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.

40. Preparations and Impatience

Chapter 39: Preparations and Impatience

In a small hilly home in the deep northern woods of Mossflower, one of the country's largest hedgehogs was hard at work chopping up lumber. Sagad was humming a nice tune as he brought his ax down on another log. The birds chirped distantly, and he was content as he looked over the great forest he called home. Sagad lived in a simple home, a lopsided wooden shack. It was hardly big enough for him, let alone his missus, daughters, and son. He smiled, seeing his swarm of daughters play tag, while his son helped his mother wash and dry clothes. Sagad had been living at the knife's edge between miserable poverty and serene anarchy, and the forest of Mossflower has always provided for him. He worked hard to make his small home livable. He did not desire neighbors, he just wanted to see his youngsters grow and prosper into proper and happy beasts. He happily chopped away at the wood, which would become fuel to light his humble home.

"Sagad!" A distant voice spoke up in the far off bushes. The hedgehog paused and looked to the woods. He recognized the voice, a bit surprised and worried. It was the voice of a friend, but not one he suspected to see till next winter at least.

Sagad and his family turned to the loud and gruff voice. From the bushes, shaking off leaves and thorns came Logis and a boatload of shrew warriors. Sagad wondered why the shrew chief traveled so far to see him again, and his eyes widened to see that both he and a number of his companions were drenched in blood.

Logis in particular was still wiping off vermin blood from his saber, not even aware (or bothered) by his ghastly appearance which made Sagad's family queasy. "Sagad! Me big friend!" Logis sounded jubilant as he approached as Sagad made his way over to Logis. Sagad was horrified as his friend strode with such gore upon him, dried as it was. Sagad rushed over and barraged Logis with all manner of questions.

"Logis, oh seasons! The hells an' beyond happened?! Are you okay? Are you hurt?!"

"Nay! I ain't hurt you fool spike back, if I were, I'd not have journeyed all this way to give you a blasted ol' scare, ha!" Logis seemed in almost a good mood, although his fellow shrews were not. They seemed rather distant as they made themselves comfortable in Sagad's clearing. Logis gripped his friend's paw to shake it, wiping a little bit of that dried blood on him as Logis looked about. Sagad's children froze as they beheld him, and the large hedgehog spoke up. "Get em' inside, me love. Grab me some cloth as well!"

"Grab a couple of tankards at it, missus!" Logis joked. Yet Sagad did not laugh and gave his friend a scowl "None of that now, Logis. The hells is this. Now in all due seriousness, are you okay?"

"Okay is an interesting word to put it at, old friend." Logis shook his head, his normally bombastic and macho attitude soon soured "Sagad, came here not out of itch, nor with bad intent. We must talk."

Sagad's missus herded her youngsters inside, barraging her with all manner of questions and concerns. Once inside, they had all gathered up on tables and chairs, peaking outside windows and the door as Sagad's missus rushed with cloth to her husband and Logis. Neither knew what was happening, but rumor spread amongst them.

"Is Logis hurt, maybe he fell down a cliff?"

"No no no, he beat up some vermin I bets!"

"Maybe a vermin beat him up?"

"Maybe a vermin pushed him down a cliff, and then he beat him up!"

Despite their rumor making, the youngsters were scared, but not as frightened as Sagad and his missus as they listened to Logis' tale about recent events. Logis, Sagad, and his wife sat in the grass as they listened to Sagad explain the terrible things that had happened at Moss Field. The victory of the vermin, the murder of the skipper's son, and the routing of the entire Long Patrol army. Logis showed injuries, embellished a few things, and Sagad listened with fright. It's Kasg all over again. Oh seasons. Not again.

"-Which is why I came here, old friend. I came to collect you. The Gousim are nearby, we fled here, farther than the river will take us. I was hoping you'd march with me, and help us defeat this blasted foe, like good ol' time."

Sagad frowned and furled his brow, angry at such talk "Good times? Logis, I'm not sure what you mean by that, there was nothing good about what Kasg an' his evil minions did. They killed many good beasts, some I called friend an' kin, and enslaved those who didn't. Most I didn't even know what happened to them afterward."

Logis frowned and nodded "I apologize, Sagad. I forget your pacifism at times."

"You are. . .right to at least apologize." Sagad sighed. He held his wife's paw and looked to Logis "I'm sorry, but you come at the worst of times. We moved out into these woods for a reason, Logis. To get away from all that foolery. I work twice as hard to provide for my little ones, and I can't just let me missus here take care of them by herself."

Logis smiled and raised his charm "An as I should know, your lovely missus could do three times as much, eh! If she were a good shrew, i'd have taken her meself!"

Sagad gave a humble chuckle to Logis's dread humor, but silenced himself when he got 'the look' from his wife. "I'd prefer you not speak so poorly, my friend."

"Oh, come now, we are in the middle of a blasted war Sagad. I mean only to jest."

Sagad nodded, but a couple harsh tugs on his paw from his wife got him to shape up. "I'm sorry Logis, what happened at Moss Field can't concern me none, as much as I would love to avenge the skipper's son meself, I have a family to think about here."

Logis became frustrated, the log-a-log was tempted to try to intimidate Sagad, but he held back. "Sagad, I truly do need ya. I know full well you are blasted good warrior, and one of the better folk here in Mossflower. I really don't want to start getting ready for this long and terrible campaign without ya."

"Why do you need him?" Sagad's missus asked "Me husband can't just go help you fight wars an' battles while we still got troubles here. I know full well your shrews won't help us when we need to scavenge for food or chop wood. No means no, Logis."

Logis looked at Sagad's missus, partly in spite. He had known his friend and his family, peace loving and unwilling to march out. Yet, he was much like that when he was younger. He paused and spoke, with less friendliness and informed them both. "True, me clanbeasts aren't the most dutiful, and I know your struggles for both of you. Sagad, I know you well, like when we drank together after the battle against Kasg's hordebeasts during the assault on his camp. You were not there, missus, but we were. You know what we saw?"

Sagad knew where he was going with this line of thinking, arising and angrily fuming "Enough Logis, she do-"

"No no no, she does need to hear this, me friend. You know what we saw?" Logis continued, a strain to his voice. "Blood. Blood and marks. Kasg kept many beasts, vermin an' woodlander alike in his horde. Yet, as we both know, them woodlander folk weren't there out of choice. Vermin ya know, they don't just rob and steal, they enslave and murder. We buried beasts, not much younger if even more so then your own wonderful pups staring out that yee little window."

Sagad's Missus was shocked, as Logis knew she would be. Logis grew angry with the log-a-log, nearly ready to boot him and his band out. Yet, Logis continued "I tell you this because when the vermin come knocken, you know what they will do. You think living at the edge of the forest be hard for you folk? Imagine living in starvation and misery in a vermin camp. If they be merciful, which they seldom aren't, they'll end you quickly before they get a cruel streak into them. Our home is in danger, Sagad, and we are losing at the current moment. Terribly so. I need ya."

Sagad's missus grew angry as well, arising and nearly kicking dirt into the shrew's face, but decided against it and simply began to yell "You an your evil stories, Logis! Harumph! We know full well of vermin cruelty, but that doesn't help our cause one bit! I know what you be doin, trying to make us feel terrible for not being in yer blasted ol' army. Well you can-"

"Logis, I will be ready to head out in a moment." Sagad weakly replied.

Yet, Sagad's missus continued, not hearing her husband at first "go on off an' drown in some blasted ol' creek, cause you are lucky that you don't scare me pups-and. . .wait, what?"

Sagad got an angry and concerned eye from his wife, explaining his reasoning and touching her paw "Me wonder of me life, he's right. This be our home, and we struggle out here, but I can't ignore this. I was there. I saw what vermin do to us, no matter the age. I don't do this lightly, and I can't just let us live here hoping the vermin will leave us alone. If they go westward, I won't be able to do much."

"Ohhh, don't fall for this, me wonderful big spikedbacked fool!" Logis listened to this back and forth, partly disgusted and amused by it. He was yet happy, happy that Sagad was so beloved and he loved back, and how happy the two looked as they were lost so temporary in that moment. Sagad hugged his wife and she tearfully replied "Sagad, come back soon an' quick ya hear. Please."

"I will. I promise." He hugged his little wife a bit too much, nearly lifting her off the ground, and let her down gently. Both returned to their hut as Logis sat in the grass, a little regretful on his part in all this. Sagad returned to his hut, his children asking an endless tide of questions, all of them heartbroken as they learned their father had to leave once again. He gathered them close, and like a small humble warlord to his array of young minions, he dolled out tasks and responsibilities to his many daughters and son.

"You will all need to work hard an' listen to your ma. Ya hear, no troubles out of any of you. Winter will come soon enough, an' yer mum will need you all ready. Now be strong, an' brave. If anything happens to her, to me, ya know the way to Uncle Burfow's. Be strong." His hug to his collective of youngsters could have lasted forever, as he donned his simple cloth and traveling gear. His favored weapon, a hard branch, he collected from his days slaying vermin who dared try to torment poor beasts. He did not like those days, the sight of blood made him queasy, but he left and met back with Logis.

"No hard feelings, matey?" Logis asked with a weak smile, and Sagad did not at first answer. As they marched out, with Logis leading the way, Sagad only gave a weaker response.

"No hard feelings, me friend."
_

Sagad was tired, and it showed. He didn't like war, but he hated marching to one even more. The shrews, ever rude and singing their war chants without unison was like torture to his ears, the pace of his feet did not match Logis's zeal to return to his camp, and the exhaustion of so little rest was less loved. Yet, the shrews seemed far less ecstatic for violence as he remembered. Logis, even when he was younger and full of concern over the ongoing war between Mossflower and Kasg's horde, had a love for fighting. When hours passed, and evening began to set, was when they arrived at Logis's camp along the River Moss.

The shrews were setting up tents and constantly gathering, the taskmasters of each division of shrew political machines were discussing and arguing with one another. Votes were held, disregarded, and reformed in an endless and swift slue of emergency calls. Sagad found it amusing how much the shrews loved their freedom, and were quick to disregard it in the name of some manner of pseudo-party system. He came to know that each shrew held their own beliefs, an individual political belief which lasted a day, only to abandon for a new one. Yet, the system worked. The shrews worked together, fought together, and argued so much that the ancient tradition of their sacred vote held stronger than most tribes and clans in Mossflower. Log-a-log's personal tent laid on a small sandy cliff overlooking the shrew camp, next to the water where his servant rushed up to him, the shrewess dibbum Ganla.

"Ganla! Me gal! Go grab us a nice keg of the good stuff for me and my friend, if you would!"

"Of course, sir!" Ganla bowed quickly and ran off as Sagad watched and gave a weird look to him. Logis whispered as he watched the young shrewess rush past an endless stream of arguing shrews of the waterbound clan below to the storage piles of roped off barrels, floated down from smaller aligned clans.

"Ganla her name be, if ya gotta know Sagad. Best secretary in me clan, ya know."

"Secr-a-what now?" Sagad asked. "Logis, didn't think you one for having serving beasts."

Logis looked insulted, stomping his foot "Eh! Nay! Ganla is no serving girl, me friend, she is just a young laborer who by contract is bound to a certain number of years of service under me with the skills of Log-a-log to provide for the clan's future, to help her own future, in which-"

Sagad stopped him "I get it, I get it. Her parents must be proud. . ."
Logis pounded his chest "Of course they be proud, though they don't have the brains or eyes to see it. Best carrier of me things and weapons one can have in this blasted clan. The Gousim don't have servants, Sagad. Only clanbeasts and free beasts."

Sagad wanted to chuckle, but feared Logis would have taken it the wrong way. Logis entered his small hut and came out quickly with maps and tools. Sagad no longer really tried to enter Logis's hut after accidentally destroying it trying to fit into it, and Logis didn't wish to take the chance of yet another delay. Logis pointed to his map, and shortly there after had a keg of ale in his paw when Ganla returned. The Log-a-log patted her head and had her run off for another chore, as Sagad looked over the map.

"Moss Field was a disaster, but not one we can't bounce back from, eh. Not sure where the Skipper is, but likely he and the hares are back in Redwall, under siege from that wretched rat. We are here. . ."

Logis pointed to one of the few places which made Sagad frown a bit. It was the northwestern lands of Mossflower.

"Logis. Are we camping in Juska lands?"

"No, thankfully. Just on the border." Logis grunted "The Juska been silent, but no for long if they realize a warlord beat the Long Patrol and murdered the Skipper's son. Them lot would be raiding the northern villages. We need to head to Salamandastron, and get reinforcements, and break Redwall's siege. Only Galgor can handle this, wherever he bloody well is."

Sagad nodded "Seasons, Logis. How bad you think this all is?"

Logis looked longingly over at his Gousim, and closed his eyes. Sagad could see his friend was stressed, and remained silent to allow him to answer "Bad. We got hit hard by the vermin, me friend. Horrifyingly so. I didn't lose as bad as the hares did, and Tussock can't be relied on since. . well, it's conquered. Fighting vermin for sport doesn't prepare you for their cruelty, not like what I saw. I hope the Skipper is in good health, I truly do, but I could not imagine what he and his daughter be goin through. I don't got a family of me own, Sagad, but me shrews are as close as it comes, and I had to abandon one too many bodies to that wretches to take trophies from."

Sagad frowned. It was one of many reasons why he hated war, but to Logis, it was one of many reasons why he hated the vermin. Logis looked out at his camp and gave a grim grin and pointed out to one particular thing to Sagad. Sagad looked, and in the distance several non-shrews emerged, weapons on belts or held high as they marched into the shrew camp and began to pitch tents. Mice, squirrels, hedgehogs, otters, voles, and even a few rare rabbits were all well armed and humming along to the war tunes of the Gousim.

"The villages send their best, I'd have thanked me wretch of a brother if he wasn't too lazy meandering and complaining, a task he avoided till I sent out me better folk."

Sagad nodded "You think we can win."

Logis paused and only replied "For the good of us all. We must."

A bit farther out from the war camp, one shrew in particular was not as bothered as most others, and looked cautiously around at his surroundings. Surrounded by the judging trees and oppressive shadows of the forest, he began to break into the earth with a shovel and quickly began to shove a large sack into it. His clothes may have been the best made in the Gousim, his silver neck chain gleamed brightly, and his golden buttons screamed of his wealth, but he began to have some severe regrets with what he hauled. Bargol had given up a lot of things in his lifetime to live better than his contemporaries, but now the silver he lugged around felt more like shackles. Oh seasons, if the council ever finds out I got this much silver, then what manner of questions they will ask will kill me! Damned that ferret! Seasons preserve me if Logis ever finds out!

Bargol struggled to pull the sack of silver into the dug up pit, and wiped his brow. He looked down, and buried it. He placed small stones around the base and made good mental notes of the trees. He would want to return at the end of all this, naturally after Markem and his horde had won, and he could finally enjoy all of his new found wealth with some peace.

Yet, he jumped and felt afraid when he mistook a shadow as that of an otter. Bargol couldn't help but feel horrible for what had happened, what he had partook in. He recovered, knowing it was just a shadow and nothing more. Come now, Bargol, tis just ghosts. He be dead and gone. Forever. The thought was more terrifying than it should have been. He was uncertain of the future, all he knew was his dark deal with Scarl to prevent an even worse fate when he was dragged to Gholand by a slaving band. Had he'd been more honorable, no doubt he would be miserably working himself to the bone in starvation, working for vermin. I mean, I work for vermin now, but I won't end up like that lot of miserable slave beasts. No Bargol!

The trek back to the Gousim's camp wasn't long, but it certainly felt like it. Bargol had to constantly brush off his nice colorful clothes, and fix up jewelry he wore. When he returned, much of his earlier concern felt to be blown away as he was approached by his fellow Gousim, more dirty and more poorly clothed then he was.

"Bargol! Me matey! How about a drink, eh? Me and the boys are gonna get some nice, warm, beer! On the house again?"

"Bargol, me matey is in a real bind ya see. I was hoping you could help out a fellow shrew eh?"

"I need to borrow a couple of those coins you got, me missus wants me head on a pike! Need to buy some of nice flowers from the gardener up the river. . ."

Bargol never got a crowd, but he smiled as he felt appreciated and beloved by his fellow shrews. Well, it was less about him, and more about his wealth. On the public side of things, Bargol was a successful merchant who sold onions, cabbage, and yarn down the river. He was a great hoster of many parties, a funder of many things, and ever since his return from Gholand he was the top shrew in the Gousim.

So long of course he had the money.

Bargol kept up that decent smile and made his way around the camp, talking and discussing with his fellow shrews. By the time he got back to his tent, he was exhausted and ready for a nice nap. Yet, a shadowy figure was quick to partly trip him up which he turned around to see a less then loved political officer.

"Bigoar!? Oh, what can I do you for!" Bargol said with a weakness to his voice. Bigoar remained the shadow to Logis in many-a-ways. The shrew had bags under his eyes, and a strength to match his brother. Yet, the two shrews could not have been more different, despite being born of the same mother. Bargol knew Logis as a rude, highly social, and joking fellow. Bigoar was cold, spiteful, and difficult to a lazy creature. Bigoar looked Bargol over and sneered.

"Bargol. I had a little talk with our suppliers, and I was hoping for an answer as to why our shipments are late. Again. Are you not in charge of our river shipments, or did our committee make a massive mistake once again?"

Bigoar sounded more harsher then Bargol was use to. It was true, the Gousim did vote to put Bargol on the shipping committee for the gathering of supplies and materials, but he like many shrews slacked in his duties.

"Oh. Of course, Bigoar. As Chairbeast of the Gousim's Supply Party, I am more than happy to inform Logis that once again, my suppliers are late simply due to small repair issues on their river boats and payment loopholes, which of course, its difficult for even a beast like me to res-"

Bigoar angrily shoved him, and Bargol quickly protested "Bigoar! Shoving of a committee member is punishable by five years of carrier labor, and demotion! Oh, you sh-"

Bargol's eyes lit up and he silenced himself as the shrew angrily raised a saber to his throat as the intimidating creature spat out "If you are late again, I won't hesitate to put you in the ground. How a miserable, wretched, cretan like you got put in charge of all this is one thing. Its another thing entirely that I have to tolerate it. Now. Pay me to keep silent to the committee, or i will start pointing the Gousim in the direction of all those 'trips' out into Mossflower woods, carrying whatever you have."

Bargol fumbled his words, realizing he had been caught. He got up and began to quickly pour out all manner of coin desperately as he gave it to Bargol who examined it. It was unmistakable, the silver shine of a rat's face printed on it, an unsuitable currency in the territory of free beasts, but very few could care long enough to question it. Bigoar put it into his pouch and gave a grim smile.

"Now. You are going to fix your little 'supply issues' so I no longer have to worry about, nor make it me brother's problem. Each day it isn't fixed, I'll take a little more. For the Gousim's sake."

Bargol gave a sigh, watching Bigoar leave a bit fuller. Ever the corrupt political officer of the Gousim, born of Logis' nepotism, Bargol could not help but sigh. For all the love of freedom and voting his people aspired to, creatures like Bigoar make him ever more cynical. He imagined that once Markem had won his war, of the beasts he would miss the least, was that hated bandit.
_

Bigoar kept a vigilant eye out for a number of things, occasionally drinking from a tankard and speaking to his fellow shrews. Bigoar existed in a strange reality of being the most loved and hated shrew in the camp. As a political officer, his duties were to keep the fragile voting and institutions of the Gousim in line, to remind shrews (usually through violence) to keep to the clan's laws and to root out corruption. This made him hated by almost all shrews, a thankless job, but yet he continued to thrive in. Bigoar was an 'understanding' creature, who took bribes and made friends with the most rowdy and distant. He liked to have money, and he liked to spend it, being a popular drinker more so than his brother. His cold attitude made him few friends amongst normal beasts, and his confrontational mood made him at odds with most. Yet he thrived, thanks in part due to his brother's rise to becoming the Log-a-log.

Yet, Bigoar was unhappy. Or more accurately, he was always unhappy.

Bloody Logis is what they should call him, leading us into that disaster of a battle for the sake of those wretched water dogs and long ears. Too many good shrews died so Logis could remain friends with some blasted friendship with beasts who don't give a damn about us. What a pathetic excuse of a brother. I can't believe the council even elected him! It should have been me! I didn't at least run away! Bigoar didn't despise his brother, but he certainly didn't think highly of him.

As he crested the hill up towards the Log-a-log's command post, Bigoar dusted himself off and saw Logis and a huge hedgehog hunched over, looking over maps and discussing things in a friendly tone. A grunt from him caused both to look up in his direction, Bigoar folding his paws in his grim manner.

"Bigoar, me is good to see you." Logis had said quite sarcastically. "We were just finishing up informing my friend here on the scale of our troubles."

Bigoar huffed "Last time I remember, Logis, you need permission from a 3 to 4 votes in the council to share vital military secrets with outsiders."

Logis huffed back "And last time I remember, Bigoar, you need written permission to criticize your chief as a political officer."

Sagad only blinked. He would have been amused by the whole affair of the shrews arguing about protocol had it not been for the fact they were as zealous of their institutions as a vermin was towards their hoarding of food. Bigoar continued, a bit of spite in his voice "Our 'chief' should at least be acting like one, Logis. Log-a-log or not, you are still my dimwit of a brother. Moss Field was a disaster you led us into, and don't think I've forgotten."

Logis growled, nearly drawing his saber in anger. "Our troubles were due to a lot of things, but don't put the blame on me! The skipper's son was captured and murdered, and poor ol' Dakan rushed to save him. . ."

Bigoar rolled his eyes "He was already dead, Logis, don't excuse him or Naus's pride. We led our warriors into battle against a foe we couldn't defeat in open battle, but tried to do so anyways because of some blasted glory mongering. If ya been a decent leader, we'd have done as we always done. Stayed put, and let other beasts deal wit it."

Sagad frowned and spoke up "You sound like you want this vermin to win. . ." Sagad accused Bigoar who simply replied "Win? Win?! Oh, listen to yourself. Every blasted beast knows how long a vermin horde lasts. Even if they took that stupid red abbey, or even Salamandastron itself, they'd be killing each other by the end of the bloody season. Mossflower survived worse, and so do we."

"Aye, and this forest an' her peoples be the Gousim's responsibility, Bigoar. We live in this land, and it is a duty for us to defend it to a bitter end." Logis reminded him "We made more oaths an' made more favors with the good beasts of this forest than you can count. We wouldn't be here if we didn't get help, and it's only right we give back in full."

Bigoar scoffed "You say that as if it held meaning, Logis. When have these Mossflower folk cared for us Gousim, hmm? You have our entire clan parked up against the Juska's territory. It won't be an 'if' when those wretched flea brains come calling for us, but 'when'. If we were smart, we'd just keep our head down and wait this all out."

Logis angrily pushed his brother, who didn't fall over but growled out further. "I will not abandon our allies and friends to slavery or worse. Begone Bigoar, and don't make yourself known to me, or I swear on our mum that I'll throw you in the river with a log tied to your ankle!"

Bigoar left, in a poorer mood. Sagad spoke up, a bit shy of these Logis' troubles "You okay, Logis? I know he is your brother an' all, but that sounded all too personal."

"He'll calm himself." Logis grunted, returning to his maps "He is just stressed, like we all are. No one really come out of Moss Field in good moods."

Sagad nodded "In either case, he is right. You are camped far too close to the Juska. Those vermin hate outsiders, and they hate your people in particular. They will attack eventually."

Logis laughed, much to Sagad's annoyance "Oh come now, Sagad. Those vermin are so busy killing each other that they'll avoid us out of pragmatism! Besides, tis not like they have some great chieftain like a Tapperrung or somethen!"

---

Deep in the forests of northwest Mossflower, a gathering had been called. In a dirt circle stood two figures, surrounded by their respective tribes and observers. The Juska tribes had all come, observing a duel to the death between two chieftains. The fighting ring was cheered on by younger and more impressionable warriors, while elders consulted their seers for cheating answers, trying to win out in secret gambles. There were many Juska tribes, all whom owed much of their resurgence to one beast, who fought tooth and claw against his rival, a spiteful and ambitious chieftain.

One was a large ferret, and the other a smaller fox. Yet, both were equal in age and experience. The ferret was a modest beast in uniform, his cloth armor was decorated in the bone of various beasts both old and young. It was a morbid thing to behold, and he used a sword to swipe at his foe, a hatchet and buckler wielding fox who came with decent warrior's armor. What the ferret lacked in protection, he made up for in sheer brutality and skill. His sword slammed down on the buckler of his fellow chief, and he bashed his head aggressively against him. Blood spurned across the field, as the vermin cheered. The only ones who didn't cheer was the fox's own tribe of Juska. Despite his confidence and battle experience, he was faltering hard against the ferret.

Worse yet, the stakes were considerably high.

The ferret angrily bashed his sword against the buckler of his foe, and then tore it from his paws and broke it. The fox was surprised and horrified as the ferret aggressively and angrily bit and clawed at him, sinking his sword into his armor helplessly. A swipe of his ax on the ferret's head only produced a nasty scar across his ear. The ferret wrestled the fox, all the while other beasts watched, cheering and booing with increasing zeal.

The fox used his feet to launch the ferret upward and far from him, with his sword tattering to the side. The fox looked for his hatchet, and found it nowhere, but he could see his rival's sword. A grin reached across his face as he rushed to grab it, only to find himself tripping up and falling to the ground. The ferret was soon back on top of him, and began to punch down at his face. The fox's cries were quickly silenced as the ferret kept up a fierce attack, till his foe's face was no more. He slowly stood up, huffing and growling as the cheers of the crowd grew stronger.

"Natter! Natter! Tapperung! Tapperung!" Came a brutal shout of war frenzied vermin tribals. Natter, the newest chosen Tapperung of the Juska raised his paw up, revealing a birthmark of a reversed speedwell in his open paw. The vermin cheered and some smashed their weapons against shields as makeshift drums. Others stomped their feet. Those who considered Natter their enemy began to move towards the back of the crowds as Natter took up his sword and brought down on the head of the corpse he had just made.

Yet one beast was not cheering.

A ferretess watched from a front row seat at the edge of the clearing, draped in the skulls and bones of enemies, covered in war paint of three defeated clans. She at first felt a tinge of pride about what had happened, but also felt something was off. She looked out, seeing a middle aged fox approach Natter, his personal seer and witch, followed by a vole whom she could only guess was some woodlander slave. She draped the ferret in a cloak as Natter spoke up to the crowd, silencing them.

"Does anyone else have doubts of our gods? Does any other chieftain wish to die at the end of my blade?" He held up the head of his foe, violently shaking it to the vermin. Many were impressed, not just by his strength, but by his brutality. Yet, the ferretess knew what came next. Natter looked at the symbol of the fox's clan and etched it into his sword, one of many including his own. He pointed the sword to the terrified clan of the dead beast.

"By tradition, the Juska take the tribe of defeated clans. I do not do this. I have them killed! I brought the sword down on my own clan, as you know, for defying my birthright! My father, my brothers, my sisters! All dead! I am the Tapperung! I order-" Natter stopped as the fox seer whispered in his ear. He gave her a cringed look and sighed.

The ferretess grunted at such a show. Her doubts always felt justified. For a beast so beloved, his rise to such fame felt strange, and his allies were stranger still. Natter angrily called out "You may take these pathetic creatures as slaves under my permission, incorporate them into your clans, a gift from your warchief!"

There was a howl of agreement amongst the Juska as they descended upon the now dismantled clan. Some were quickly put in chains and dragged kicking and screaming to some slavish fate, families separated from children, and others simply dragged and forced to accept new masters amongst the tribes. As it all went on, Natter looked down at the ferretess and approached. His eyes looking her over. She kept herself in a comfortable position, looking up at him as Natter smirked.

"Do you wish to challenge your warchief, Juanala?"

"Nay, boss." Juanala growled "Never. Long live the Juska. Long live the Tapperung."
_

Natter Backbone did not have a tribe in the normal sense. He was the tribe, made up solely of himself, his seer, and a vole whom non could decide if he was a slave or a companion. Natter, after his small battle with his rival chief, retreated into a combined warcamp of combined Juska warriors, and into his lavish war tent. Even though he did not have a clan of his own, he was still surrounded by young and experienced warriors, his tent tended to by woodlander slaves who kept their mouths shut and heads bowed. Natter lived a life of luxury, and so did his seer. He angrily scowled to the extras in his tent "Scatter, do not come back today." He ordered. Out of fear and respect, they did so, leaving only him, his seer, and the vole in the tent.

Once gone, he turned to the fox seer and immediately pounced on her, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and squeezed. She didn't even seem much surprised, but still struggled.

"Why must you always interfere!" Natter angrily spat

"Stop choking me, an' I'll tell you, you stupid oaf." The seer angrily spat, and began to lose her voice. Natter let her down harshly as she coughed and grasped her neck, and stood up. "Your anger against me gets you nowhere. I'd prefer it you didn't try to kill me simply because of your inadequacies."

Natter simply sat down on his throne, taking a drink from a cold tankerd and spat out its contents which mixed with his blood. The seer looked to the vole "Well, slave? Go and fix him up."

The vole grunted and did as commanded, taking out a hidden chest of supplies and medicines which he applied to Natter's wounds. Natter kept still, trying to ignore the vole as best he could, but still felt like killing something. Yet, he knew better then to challenge him, let alone the real mistress who stood before him, judging him harshly "You should have been more diplomatic, Natter. This little ruse doesn't work when half the Juska are dead before they even march out for Milo's warcamps."

Natter rolled his eyes "The Juska go to war because of me, Kamala. Not because Milo commanded them to."

"You are as much Milo's pet as you are mine, Natter." Kamala reminded him. "I've been Milo's eyes and ears for years, and I will not have you tarnish my greatest work simply because you had a little insult thrown your way by some blasted tribal fool. We need those warriors, especially if that idiot Minto is leading our forces into battle."

Natter shook his head "Minto? Milo? Tarlo? Who cares. We could take Redwall if we so wished, and none could stop us. You follow a cat over a true vermin like myself?"

Kamala spoke up to him "True vermin? You mean the 'true' vermin I found as a mere babe in our barracks in Sandbeach, whom I took here to be raised by these tribals, and whom you owe your entire existence for simply because Milo wills it?" Kamala came close to him and reminded him of his place in this accursed hierarchy of the greeneyed web "You are here simply because you are our tool to keep these tribals in line. I've studied their ways for seasons now, you wretched moron. Must I remind you who you really are?" Kamala held aloft a old and much hated brand whom Natter shamefully averted his eyes from. It was small, but it was the symbol which he now bore on his paw. Ever since the day Kamala told him of his true origins, she had been more gleeful in reminding him he was little more than Milo's voice amongst the Juska.

"You killed those wretched beasts you called 'family' because the plans demanded it, and that your brutality and zeal is what brings these tribal fools together under Milo's control. They love the sport of it all, but sport alone won't win us the grand prize. Mossflower." Kamala put the brand back into her sack "And if you think to threaten me in such a manner again, I am certain the chiefs will more than love to know how exactly you got into this position to start with. I made you, Natter. I can end you as well."

Natter growled, but kept himself still. It was true, and he hated how much the foxess held power over him. He had thought it through many times. Killing her wouldn't do much, since she had a legion of spies and friends who would ruin him, or worse, Milo may turn his attention against him. He couldn't assassinate her without her knowing every tiny detail. He couldn't discredit her, and he certainly couldn't tell the Juska the truth. He cringed at one thought in particular. The Juska tolerated his many atrocities and saber rattling because they thought of him as their Tapperung, a warrior reborn. The tribe would never forgive him for his many, many evils, and certainly not for the murder of his entire clan. With a sigh, he relented.

"Fine. So what exactly do you even wish of me, bush tail? I've been waiting here in a war camp without orders for weeks now. My warriors grow restless, and the chieftains look through your 'deceptions' with ease. I had to kill that wretch because he found out my 'birthmark' needs to be reapplied by you every so often. Juanala suspects, and her tribe's influence cannot be ignored."

Kamala thought and seemed to agree with him. She did find it weird, as the plan was for Mulkan to collect the Juska and move their forces to Salamandastron. Mulkan should have been here weeks ago, as his forces were last seen meandering down from the north, burning and eating along the way.

"Hold yourself firm, Natter. As always, I will take care of things. Just be silent and obey." Kamala left the tent, skulking outside as she went about her own business. Natter looked down at the vole and grunted "Ligu. Why do you even follow that wretch so?"

"You imply I have much choice in the matter, Natter. Now hold still, or this wound will get infected."

---

Yo ho, Yar Har, the sea be home to thee!

Swabben deck from moon to dusk, on the open seas!

Bringen loot from far an wide, for our home to be!

Born on land, buried at sea, a heaven for us few!

Builden up a treasure to make badger lords stue!

Yo ho, Yar Har, we are pirates reborn!

Our ships many, our crews happy!

An terror restored!

Yo ho, Yar Har, dem wood beasts scram!

For tis a vermin duty, to put down der many!

An take der lands!

This was the song sung over the vermin port city of Viktoria, an ancient vermin fortress in the far north. The port occupied a pined bay, with a small island farther off which helped create a unique bay which was both protected and popular to visit. Viktoria is older then it appears, its base laid long ago as a different vermin settlement which had a history of destruction and restoration under new warlords. Once it was a landing spot for wildcats, then it was a vermin war camp, a warlord's fortress, and now it was a pirate port ruled by the pirate overlord Carch Viktor. Carch was not its founder, as it used to be one of Kasg's many city building projects, but swiftly abandoned when he was felled in Mossflower. Like any vermin settlement, its high wooden walls became a symbol of their dominance and oppression amongst others, and a paradise for the buccaneers who scourged the shipping lanes between the far north and Southsward. Any vermin pirate who had enough money and beasts to their name went here to find slaves to build their ships, owing their lives to the fox who made this land their home.

From high up in his wooden mansion, where his most eldest crew and their families dwelled, Carch was not in the best moods. The port was busy as ever, its vermin were partying in drunk fervor as they usually did, as slaves freshly caught from raids and sea plunderings were dragged to various tasks about his city. Carch drank from a tankard, and was silent as he stared out, knowing far more then the common layabout below, and it depressed him so.

Carch was in his office, a nice and lovely place which he held his many treasures from his long years of plundering. A knock at the door didn't even get his attention, knowing full well who it was, or well, group of beasts.

"Com in ya two. I ain't got all day." He growled out loudly, making sure the two idiots beyond the door could hear him. It opened and two creatures shuffled in, and quickly took their places at chairs facing the fox's desk. Carch turned to see two fat vermin, a weasel and a rat, draped in rich clothes unworthy for the sea scum they were as they both glared angrily at one another and twiddle their thumbs in fear of their lord and master.

"My lord. You called?" The weasel asked. Carch turned and sat at his desk. The weasel he had unfortunately got know as his fort's taskmaster and trader of slaves, Turst they called him. Turst annoyed Carch deeply, being suspiciously wealthy and yet dumber then a sack of rocks. He was hated for more by the slaves then by him, whom he divided up families in trading them to either some strange rats from a eastern horde, or that one time he caught him red pawed trading him to some blasted middle beast from the Greeneyed Horde. The other beast, a rat, was not much better. Porker earned his name for being a fat, stupid, but otherwise strong captain whom Carch had rescued from his tribe. However, he was at least competent enough of drill sergeant to keep the fort's guards well trained and on their toes. Both had served as his council for some time, and both he relied on to keep things in his small sea empire profitable.

"Aye. I did." Carch began "I called ya two here fer one reason alone. To discuss what we gonna do about Gashan an' his little host of idiots."

Porker spoke up first, slamming his fist on the desk much to Carch's annoyance "Aye, chief! I know! We'll fight em! I say we send der fleet to that rowing beast's isle an' kill him dead, eh!"

Turst spoke up quickly however, in concern "Nay, fighten Gashan, boss? I dun' like it. We should be maken allies wit him, not fighten him. We make more money, an' get more supplies with bein der friends of dat wannabe conquering horde den der enemies."

Carch growled out "Cause I don' want to be der friend, ya halfwit. Matey. Dis is Gashan we speaken of, dat wretch deserves to be put back on an oar fer defying what be rightfully mine, an' leaden all dem decent pirate folk down dis stupid path. We are raiders an' plunderers, not de blasted slaves of some wildcat's insane desires."

Porker smirked, but Carch spoke against his idea as wel "An of course we are gonna fight dem, I want to know how! Speak wit some intelligence Porker, or i'll have ya scrubben me deck of me precious Tempest fer a week!"

At that moment, another beast casually walked in. An old dormouse peaked in with a bored expression and began to scrub at the floor. All three didn't pay much mind to him, one of many Carch's slaves who tended to his massive manor. Carch angrily spoke up to his subordinates "Porker. Turst. Gashan has der support of Pent an' Scarn. His honeyed words may as well as put leashes around der necks, an now der 'emperor' comes fer us when he be done in Mossflower."

Turst smiled at this prospect "Aye! Exactly, cap'n. Dat is why we shouldn't be tryen to fight em. Just imagine all dem woodlanders needen to be broken into proper workbeasts, an' we can be der middle beasts buyen an' sellen as we please!"

Carch angrily took up a bottle of beer and threw it at the weasel who slid down his chair in time before he got smacked with it. Covered in broken glass and alcohol, Porker couldn't help but laugh. "Turst, ya idiot! If Mossflower falls, who do ya dink profits der least!? Us! Less trade an' a sea of pirates? Ya dink dat is gonna scream 'plunderen' to you? Of course not. Even if Gashan pillages all of Mossflower, who do ya dink dey will turn to next? It won't be Southsward. It'll be us."

"Ya dink dey will conquer der forest, chief?" Porker asked.

Carch slumped in his chair and growled "I don't see how dey don't. We all know der armies be massive, an' how much time Milo an' his gaggle of slavers been scouring forests both north an' south, draggen vermin to his isle. His debts to der western cats must be massive, consderen der logistics. Food. Weapons. Supplies. All dat can't be grown on an island, ya know. Dat horde is truly massive, probably as big as Kasg's if not bigger. Combined at least."

Turst spoke up again, trying to get Carch to see some manner of reason "Exactly, why back der losing side, chief? We could make a killing selling an' manipulating dat lot. We got more den enough slaves as it is, a little selling never hurt any beast."

Carch felt insulted, but Porker felt it worse as he angrily slapped the back of the weasel's head "Ya fool. Dey don't want mice an' squirrels. Dey want us as slaves."

Turst responded spitefully "Ya, sure, an' we can drag some of dem little layabouts who infest our lands an' sell em to Milo. Gashan built a nice ol' port wit dem slaves. Dis would be a lot better deal den what we got wit Kasg an' his lot! Mad ol' black rat, he was."

Carch sighed, not really remembering his meeting with his 'old boss' very well. Kasg had allied with him, but it felt more like vassalship with how much that creature could intimidate and bully. Porker responded to Turst, anger filling up in his voice "Ya touch dem lads out in dem forest, an' I'll gut you. Dem be vermin, not slave beasts! We are a free lot, not bound by dat infernal lot in some far flung desert hellscape!"

Turst grunted and turned his attention back to Carch, dusting the broken glass and messy beer from his now drench coat "Boss, look, even Black joined dem. An ya know how independent he be. If he joined dem out of some deal, den Milo can be argued wit at least. Gashan may be a disrespectful creature above his station, but dat former galley slave now rules a fort almost equal to our own! Der Long Patrol fleet is now likely in shambles, an' now is dat time to start choosen sides. I say we join wit der Greeneyes an' start collecten slaves from der borders."

Carch grunted, mostly because he couldn't really find much flaw in the logic, but Porker spoke up to try to set a new mood "It just ain't right chief. We are free pirates, as ya says, an' what exactly is der in siding wit Milo an' his lot? Short term gains won't do much except cause us more trouble in der future, especially fer our home here."

The casual talk of freedom only got a sarcastic grunt from the dormouse whom got Carch's attention. He growled at him "Ya can leave, old fool."

"Of course, sir." Grumbled the elder slave beast as he left. Carch frowned and shook his head, and couldn't help but agree as well.

"Damned if we do, damned if we don't." Carch added "However, ya be right. We gotta chose sides eventually, but it ain't gonna be wit Milo." Carch began to grin.

Turst raised an eyebrow to this, giving a weird look to him "Den, erm, who?"

At that moment, there was a scuffle heard from downstairs in the main floor of the manor. Carch motioned the two out and onto a balcony where Carch's crew were already drawing blades onto a group of newer beasts. Turst and Porker looked down, a bit frightened of what they saw. Clad in the tattered remains of a Black Clad uniform, painted white and blue, was a large water rat with a number of harsh wounds across his left eye. The black rat looked up, flicking a huge tail with a small axe tied to it. He called up, in a loud and friendly manner "Carch, ya sea drenched flea brain! Dis how ya treat yer guests?!"

Carch spoke up to his frightened crew, who had many reasons to be so. Before them stood a group of hardened sea raiders, a mix of northern cannibals clad in the iron armor of the White City, poorly painted in pirate symbols and colors. Others were hard looking rats and weasels who looked much more fearsome then any beast Carch or his crew ever looked upon. Carch smiled as his subordinates hid partly behind him. They knew full well who it was, and were a bit concerned with how friendly their boss was with this pirate below them.

"Tanbern! Menace of der north seas!" Catch threw up his paws in greetings, commanding about "Missus Marmol! Grab dis beast a drink, eh!? Ya der, slaves, bring up dem barrels of me finest! We gots guests!"

Tanbern smirked and bounded up the stairs in nimble fashion. The water rat was known to most in Vikoria, primarily because of his impromptu blockade which lasted over a week several seasons before. It was bold, some even saying stupid, but it worked and Carch had never been so impressed how brazen the younger beast was. He was a northerner to be certain, tribal most likely, but his origins were unknown to most. All he knew was that Tanbern was a successful and up and coming pirate. When he came up to Carch, but exchanged a shake of their paws, followed by two bumps of their fists. "When I got yer message, I gotta say me bucko, I was confused. Though, ya got me attention!"

"Erm. Attention?" Porker asked. Carch gave the rat captain a slap across his head "Aye! Porker. Turst. I believe ya already had met Tanbern, scourge of der north sea! Dey say all manner of villanly flows through yer blood, boy."

"It most certainly does, ya old geezers!" Tanbern pointed to himself, arrogantly and mockingly presenting himself. "An dat deal. Fifty-fifty fer der head of an entire isle, eh? Now, dat really be a big prize I cannot pass up on!"

"An more. As I be sayen through me messenger, fifty-fifty fer whatever we get raiden an' pillagen dem stupid greenies, eh. Matey, we'll be rolling in money an' lewt after we be done wit dem. Now come to me office, an' we can hammer out der details."

"Details? What details ya need?" Tanbern scolded him, and moved towards his office. He looked around, amazed and enchanted by the wealth and collections Carch had made over the years. Carch didn't answer him, as Turst gave a strange look to Carch.

"Cap'n, any utter beast who speak to ya like dat would be a dead beast. Why tolerate him?"

"Hes our secret little weapon I will use to raid an' pillage Milo till he be beggen us to take a bribe, Turst. Were gonna make it miserable for Gashan. He may be young, but he be bold!"

"Bold." Porker grunted "But stupid." Carch angrily slapped the fat rat upside his head once again, this time drawing a little blood. "Speak ill of dat beast, Porker, an' I'll throw ya in der sea meself. Tanbern's fleet is fast, experienced, an' deadly. We'll hit em where it hurts an' remain good an' sound in good ol' Viktoria! Ha!" Carch felt like the luckiest beast alive. Nothing could ruin his day, all except the massive force which began to creep down from the icy mountains and hills, and cast its shadow across his precious port.
_

There is a saying amongst the northern woodfolk, vermin and woodlander alike, that the harshness of ice breeds mighty and terrible beasts. This saying could not have been anymore true to those across the glacial sea, who dwelled in a land so devoid of life, that the only means of eating was the flesh of others. The lands of Ice and Snow is a desolate and cruel land, born of darkness which cast its shadow across all who knew of it. It was land where wolverines called home, vermin and woodlander alike lived in a constant struggle for survival at every minute of every day. The only constant was the snow itself, the arctic winds which could kill any normal beast flowed through that land to remind all of who was the true lord over it.

Then there was the White City.

Deep in the glacial north laid a great city carved into a mountain, made of only three materials; stone, snow, and bone. Generations of the eaten dead littered the streets, mines carved out iron for weapons of war to feed the city's ever growing population of dreaded beasts. It was a place of the strong, ruling over the strong and their frightened food. Every king of this city was killed in open combat, their corpse eaten by its newest monarch. Mulkan was a proud creature who kept up that tradition, and he left behind a lot on Milo's whims. He squatted on a cliff, overlooking his small but gruesome army who waved the white flags of their proud empire as they marched to Mossflower.

Mulkan was not fully dressed in his full garb for a warchief of such a brutal and evil land. He simply sat in his partly rugged tunic on the side of a cliff. Nearby, a younger white rabbitess and his personal thrall was busily cleaning his armor of blood. Like most slaves who were allowed the right to live rather then being eaten, each had been marked by a vicious slash across their face. The thrall frowned as she looked over Mulkan's dark and runed armor, bound in all manner of spells of their pagan northern gods etched into its iron surface. Mulkan had only recently enjoyed himself slaughtering villages on his way down south to enjoy the fruits of a new realm, to add to the growing empire he ruled.

"Hurryk up." Mulkan growled out lowly to the thrall. He partly grinned when he heard a more desperate and faster scrubbing and washing behind him. He slowly got up and made his other orders in a silent motion. The white rabbit maiden hurried over and began to help Mulkan don his armor, finishing off with the fox's war helm being placed on his head.

Mulkan shoved his way past the thrall, who quickly kept up pace behind him as they both made their way down to the army. Mulkan was an easily bored beast, as he looked about with a vicious look to his horde.

Mulkan was proud of his gruesome army of warriors, the strongest and largest the lands of ice and snow had ever seen in a long time. He did not need to prove his strength, as was evident when even wolverines of the horde began to part for him. He looked for his captains and subordinates as he ordered his thrall around "Grayb me a drinynk, thrall. Anyk hurry it up, Matina. I'vyk got nob patience foryk slowness."

The fox pushed through marching vermin to be by the side of his most important and 'beloved' associate. A massive wolverine donned in his full armor, including a large studded iron collar which adorned his neck. Gorand, chief of Mulkan's captains, remained a proud servant and champion of Mulkan's horde. The wolverine gave a bored glance down at Mulkan and grunted.

"Yourk 'advisor' hasyk been throwing a fyit fer days now. Why'k do you deny mek in cooyking him?"

Mulkan grunted and as before he could speak, his thrall returned with his much beloved drink. He grabbed the tankard from her paws and drank it greedily, before throwing it away into the woods, and the thrall chased after it as if life and death depended on it.

"Samyk reason I keepk dat beyast. Useful."

The wolverine rolled his eyes "Useyful? Mulkan. Neveryk before have I've seeynk a moreb worthless an' stupyid beast. He swearyks in foreign language, complains, an' lies. I couldyk just kill him, an' no oneyk would care."

Mulkan grunted "All exceptyk our allies."

"Allies?" Gorand looked behind him, at one particular beast. Or well, it was more accurate to say two beasts. One was a feral cat, garbed in the rich dress of Sandbeach, covering himself with his green cloak and shivering as he did. The other was a fox also in a green cloak, looking a bit taller and stronger than the feral cat by a mile. The brand on his cheek was old, and he held a shield to his back along with a large pack. He carried most of the cat's things, and was the only one of the two holding a more proper weapon, a hatchet. Gorand knew the foxes of the south were far more brightly colored, it partly amazed him, but in the lands of ice and snow, the strange concepts of this land confused him.

"Ourk 'allies' are not but weayklings an' obsessed withyk slaves." Gorand complained "Thatyk beast threatens the whikp, but coweryks behind its guard. It's patheytic we musb even alignyk with such creatuyres at all! I say we just kill thekm both and be doneyk with it, and raid thisyk 'Moyssflowerk' until it's naughtk but aysh."

Mulkan nodded in agreement. In a way, he did find it humiliating that he had to align with Milo at all. Mulkan didn't owe the Greeneyes anything in particular, but they did court him into this coalition to 'reclaim' their homeland from 'woodlanders'. Mulkan had laughed openly about that idea before, the strange beliefs both of these peoples held of one another. Yet, Milo's coin and promises were too good to pass up. His vermin horde was stronger and more experienced then any of Milo's by a longshot, but it was also the smallest. Mulkan couldn't have cared less about his deal with Milo, he was just here to loot and pillage. When Milo was done flooding Mossflower with his vermin, that army would aid him in expanding his lands to the highlands, whose myriad of tribes and settlements have resisted him time and again.

As the army marched out, they passed unoppossed as they slowly trampled their way towards a more familiar bay. Under orders from Milo, he was suppose to avoid such places and meet up with some tribal allies of the Greeneyes, but his eyes were set on the large vermin port which sat so plump on the shores, undisturbed and tempting. Mulkan was never one to avoid such things, he only ever got to live once. He growled out his orders "Stop! Gorand, being laying camp."

Gorand did as ordered as Mulkan made his way over to the side of a hill, overlooking the great vermin port. A large wooden thing, a palace of sorts built into the settlement. As the northern vermin began to set up their camps, Mulkan was angrily approached by that feral cat who began to chide him "Mulkan! Mulkan! What are you doing, we are weeks behind schedule! We have no time for a siege!"

Mulkan gave a dangerous look to the feral cat who slinked a bit away from him, and returned his attention to the port. He simply ignored the beast, finding himself grinning at whatever treasures and food laid in that place. He might not be able to pry it open personally, but his division of armored wolverines certainly could.
_

"Alarm!" Shouts rang out across port Viktoria, as vermin scrambled about. Those who were outside the port were soon flooding into the fortress as the panic got Carch's attention. His eyes shifted to the large force which had begun to set up tents outside his city and he squinted. Fear began to run down his back, as he beheld a force that no vermin wished to see.

"Alarm!" Cried out the guards as panicked vermin and woodlander slaves knocked over carts and partly hid. Doors closed, windows shattered as vermin families tried to barricade their makeshift homes and wooden apartments. Viktoria wasn't a big town, but it was sizable enough for it to make it difficult to go against the groups of fleeing peoples as Carch and his followers approached the walls. Carch and his allies pushed and shoved their way to the walls, and overlooked their foe slowly advancing on them.

Carch was not normally afraid, he was a deadly pirate and lord of the seas after all.

Yet, a shiver of horror ran down his back like a cold gale wind as she beheld five wolverines, covered head to toe in cumbersome armor advancing on his gates, holding up weapons and shields fit for them. They were slow enough not to attack, protecting another beast who strode forward, a fellow fox of a white hue, his armor coldly shining in the sun as he stared up at the walls.

Carch awaited whatever command this clear commander of this force wanted of him, his allies turned to him for comfort when he had none to give.

"Openk the gayktes!" Barked the fox. Carch growled and angrily stole a spear from the paws of one of his hordebeasts and threw it, landing at the feet of this dark northerner. Mulkan did not move, and seemed amused. He called up again, angrily making his demands.

"Seyndk out slaves an' supplyks, or face doomk!" barked Mulkan to the crowd of frightened hordebeasts. Carch was joined by his 'secret weapon' looking down with contempt at the king of the White City, glaring up with impatience.

"Know der fella?" Tanbern asked.

"Aye." Carch growled "One of Milo's pets."

Carch knew of Mulkan far in advance, and he knew more about the White City he ever wished to know. A vermin 'city' of bones whose grounds were littered with the frozen dead. It was nightmarish to think about, but it was curious when Wildcats began to trek north to it. He already knew of Milo's dark pact with Mulkan, but what surprised him was that the fox had decided to come down from his high rise in the cold north to actually follow an order. Northerners were famed for their strength, infamous for their loyalties. Trust advised his boss "Dis is Mulkan, Tanbern. King of Ice an' Snow. Boss, we can manage wit given him what he wants if he just goes off. Dey may be few in number, but dem are armored wolverines. Dey will tear us to pieces if dey get into our port!"

Carch grabbed the weasel by the neck and shook him in anger "Nay! I ain't given dat beast a single one of me own! Tanbern. Wit me, I got an idea."

Mulkan angrily shouted up at them "Ignorek me further, pirkates, an' I'll turn yourk bones into baubkles!"

"Is dat spear not enough fer ya!" Carch shouted back at him "Take it an' shove up der foul regions of yer real leash holder, scum! We don't bow der workbeasts of cats!"

Mulkan would have been insulted if it didn't somewhat amuse him. He sort of liked southern spirit, it tasted good even. He chuckled and motioned his guard to follow. He was going to break in with a single push, and turn this simple port into a bad memory.
_

Two dormice slaves struggled as they dropped the last barrel at the gate to the southern end of Viktoria. It was night, and the vermin had been up to something. One dormouse spoke to the other in a tired mood. "The hells are these vermin even doing." He complained "This stuff smells worse than the rations they feed us. Why can't they carry this filth?" The dormice were joined by one of the enslaved otters of a port, an old soul whom had long been a victim of Carch's younger days in piracy. He sighed, setting his own barrel near the tip of the door. "Ya know whats up, water dog?"

"Nay. Carch an' his minions don't really say much." As he wiped sweat from his brow, the group heard the sudden snap of the whip in the air and they stood to attention. Coming over to them was the deeply hated Turst who held his whip aloft and growled out "Get back to your miserable pens, workbeasts! You don't get rations standing around!" The slaves rightfully held their tongue as they got out of his way, but could overhear him complaining himself "Blasted, stupid boss! This won't work! None of this will work!"

Carch and Tanbern remained on the wall, their respective crews geared for the coming fight. Mulkan was a predictable creature, having been fought by both before. Mulkan, for all of his faults, was a conqueror who knew what he was doing half the time. His favored tactic was night time raids, where he could use the cover of night to his advantage. With how the northern horde set up their camp, their main route to attack was on the southern wall.

Tanbern commented to the older pirate fox, a bit impressed "This plan of yours. Tis inspiring, ya old sea wretch."

Carch only smiled, but then frowned when he heard a war horn in the distance. Coming from the shadows were armored wolverines, lumbering towards them in the darkness at a distance. "Keep dem stupid creature off me walls. Once dey break though, den the real fight begins."

Tanbern nodded and called out to his blood thirsty crew "Kill em'!"

Carch ducked beneath the walls as the skirmishing began. Throwing axes flung across the walls as the war cry of gray rats, ermine, and white foxes filled the air. They charged with crude ladders and a single log to the walls, hoping to distract the skirmishers from the real problem. Carch just in time got behind his horde as he heard the angry pounding and scratching on the gates of his previous port. He called out in encouragement.

"Keep dem at der gates! Ready on me mark!"

It was Porker's time to shine, as he and his guard rushed forward and kicked over the barrels, a foul smelling oder that only a vermin pirate could enjoy was unleashed from it. A massive paw crashed through the wooden gate, much to Porker's fright. His guards speared at the armored paw relentlessly as he continued to knock over the barrels. Then, on order, he and his soldiers began to clmb with some of the barels at the side, dodging and weaving from the skirmishes between the two forces. Tanbern's crew kept the enemy at bay, knocking down latters and crude attempts to breach into the walls. Porker lifted a barrel, and some poor and unfortunate wolverine got slathered in. . .grog?

The wolverine paused and chuckled to himself for a moment as he returned to tearing out the wooden gate. He crashed partially through, only to see Carch with a number of archers behind him. They all had put the flame to the tip of their arrows as they unleashed a volley on the gate. An inferno erupted as the armored wolverines cooked and burned inside his armor, trying desperately to free himself from the flames which seeped into him. The screams would not die down, as the northerners began to back off, as Mulkan watched on. He frowned as his mighty horde began to scatter.

The feral cat came up to him, overseeing the battle and smirked. He had warned Mulkan of these foolish things, and chided him openly. "Look what you have done now, you stupid fox."

Mulkan gave a confused look to himself, and slowly turned his attention to the feral cat, chiding him even as the horde regrouped back in the northerner's camp "We are now not only late, you waste previous resources and creatures on these ventures! If Milo was here now, he'd would ha-" The feral cat didn't continue to answer as Mulkan took his paw to his throat and began to strangle him. The feral cat desperately clawed at him fruitlessly, looking to his fox bodyguard for aid.

The bodyguard did not move, only giving the white fox a sheepish look before nodding to him. "T-traito-ors! H-help me! K-k-kill this s-savage!" The cat desperately fumbled words, desperate for air as Mulkan continued to strangle him. He chided the cat calmly "Youk mistake me fork a thrallk of Milo. I havek more respect fork dis thrallk of yours then I of you. Milok will havek his army, diek peacefully knoywking you have fedk it." Mulkan crushed the cat's neck and it slumped to the ground. He looked to the fox and chuckled "Yourk are observer nowk, thrallk. Didk you see dis beastk die fightingk those piratesk on the walls?"

The Sandbeach fox looked down at the corpse and then to the walls. He nodded "Aye. Shame."

Mulkan patted the now new observer's shoulder in congratulations for his promotion, turning away from the disastrous battle and returning to his camp to eat.
_

As quickly as the enemy from the north came, they had disappeared. Their attack thwarted, the northern vermin kept back from the port's walls and did not pursue, although this concerned Carch considerably. When the flames had finally died down, the vermin and slaves throwing sea water in desperation to prevent the fire from spreading further into the wooden port, Carch kept his eye on the retreating northerners. He could see them, even in the darkness, looming in the distance. A single charge of those armored wolverines could crash into the town, and they would all be dead.

Yet, Carch's plan had worked.

By morning, the host had left and left their dead. More pirates were killed then northerners, as Carch found Tanbern sitting on top of the charred corpse of the armored wolverine. He drank from a tankard and relaxed upon the warm metal as he mockingly cheered the victory.

"Matey, yer mad, but dat be why I like ya!"

Carch smiled "An yer crew be brave, matey. Though I doubt dat will be der last we seen of Mulkan an' his thugs."

Tanbern laughed "As if, we just beatem black an' blue. Even if dey charged right into yer port, we'd still be at a good advantage."

"Don't be so certain." The pirate lord frowned and moved towards his destroyed gate and looked out "Dey be gone, yes, but not because we won. Mulkan would have loved to stay, prod at our defenses, but dey go south."

"To Mossflower." Tanbern spat "Getten der best loot fer demselves, greedy degenerates."

"Aye, an' were gonna steal it all right back here, eh! Tanbern, prepare yer crew, we go raiden by next dawn."

"Why not now?"

Carch patted his stomach "Gotta get meself a decent meal an' rest, hate to leave me port in bad shape!"

Carch left and Tanbern leaped from the wolverine's corpse and onto the ground, joining his drunken crew who sang shanties of their deeds and of their dead. Several of the slaves of the port were pushing out debris as one dormouse spoke bleakly to the other "Oh seasons, be merciful to Mossflower."

"They'll need more than mercy with that evil lot." The other answered before hearing the crack of a whip over their heads. They got back to work, occasionally glancing at the armored horror which nearly broke through their own gates.

---

Kamala turned up her nose at the sight, but it was something that had to be done. Beneath her, being prepared slowly and methodically was a dark and foreboding stew, but not a normal one. She peered down briefly to still see a skeletal paw sticking out of it and she nearly barfed at the sight. Nattar sat close to the stew, looking at it with his own disgust.

"Yer okay, seer?" A rat chieftain said mockingly. It was an older chieftain, a member of the furthest Juska tribe in the north, the Juskagogth. The rat and his entire tribe were cannibals, painting their faces with ashes and painted yellow. The tribe's scouts had reported a large northern host was heading into Mossflower, carrying white banners. Nattar and Kamala knew what it meant, but they seemingly disagreed with one another over how to greet the king of ice and snow.

"Is this. . .necessary?" Nattar grunted, his face curled with a frustrated cringe. The smell alone from the stew was a mix of herbs and heated meats, but it was the meat of a fellow weasel. It was bad enough the rat chieftain next to him chose that prisoner in particular, which Nattar took a mental note of. Kamala answered her subordinates' question in a sly way as she has always done "Yes, my Tapperung. Mulkan is a dumb, brutish, arrogant beast from a land far more savage then our own. He will demand meat and expect hospitality from us."

Nattar awaited, and his mind wandered as time passed.

Eventually he began to hear thudding.

Nattar was taken aback when the first beast who came into the clearing wasn't a white fox, but a wolverine bound in a metal studded collar, carrying a large pack of things behind his back, and had a devilish grin which he arrogantly showed. Mulkan appeared next in his warrior's regalia, followed by a small host of his warriors. Kamala scanned the group and grew nervous, not spotting the feral cat that was supposed to be Mulkan's guide to Mossflower. She could see his bodyguard, sure, but the lack of the beast did not fill her with much confidence.

Mulkan came up to Nattar and the Juska who backed away in fear of Mulkan's armored guard. The stew that was being cooked was grabbed by the wolverine and drunk in front of them, as Kamala scolded the beast "Put that down, savage. It isn't for you."

"It is nowk." The wolverine grunted and threw the hot stew into the forest in a rude manner. Mulkan didn't seem to mind as Nattar got up and met the dark king of the north.

"Yer late." Nattar folded his paws, as Mulkan grunted in turn. "I don't carek much for yourk scheduyle, savage."

Kamala was a little amused by this. To her, it was Mulkan's people who were savages, unrepentant barbarians of the worst excesses. Yet, it dawned on her that Mulkan was also a king of a great city, one with its own order and rules. She was aware of such simple structures, even if it was ironic.

"My lord, there was a cat with you, was there not? Is he ill, or is falling behind?" Kamala wanted to keep a tab on her agent, but was informed bluntly by Mulkan of his fate "Wek attacked a foryt belonging to theyk enemy, a sea raiyder settlement. He was felled." Mulkan gave her a very dark look which made Kamala back off a little. No, he isn't that clever is he? He couldn't have possibly known he was one of mine.

Mulkan wanted to chuckle, but didn't. "Heyk insisted on assaulting the walls, this beastk is now mine." He pointed to the Sandbeach fox behind him, seemingly more comfortable in the crowd of northern vermin. Kamala scolded him "You do not take Milo's servants, King of Ice and Snow."

Mulkan mocked her "I tayke what I wish, sofykt beast."

Nattar rolled his eyes and spoke up in a more adultish voice to them both "Enough. We have waited long enough, and my war host is ready. We march on Salamandastron. That is where the wild cats need us most."

Mulkan paused and shook his head "Nayk. We raiyd here."

Nattar raised an eyebrow to this "What to you mean 'nay kek'? We aren't here to just wander about ya know. Milo demands our attention."

Mulkan tapped his foot to the ground "I ain'tk Milo's pet, warchieyfk. Though, samek can't be saiyd of you."

Nattar responded only by bringing out his sword from his belt and put it into the ground, leaning upon it and giving an angry response "Speak ill of me, fox, and I'll lop off your bleeding head."

Mulkan then couldn't keep it in, and gave a cruel chuckle. Kamala could see Nattar wanted to go over and strangle him, and she thus spoke up to calm them "We all owe Milo much, and we also all made our pacts with him. You have no intention of betraying this cause Mulkan, otherwise you would have not come at all."

Mulkan shrugged in a sarcastic motion "Youk speak true. Thayk milk druynk wretch won'ykt help me ifk I don'ynk help him. Though I have no intentioynk of headying to the firek mountain. The forestyks are fresh, unspoiylkt."

Kamala scolded Mulkan, her belief in the protection of Nattar's horde allowed her greater speaking privileges for a beast supposedly below the two "Only if you help, king of ice and snow. Your horde needs to move ahead to Salamandastron, for our ally awaits. The greater the delay, the greater Milo's anger will be. Lest you forget, the great plan requires the destruction of this land's defenders, and only then can we raid unopposed."

Mulkan couldn't help roll his eyes. "Youk think I feark big longk ears and whiyte wolverines? I foughtk and kiylled manyk befork you were evenk a small dibbuym."

Nattar this time acted the diplomat and spoke up "My seer is correct however, we must not delay. We will have plenty of shrews and otters to fight after we are done with that accursed mountain."

The two were interrupted, as if on time after Nattar had said so, a scout appeared and knelt to the two lords. Nattar gave him a dismissive glance, for it was one of the Juska scouts who blinked nervously in his presence. "Warchief. Me lords. We have news from the eastern border of der forest. Tis the Gousim."

Kamala gave a dismissive grunt "This isn't great news, you incompetent. The Gousim always patrol the eastern parts of the forest, keeping the Juska away from inner Mossflower."

"Nay! Not just that, tis the entire tribe!"

This gave Kamala pause, unsure of the implications. Yet she had no time to think of it before Mulkan gave a greedy smile "Den perfekt! Wek'z will put those beasytks to the sword. They arek enemies? Then wek shallk deal with them firyst."

Kamala tried to pull back the white fox from his selfishness, although even she partly knew it was fruitless and she desperately pointed out "No! The shrews are the later foe, not our current! Mulkan!" The fox had already left, his small horde following him as the white fox whistled. An ermine crept up to him, shrouded in a dark green cloak and stained in blood, a bow to her back as Mulkan whispered to her. She nodded, and ran off into the woods with a lightning speed. Nattar sighed and spoke up to the Juska with him "Gather the host, we follow the fox."

Kamala angrily, but silently, scolded him "Nattar, what are you doing?!"
"He is right." He whispered back "They are our enemy, and the entire Gousim are on our borders? I am going get rid of a hated foe with a bunch of northern scum at my back. You want the Juska? They won't move knowing the entire whole of Gousim are at our borders! We drive them off. We kill them. Less trouble for us later, especially when we have to deal with the Holt."

Nattar's lips dripped with a nasty, sour taste as he spoke. Kamala angrily sighed and followed, thinking of a way to turn all this around to her favor. It would take time, but she had a plan.
_

Nattar gathered his hosts in a way any warlord of Mossflower would, he stood at the center of his camp and barked orders at his subordinates, threats abound with increasing poison and vitrole. The younger warriors fled back to their tribes, returning with the streams of tribal warriors with Nattar smirking at his gathered host. He didn't know numbers very well, but he truly had a terrifying vermin army, all rattling spears and beating upon war drums. Amongst them, Juanala and her own warriors awaited in the background as they watched the Juska grew impatient.

"Juska!" Nattar cried out "We march out now, to war and glory! Gather your hosts, and follow me! The shrews, the hated Gousim, camp along our border! Drive them out, smash their skulls upon the rocks, turn their flesh into fish bait! Kill! Kill!"

The Juska let out a shriek of differing war cries, all except Juanala who could only scoff at the sight. Yet, she followed as the large warhost packed up tents and supplies and moved out with Nattar leading his host and soon joined with the ever impatient Mulkan and his dark army. Juanala noticed Kamala making her way up to Nattar's side, whispering in his ears and discussing as if an equal to the Tapperung and the northerners.

Juanala had her suspicions to say the least.

The Juska were just happy to have a mighty warrior leading them like the legends of old, a warchief destined to be unstoppable, bound in spirit who could not be killed by mortal means. Yet, even if the Tapperung's flesh could fail, the spirit would latch onto its slayer. She had no douts of the legends, but it was the suspicious coming of this strange beast and his strange friends which caused her concern. She peered next to her to see the bored and icy faces of experienced northern vermin, gray rats and white foxes who sweated under the heat of Mossflower's sun.

The vermin host moved at a terrible pace, quickening as it followed the scouts from one tribe to the next, consuming its groups into the massive horde. The group only slowed when they neared the shrews, their respective scouts returning and informing their leaders. Juanala was a little excited, she and her tribe would have loved nothing more then to spill the blood of the shrews and drive them away, yet her hopes felt tainted when she beheld a dark figure leap from the branches of the trees and squatted to Mulkan's feet.

"Reporytk." Ordered the white fox.

"Smallk longk scouynts, many beyondk the hillk." The dark figure spoke. Nattar and Kamala, next to the dark king were taken aback when the cloaked figure dropped the corpse of a shrew before the white fox. Casually, he took out his axe and sliced off some flesh and ate it. "Youk have dyone well, Zulma."

The ermine lifted her hood and gave a mocking bow "Theyk suspect nothingk." Her graggly and wretched voice spoke, which hurt to hear for beasts like Kamala who could barely understand let alone tolerate the verminous accents. "Wek shouldk attayck quickly, fork I saw some boayts amongskt der cyamp."

"Not without my orders." Nattar whispered "Shrews will defend their tribe to the last beast, but they can keep their range up all too well with slings. We should advance slowly, surprise them in the night where they are vulnerable."

Kamala couldn't help but smile as Nattar took her strategic lessons to at least some heart, but frowned when Mulkan mockingly spoke up "Cyoward are yey? I feark not der sytone, nork de's small dings. Verymin of the whyite city! Toy me!"

Mulkan rushed off up the hill and marched on as Nattar shook his head and followed. Kamala whispered to him a devious plan and he listened. Nattar turned to his army and spoke in a lower tone, keeping an eye on the disappearing host of the hungry, greedy northerners who rushed for their next meal.

"We camp here, Juanala. Zung. With me, we'll watch these northerners at work."

Juanala came forward and spoke a bit harshly to the weasel "Warchief ya turnen out to be, ya allow that lot to charge out and leave us without the spoils? It be a dishonor even amongst vermin to not aid our allies."

"I am aiding them." Nattar said in a dark tone. "Let the northerners take the brunt of the damage from the shrews, and we'll sweep in and take their elders an' kits. Force em' to submit to the Juska."

Juanala sounded a bit impressed, and gave a grim smile. Her warriors and another chieftain's followed Nattar while the remaining warhost camped on the other side of the hill.
_

"Vermin! Vermin!" Shouted a shrew, rushing his way past confused and panicking shrews. Warriors stirred from their tents, and were already issuing orders for evacuation. The militia of woodlanders who joined the Gousim were soon packing up as well, but weren't as concerned. Logis, who had been sleeping up until now, came bounding out of his tent and demanded to know what was going on, and was informed by his weary and horrified scouts.

"Vermin, big gray ones! Bigger brown ones! Looked like giant otters, wolverines I thinks! Armored too!"

"What the hells are you talking about, are they Juska?" Logis shook one, who shook his head. Logis was confused, but could see his tribe was already ready to head out. He didn't believe it, jumping at a bunch of bleeding shadows, useless buggers. He was about to reprimand the scouts when they heard splashing not too far off. Logis looked to see two water rats swimming for their dear lives, flailing about climbing onto the shores on the opposite side of the river. They were new to him, but they were in a hurry to head deeper into the forest. No doubt, they were local bandits or gangsters, but to scare away a vermin like that was abnormal. "Start the evacuation." Logis said a bit unconcerned, and took up his saber. "Gather my warriors, and call for the council! We'll deal with this coming threat."

The shrews gathered very briefly for council, and in short words gave Logis his emergency powers. Logis ordered his shrew about, demanding them to go across the river rather then up it. With a cadre of warriors, Logis marched into the forests with his panicked scouts who showed them from the bushes the coming horror barreling towards their camp.

"I saws it, sir, poor ol' Milkdrew. Got grabbed by an ermine and dragged off. We tried to give chase an' avenge her, but it were far too late! Then we sees that, Log-a-log!"

The shrews could see a small army of vermin barreling down at them in small waves, but at the back of that line were figures which gave Logis fright and pause. It was a wolverine, a truly massive badger-sized beast covered head to toe in an iron armor it carried effortlessly. They were followed by several other similar beasts who trudged a bit more slowly. Logis could only guess these cannibals were impatient, as their groups were spread out and mixed with dashing creatures and slower paced formations. Big vermin, but still vermin.

Logis shook himself as he gave out commands to his warriors "Gousim! Load your slings."

"Hold up!" A voice rang out behind them. Bigoar and come of his cronies came up with their own weapons drawn alongside Logis's large hedgehog friend, with Sagad darting into the brush and having a hard time hiding himself. "You can't be serious, Logis. Rock isn't going to put those beasts down."

Logis flew into an angry rant "Bigoar, of course I damn well know it won't harm them, we are going to draw them out and into one the denser forests nearby. We'll fight them on terrain we know."

"You're insane." Bigoar said venomously, but also with some fright seeing the vermin ever approaching. Logis grunted in response "Then go back to the clan and help the evacuation across the river, and leave some logs for us! Go then you bloody coward."

Bigoar growled, but ultimately obeyed as Logis shouted orders to his shrews. The skirmish began with shouting as from the bushes the clumsy northern vermin were plattered with slung rocks which knocked at them and dented armor. They charged towards the bushes, hacking and slashing as they went without stopping.

Yet once they reached the bushes, the shrews were gone. One wolverine fell over, covering his face when a rock hit his eye, and a rat crawled into a fatal fetal position once another hit his helmet off and grazed his head. Logis and his shrews retreated northward, firing and skirmishing as they went, and as Logis predicted the vermin followed. The shrews would only temporarily stop, with some warriors charging forward in sudden motions as their slingers unleash a barrage upon the charging vermin. The northerners were annoyed, but Mulkan soon found there was a method to the madness.
"Ukse der tryees for cover!" Mulkan shouted orders as he doved behind a tree. His vermin were slow to obey but eventually slowed their advance. Mulkan was a bit surprised, he was used to retreating skirmishers and routed warriors, but the small shrews fought like devils. Even as an armored wolverine came forward, knocking off stones and javelins like they were a light rain, the Gousim kept pace against them. Occasionally, the northern vermin caught up with one shrew or two, and turned them in a red jelly with a single swipe of their paws, but what was even stranger was when the shrews drew them further up the hills and into small ravines. They were relentless as Mulkan tried to even claim one life, but grew more and more frustrated trying to keep pace with these beasts.

"Forywardk! Killk yem!" Mulkan shouted as his vermin broke cover, but he did not. He looked up in the trees to see his captain and scout prowling about as Mulkan pointed to her where he wished to go. Arrows flew out from the tree line, hitting one or two shrews in quick succession before she leaped down and joined Mulkan. The two charged forward, directly at Logis.

Logis looked to see two of his warriors fall to arrows, which surprised him, but he stood his ground as the white fox and ermine dashed to meet him. The ermine in her gluttonous greed charged first only to run right into Sagad as she bumped herself to the ground. She nimbly only dodged in time when the large hedgehog took a huge branch and bashed it infront of him.

Mulkan faired little better as his hatchet slammed down into the ground to where Logis should have been, the shrew chieftain cutting at his armor helplessly as the two fought. They traded parries as the four figures skirmished, only for Mulkan to be forced back by rocks being pelted on him by the shrews who retreated further back. Logis tried to duel the fox further, but a nasty swipe from the fox taught him otherwise as Logis and Sagad retreated backward. Mulkan and Zulma retreated backwards into their own horde, as the fox king complained with a huffed exhaustion "Where ayre the juskyak?" He ordered, but his vermin hiding behind the brush and trees with them only looked at each other and shrugged.
_

Bigoar returned to the shrew camp and was partly relieved that the Gousim were already half way across the river. It always impressed him that when kicked a little, the Gousim could work miracles of logistics. The shrews lined up their innocents and herded them onto logs, rolling them down the river and towards the other side. The woodlander militias stood guard, a division of them kept watch and spoke amongst themselves as the political officer made his entrance and began to shout orders.

"Get those damned logs rolling, and abandon any of the bad supplies! We have no time!" Bigoar shook fellow shrews as he made his way towards the middle of the camp, barking orders. It was his mood, his very being, to be yelling down at others and he enjoyed it. He made sure the right supplies were floated down the river first, and his critical eye fell on Bargol who was trying to pull himself onto the front of a log before others.

Bigoar waded through the water and practically dragged the wide eyed shrew to the shores and slapped him harshly "You're staying here, you wretch."

"What?! Why me!" Bargol protested before another vicious slap got his attention "You were voted to be in charge of the logistics for our war effort, so go and make sure our weapons and ammo get across the river!"

Bargol gulped and then produced from his pockets a small pouch of silver coin. Bigoar looked down at it and grunted. He took the pouch in paw and pocketed it and threw Bargol aside, taking his bribe all too well "You there! Yes! You! Put the weapons and rations on the bouys, and launch them to the otherside of the river!" Bigoar was a little annoyed he would have to multitask, but the new found weight in his pockets felt like it was worth it. Bargol pathetically awaited to get onto another log before it too was launched up the river.

Bigoar felt a bit at ease, up until some of the woodlanders began shouting.

"Juska! There is ble-"

The warning beast was pelted with several arrows as panic began to overcome the shrews. Militia beasts drew weapons as the Juska vermin descended upon the group. Ever violent, Bigoar was paused as he witnessed woodlanders and shrews both warrior and fleeing commoner be cut down. One log was tipped over by one fool vermin who tried to climb onto it and impress upon his fellow warriors, only to be thrown into the river along with others. More unfortunate creatures were grabbed, luckier ones getting murdered by the raiders while the less lucky were dragged away into the forest to disappear into captivity. Bigoar shook himself and spoke up to his warriors.

"To me! Damn you all if you let a single one of those wretched flea bags continue this rampage! Kill them, drive them out!" Bigoar brought out his rapier and led his warriors forward, pushing against fleeing shrews and rallying routed woodlanders. The Juska slammed against the shrews as Bigoar held his ground.

Bigoar didn't enjoy combat, it was far too loud and far too bloody for him to truly enjoy. It was chaotic and difficult to see in, dirt and blood spattered everywhere, and every time he swiped at a beast he was sometimes unsure if it was the right move. Naturally, of course, Logis isn't here. Playing with those wolverines in the woods, and getting all the glory while I have to fend off these tribal degenerates!

Bigoar growled with rage, hacking and slashing at vermin as the shrew held their ground. A few older shrews took up slings and began to skirmish with the Juska's archers, driving them backward into the forest although this did little to help. The fighting became more intense until he felt a sudden hard punch to his face which sent him flying into the ground. He looked up to see a truly massive weasel standing over him, and he rolled in time before he stomped his face in. Bigoar began to back away, before holding up his paws in a desperate attempt to save his life.

Yet, much to his surprise, it worked.

As the remaining warriors laid dead, getting captured, or being executed by the Juska the Tapperung looked about his new loot. Bigoar was collected by one of the vermin subordinates who began to beat into him and tie him in ropes as the weasel looked to the other side of the river with annoyance.

"Most of dem got away. . ." He grumbled.

He turned to the left over tents and supplies, as his horde pilfered what they could. They had claimed the Gousim's tents, but their evacuation had been too organized and too swift for him to do the damage he had hoped to do to them. Bigoar kept silent as the weasel approached and looked down at him "Are you the Log-a-log?"

Bigoar said nothing, but then asked "Why do you ask?"

"Answer der question, runt!" His vermin captor smacked him over the head, but the large weasel glared at him and he backed away. Natter bent down and responded "I could hear the clink of coin in your pockets even during the midst of battle, long nose. Answer me, or your bones will decorate someone's armor."

Bigoar spat in the weasel's face, and he did not flinch.
_

Mulkan returned to a sore sight, his armor dented and his ermine captain beside him was nursing her paws. Mulkan was furious, not with his enemy, but with himself and his crew of fellow raiders.

"Youk all deservek a missying limb fork that perfoymance." Mulkan growled. His vermin were in a poor mood, as their chase through the forests led into marshlands, and the shrews disappeared with minimal casualties. More then once, much to his surprise, he had a hedgehog bash a log into his chest which sent him flying. He never knew such meek and simple beasts could have such strength, let alone stand against him so valiantly. He frowned at the idea they would likely have to battle the shrews again, but frowned harder when he tracked back to their camp to find the Juska sitting in it.

Vermin cruelty is a strange thing.

The tribal vermin were utterly drunk on victory, as the most non-necessary gear and supplies were abandoned in favor of the things Mulkan would consider essential. The Juska argued over who should have the best loot, but the most organized attempt by Natter and his hordebeasts was divvying up the slaves. Juska didn't really have many slaves compared to other warlords, most tribal vermin found it pointless. It is true they would kidnap woodlanders and sell them to more established hordes, but much of the tribe's duties were fulfilled by other vermin, their fellow clanbeasts. Natter and his seer were different, introducing that institution to the Juska with simplistic spite.

"Mark them and divide dem amongst the other tribes, gifts from their warchief to his underlings." Natter said with a huff of arrogance. Several of the captured militia and shrew warriors looked on in anger as one by one they were 'marked' with a knife or sword carved into their thighs, cheek, or shoulder. Their armor and clothes were stripped from them, and were forced to wear more tribal clothes and bound in ropes. Natter was joined by Juanala who scoffed at such things.

"Just kill them or sell them, warchief." She grunted "Why use them at all?"

"It is what the cats do, and it is now what we will do. Warriors shouldn't carry their rations and supplies, that is for slaves to do."

"It is what our kin do." Juanala chided him. She found such things stupid, an inventation for weakness. "Just because the cats do it doesn't mean we should, our traditions are sacred. If our ancestors could carry their things, so can we."

"Our traditions have reduced our tribes to little more than squatters in this land, and you will do well to remember that. With the cat's help, we will rule much more." Natter said, but he was tempted to mock Milo openly as well. He kept his mouth shut as Kamala joined them. "Trust in Milo's plan, Juanala. Your spirits bless him, and your Tapperung give higher praises to him. You would do well to remember your people owe much to the Greeneyes. It is prophesied they would return, have I not said it?"

Juanala sighed, she was partly right as a 'seer', but Kamala was younger than most seers she knew, and who came up with all sorts of strange prophecies and dreams. Mulkan joined them as Natter turned his attention to him. "Had fun fighten shrews?"

Mulkan didn't answer as Kamal spoke up to him "If you so wish, my lord. Perhaps we can cross the river and hunt them down. Or we can march to Salamandastron, and rest in Minto's war camp."

Mulkan already guessed what had happened in his mind, it didn't take a big genius to figure it all out. The Juska would not share their loot any time soon, and Mulkan had gained nothing but a bunch of injuries. Kamala couldn't help but smirk, as Mulkan didn't wish to seem awkward, a simple and subtle betrayal of not coming to his aid was all that was needed to reign him in.

"Youk win." Mulkan said in a calm manner. Kamala smiled as Natter came forward and patted the cold fox's shoulder. The white fox was unmoving, even as Natter cruelly commented "Do not feel so terrible in your lacking loot, mate. Here. A free meal."

"Get off of me! Get off of me!" Bigoar shouted as he was dragged to the group. He hugged the ground, desperate to get away as he was thrown to them. Natter smiled as Kamala stared down at the shrew, looking at him with disgust. Mulkan however was now growing angry. He could understand that perhaps he made some mistake, but now his allies openly taunted him.

He responded in kind.

The white fox brought up his hatchet's head toward Natter's throat in a menacing way, as the Juska warriors stopped what they were doing and looked. Natter did not look amused as Mulkan venmously spoke "Ik can kill youk all herek an' nowk. It wouyld bother mek none! I do noyt take such insuylts lightly."

Bigoar, seeing an opportunity to save his life goaded the white fox on "Aye, vermin, your new found friends be really insulting you behind your bleeding back! I hear plenty of insults directed at you in particular, and-"

Mulkan and others growled at Bigoar which made him silent. Yet, Kamala seemed to look closer at the shrew prisoner and began to ask. "Natter. This isn't the Log-a-log is it?"

"Not that he would say. . .why do you ask?" Nattar had deprived the shrew of his coin, so it was a wonder how Kamala had come to a similar question. "Looks a bit richly dressed for a common Gousim shrew."

It was true, Bigoar did wear a couple things uncommon for shrews of his stature, he certainly didn't deny it. Bigoar sat bound amongst the warlords, looking about them in a defeated look. His eyes looked upon the masses of Juska, the defeated and now enslaved woodlanders, and the towering oversized weasels in their terrible metal plates. Kamala continued her line of questioning "Shrew, what manner of officer are you."

Bigoar grunted and stood, staring at her with a spite to his voice "Guess it matters little anyway since you folk will just end me sooner then later. I am Bigoar, brother of Logis. The Log-a-log. Political Officer of the Gousim, Chief even. A couple other titles of course an-"

Natter silenced him with a kick "Enough. More the reason to kill you then." Natter sounded resentful but Kamala held up her paw as she stared down with a devious grin. "Mulkan, instead of this beast, perhaps you will want half of our prisoners, a truer gift for your losses today?"

Natter gave his seer a deadly look, but she continued "This shrew is valuable to us. More so now then before."

Mulkan had an idea of his own it seemed, but not the one Kamala suspected "Nayk, these morseyls arek more deadly theynk I suspected. I willk keep dis beayst as a ward, force their surrender. Theyk will make good skirmisher beaysts if I put dem into thrallkdom."

Hope and relief surged into Bigoar, Kamala then spoke to him directly "I imagine you are wondering what we will do to you, but it will depend what you will do for us?" Kamala had an eye out for ambitious beasts, those who were stupid enough to play such games, and Bigoar took it hook, line, and sinker. The shrew spoke up, partly in desperation and partly in genuine curiosity.

"What the hells ya mean by that, witch? I ain't a back stabber, but I am listening."

"How does a place for the Gousim in the new order of Mossflower sound?"

Bigoar was a little speechless as Kamala spoke in a calm and tempting voice to him "New order? You think the Gousim will just bow to some cats with empty promises. My brother may be an idiot, but I'm not. Just make your offer or kill me, spare me from these indiginities, eh?"

"Simple. You keep an eye on the Gousim for me, shift them away from our efforts, get your leader to be more diplomatic with us and your tribe can live unspoiled when Milo Greeneyes comes to rule this land. You can either be the slaves tending the fields, or live as you always have and be showered with the affections of a truer master. That of course includes some. . .monetary agreements."

Natter looked fed up and left, leaving with Juanala as he knew he was not going to get what he wanted. Mulkan seemed to cringe at the entire conversation, even more so when Bigoar gave a simple rebuke "Sounds great, foxess, but my dull witted brother won't buy it. I need a lot of money, a lot of good supplies, and work on your own accord to make my people listen. You want me to do right by you? You do right by me. Let my shrews go with me, and give me a good amount of what we can carry, and I'll consider it."

"And what will you offer in turn?" Kamala asked.

"I don't want the Gousim dying to some vermin horde simply because my brother has lost his rhythm for glory mongering. You want the Gousim to stay out of this war, well so do I. We already lost one battle, don't need another failure under our belts."

Kamala paused and gave him a weird look. She prodded.

"Battle? What battle?"

"You don't know, why the hells do you think we are here? Sightseeing? Here's a free bit of news, to cement this little pact." Kamala listened to Bigoar's story of what happened at Moss Field, her eyes slowly going wide. This was certainly not a part of her plan.