' relented and rushed to help Markem. Markem gave a lazy glance at 'Dirt', he looked emotionless and depressed, a permanent frown on his face. Markem could see 'Dirt's' suffering, but had no means to console him. He had half guessed what was the matter, but he only hoped his favored bodyguard would snap out of it. Once well dressed, Markem sighed as he put on his obnoxious horned helm. It made him look dignified, but Markem didn't like wearing it for long periods.

Markem strode outside, 'Dirt' following suit. As soon as he stepped outside the structure, a cacophony of cheers and shouts of encouragement was heard all around him. Vermin pushed past each other to meet and praise Markem, and Markem greeted them in kind. The various warlords were amongst the crowd, lifting up their newfound loot. Lusket was personally looking over a new sword, Hazul was directing his rats to loot one of the barracks, and Kylan was practically sitting on a throne of his treasure.

In the middle of the camp however was Markem's attention. The vermin had breached into the bunkers below the fort, and spent much of the night and early morning chipping away at it. The Long Patrol prisoners were bound and kneeling, looked over by their blood thirsty guards. Tussock was being looted of nearly all of its possessions around them, and they fixed their grim eyes on Markem. There were a couple scuffles and slowly but surely, the families of the hares began to ascend up to the fort's base level. Groups of elderly hares, non-combative family members, mothers, fathers, children, and those holding babes all were led out and gathered in a circle. They looked disheartened, knowing full well the fort had been lost in the night. All eyes were on Markem, and wondered if the rat would kill them or enslave them.

"I am Markem Brownnose, ya know me well enough now. From here on out, yer all subjects of me realm. As such, ya will be allowed to live freely in yer old homes, and yer lives spared. I will keep a garrison here to keep me new lands safe, and I will expect tribute in the form of. . .what exactly do ya folk produce in Tussock?"

There was an awkward silence, amongst the stunned woodlanders and vermin alike. One of the hare slowly spoke up "Weapons. We make bloody weapons."

"Ya. I'll take shipments of those. Every month. Preferably spears an' shields. As fer those who fought. . ." Markem turned to the prisoners who were kneeling. The families expected the worst. A beheading, a gory end, something that would set off Markem's mood. Yet instead, Markem looked them over, looking for non-hares. His eye came across a hedgehog who tried to veer his eyes away from Markem. Injured as he was, missing an eye which was poorly bandaged by one of his overseers, Markem grunted. "Those of ya who fought with me enemy and had been apart of my tributaries, you lot will be marched off to Gholand and put to work. Ya know me laws, an' I made em as clear as I could. Guard, move em' out."

Markem then turned to the hares, unsure of what to do with them. Markem put his paw to his chin and rubbed it, and then sighed "Ya folk be too proud an' skilled to be enslaved, but too bold to free. I know yer kind well enough to prefer death. I will have ya freed to rejoin yer families on one condition, ya swears on yer heart an' soul not to take up arms against me or any other member of the Great Vermin Band. Those who will not, step forward and receive a swift end."

Three stood up and came forward without hesitation, but the others stayed put. They had hoped to perhaps be martyred, and to inspire their comrades to fanatical action, but Markem only gave a sad nod to his guards, the group was led away and were never to be seen again. Their families watched on, understanding but still angry at both them and Markem. Markem turned to the rest and yelled to his guards. "Let'em go. Keep em under watch, tho."

The guards were reluctant, but obeyed and began to cut the bonds of the hares. There was a shout in the crowd, as Luzgot pushed past vermin and warlord alike, having overheard what Markem was doing to the prisoners. He had his sword drawn, angry and bloodthirsty "Markem you fool an' dolt! What in the name of every season an' hell are ya doin!" Luzgot was soon followed by his own captains, and a curious group of warlords. Luzgot was practically upon one of the captured hares when 'Dirt' drew his own sword and came in his way. Luzgot stopped, knowing the otter well enough to avoid him.

"Somethin the matter, Luzgot?" Markem raised a bored eyebrow.

"The matter? Yer sparing our enemy is whats the matter! De's are Long Patrol, they only thing these hares deserve is a brutal an' swift end! Get out of my way, slave, or face the same wrath I am about to put on these wretches!"

'Dirt' did not and stood his ground. Luzgot nearly pushed into him, but was held back by a shout from Markem "Touch my bodyguard, Luzgot, an I'll have ya flayed alive. Now put that sword away before ya get yerself hurt."

Resker raised his voice as well "Markem, this seems foolish. Why spare these hares?"

Markem raised his voice, annoyed "Have ya all lost yer minds in the last week, or do I gotta remind ya of my deal wit this fort! I said it before, so I'll say it again. I am here to conquer. Not murder."

"Ya drag us into a war, Markem, but ya won't have us kill our enemy?!" Luzgot shouted. He looked over, trying to see if the other warlords were on his side, but they seem undecided.

"What do you think we just did last night, Luzgot? Asked the hares to fall on der own swords? If I break my word with the woodlanders, what good is my word to the lot of you?"

The other warlords paused and looked ashamed, but couldn't help but agree with Markem's reasoning. Lusket was the only one to speak up "Ya sure this be wise, matey?"

"Perhaps not, but it's not me business if they prove treacherous. It will be themselves an' der families who suffer if things go wrong fer them. The Long Patrol are beaten, they know it, and our victory assured. Just as I led ya this far, don't doubt I will lead ya to the heart of Mossflower itself!"

The vermin cheered, which was soon joined by their commanders and chiefs. Luzgot was the only one not cheering and simply threw down his sword in disgust, which was picked up clumsily by Gazla. Markem looked happy at his accomplishments, the vermin continuing to loot and cheer.
_

Night had fallen on Tussock as the vermin filed out of the horde. Markem was planning his trip back to Gholand to restock his food and supplies, and to plan his next move. Without Tussock, the Long Patrol's grasp beyond the River Moss was gone, and were now in full retreat. It would be soon that Markem would have to face down a full fledged army, and he wished to be prepared. Reports came to Markem on the progress of the southern front, with the main force having routed a large Long Patrol counter attack, but took heavy casualties in doing so. This pyrrhic victory brought Markem no joy, but his control of eastern Mossflower was cemented by the hour. The warlords gathered, even a disgruntled Luzgot, to drink and be merry with Markem.

Yet in the later hours, Markem was off to what he considered more favorably company, amongst his fellow hordebeasts. Markem drank and sang alongside the horde. Tussock's gates were open, with vermin coming in and out of the fort regularly. Solemnly, the hares inside the fort buried their dead, including those who had been executed by one of the camp's captains. The hares were worried as vermin passed their homes as if the soldiers never left, watching out over their new domain. The Long Patrol who had survived found themselves awkwardly discussing what had gone wrong in the battle, all the while watched over under the close guard of several vermin soldiers. Deprived of their weapons, the Long Patrol dared not attack the vermin garrison, lest their families suffer a cruel fate.

Yet in all the hustle and bustle, one figure purposefully went out into the woods to sulk. 'Dirt' made his way lonesomely past the trees, as if lost in a dream. There was a silence over the forest as 'Dirt' found himself in a small grove farther than normal. He had told Markem he needed to relieve himself, but the truth was more simple. He wished to be alone. 'Dirt' sat on a small boulder, illuminated by a dim moonlight. He sat there for what felt like an eternity, as if the stars themselves had stopped to look upon his sad form. The otter's face reddened, not with sadness, but with anger. He yelled out, screaming into the night. He took out his frustration wherever he could. He smashed the ground, he kicked the trees, he punched the trees. Anything he thought would help him wrench away the true pain. Why! All he had to do was get out of the way! Why! Why! 'Dirt' collapsed onto the ground, curling up in a small ball, weeping to himself. He wept, tears streaming like a river as he seemed to become less and less of the warrior he wanted to be, and more like what the vermin saw him as.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" 'Dirt' repeated to himself, trying to ask whatever ghosts he had made for forgiveness. Although it wasn't directed at them, it was directed at one ghast in particular. 'Dirt' had disobeyed his oath, to himself and his father, and sullied his father's blade in woodlander blood. It was fine when it was covered in vermin blood, sure, but they were cruel, evil, and vicious beings. He felt horrible and wrong, sick to his stomach. He had taken lives before, that was inevitable as Markem's bodyguard. This felt different, like as if 'Dirt' had crossed a terrible threshold.

'Dirt' got back up in time, and weakly looked over his father's blade. He once looked at it as an honor to hold it again, but now he felt utter contempt for it. He angrily slammed the blade into the ground, walking off back the camp. In a snap, 'Dirt' froze and slowly turned, the blade shining in the moonlight. He came back over, and picked up the blade weakly. His contempt for the blade became a profound sadness, and his slowly put it back into his sheathe. 'Dirt' looked up into the sky, wondering if his father could see him, not knowing if he held contempt for his cowardice and fealty to his murderer. He muttered "I'm sorry." Before heading back to the camp, alone and defeated.

'Dirt' made his way back to Markem's pavilion where he came inside. Markem was done with the partying and readying himself for bed, looking over a bit surprised.

"Ya took yer sweet time, 'Dirt'. Get rest and be ready for the morning watch, otter. I want to be back in Gholand and you in top spirit. Eh, also get something good to eat an' drink as well. Cause I ain't stoppen otherwise."

Markem looked closer at 'Dirt' and realized he was in a very poor mood. 'Dirt' blurted out lowly "Yes, sir" and began to turn. Markem snapped at him and he stopped on a dime. "Come here." he barked.

'Dirt' came over, although Markem may have been his overlord, 'Dirt' still stood quite tall in comparison to Markem. Markem sighed and spoke "I know what yer feelen, believe it or not otter. Same thing happened to me when I killed one of me mates a far an' long ago. Wasn't the best time, never understood it either, but it was done an' over with. Ya proved to me yer not only a good fighter, but also a good mate. I'm not gonna say for ya to be proud what ya had to do, but know that ya did well."

'Dirt' only gave a low sigh, and yet Markem continued "Look, I don't like it either, an ya know that. I hate having to kill fellow vermin. This was always gonna happen eventually, an' now that ya got a taste of it, I just hope ya will be with me when he got to battle. If it wasn't today, it would have been tomorrow. Or the next. When this all done an' over with, we won't need to be killen or fighten at all."

"I. . .I know. I just wi-"

"I wish there was a better way too, but this is how things were done and will be done. Now get food an' rest, and be ready in the morning. Please." Markem looked 'Dirt' over. He wasn't relieved or less miserable. He nodded and left, leaving Markem with his thoughts. He'll come around. I'm sure of it.

---

A shadow of the night passed over the mountain of Salamanderstron, the hares inside were all clambering over themselves as they burst into the main hall and began to argue. Awaiting them was the anxious looking Narsa Ironpaw. Narsa was in charge, mostly, when Galgor and his commanders were away, and she worried about them often. Yet now, she was worried when a runner from Tussock had come to the mountain. Commander Busk reported a massive vermin army, led by a rat named Markem Brownnose had united a large gaggle of warlords and was making his way into Mossflower. The situation was dire, even more dire then what Narsa suspected. Reports came of Busk being surrounded by a massive host, but Narsa had nothing really to send. Most of the Long Patrol's top commanders were away, and Galgor would not be with them. Narsa wondered if she could convince her son Malgor, but she'd suspected he wouldn't be really in a position to lead.

"Marm! We must send reinforcements at once! If Tussock falls, we will all be in danger!"

"Bloody hell we will, wot! If we leave the mountain, we endanger all of our lives further! We must wait for the Badger Lord's return!"

"If Tussock falls, who do you think Galgor will blame first, wot!"

"You imbecile!"

"Nitwit!"

"Enough!" Narsa raised her voice, and the hares grew silent. Narsa arose and looked over all of them, and huffed "Now please, give me advice, what can w-"

Before she could answer, Naus Stag Helm II strode into the room, his armorer struggling to keep up as Naus's armor was strapped onto him. The other hares huffed and puffed at the display, but Naus spoke up "My Lady of Salamanderstron, I bloody well say I will be off soon. I've already mustered the hares as soon as I heard, and I will leave for the front at once. 700 Long Patrol should do it, we'll have the cowards shaking in their boots before we even arrive!"

"Good Naus Stag Helm, pl-"

"The Second."

"Naus Stag Helm II, please. I have not even made a decision yet. Sending a force without the badger lord or sufficient reinforcements is risky and dangerous."

"It is risky and dangerous not sending a sizable force deal with the blighters."

"Yes I kn-"

"No need to say anything marm, I have already taken care of everything. We will stop by the forts and gather the garrisons, and march straight up against the whole bleeding army! We'll break the siege of Tussock in less then a few days time!"

Naus didn't bother to listen to Narsa's pained voice to demand he be called to attention, but she couldn't help be charmed by the hare's brashness. Narsa sighed and looked to her commanders who fell silent. "I think this meeting is adjourned."

Naus was already being saluted by his officers as he strode out of the mountain, his hares already having gathered their supplies and wagons for the march outward. Gambit was out fishing nearby, watching the large hare force go into a full sprint and hop into the forest at a terrible speed. As the last of the hares disappeared into the night, Gambit smiled and said to himself.

"I'd hate to be whatever fool vermin got that lot's attention."