Grey Claw burst through his intricately made snowbeast. He was panting, and sweating, and his eyes were wide and full of fear.

"What is it ole chap?" Asked Jack, holding a paw to his chest. The hare had been admiring the snowbeast when the real rat had exploded from it.

Grey gesticulated wildly behind him, sucking in gulps of air. But no words came out his constantly-moving mouth.

Jack looked at where he was pointing, and it was not hard to see the larger rat racing forwards. The hare screamed in terror and instinctively went for his belt. It was always a rule to have your weapon with you, sharp and well-looked after. Of course Jack didn't have his weapon, but the instinct would have made any of his tutors proud. The rat was upon them a moment later, holding a large rock above it's grinning head. Grey fell to the ground in a ball, his eyes shut tightly. Sharpfur would have scolded him for not pleading, but he was too scared to make words. Jack though had been trained in different ways, and brought a fist into the vermin's jaw.

"Ow my bally paw! Wot's your teeth made out of? Lead?!"

The rat stumbled back to his feet, rubbing his hurt jaw. "What's yer paw made out of? Meat! Hehehe!"

The same rock he would have used to kill them was brought down onto his head by Tibber, knocking him down to the floor. "What is wrong with the pair of you?"

"I-I... nothing! I had him right where I bally wanted. One good swing and he'd have been chewing with his tail! Ha!"

"That's not possible. You can't chew with your tail." Came the shrew's deadpanned reply.

Grey got up timidly. "I... may have tried to pull his tail off..."

Both looked at him with wide eyes.

"I... didn't know he was a rat. I just saw his tail sticking out of the bushes and thought it looked like mine." Tibbers and Jack shared a look of incredible shock. "Now... er... do we loot him?"

All three turned to see the rat was on his paws, jamming two claws into it's mouth. It blew and out came a shrill whistle that sent shivers of fear down all their spines. "No." He said, after he was done blowing. "Now I rip you all to pieces for-"

Jack brought the rock down on his head again. "Kind of busy at the moment, wot wot. Maybe next time! Alright chaps! This is our call to action. We had better get moving now!"

If the outside of the palace had seemed gloomy it was nothing to what lay on the inside. It was colder within than without, with halls marked with countless skulls of long-dead beasts. The floors were polished so thickly one could see their reflection looking back at them. A constant shiver passed through Whimper as Trammun Clogg's crew were led forwards by a rat with fur as dark as his heart. It wasn't just the cold, he admitted to himself. The grinning skulls helped too, but there was something else that made the place so horrific. It was like a nightmare. And empty. So far the entire palace was empty, as if nobeast lived here. Their footsteps echoed horrifically from the walls and not a word was spoken amongst anybeast, even the toughest and most hardened corsairs in Clogg's company seemed afraid.

Except Darkhide, Her eyes darted to and fro with casual boredom, and only settled once, when they had caught him staring. He did not like the smile that had crossed her lips then.

Then at last, when Whimper could bear it no longer, they reached a great hall. Seated upon a throne, taller than anybeast, in a robe of soft, dark silk, and wearing a crown that looked like the castle they were standing in, was Longclaw. A wolverine, with a cold stare now fixed upon his guests. His eyes never seemed to smile, but that was what he did now. "Ah. Welcome. The journey was profitable?"

"Immensely." Clogg replied, grinning from ear to ear.

They are friends... they won't hurt us. Still he scanned the row of faces in the hall. There was one fox, scarred across the eye and missing an ear and a tooth. He stood besides his king with a sword drawn. It was pale white, like milk, and sharp enough to cut a beast in two without spilling a drop of blood. Another figure, who wore a long cloak, stood on the other side of the king, and turned to whisper something in his ear. They're friends for now, you mean.

"Trammun Clogg. You have done well." Then the solemnity fell about them. The wolverine snapped two claws together. "Why are they shivering? These are my good friends! Spitteeth, see to their accommodation immediately, and bring forth food and drink! Clogg, be seated."

The fox called Spitteeth sheathed his blade and marched forwards, eyeing the pirates with dislike. Many gave him looks of disgust back, but more looked at the sheathed blade hanging from his belt. Whimper found himself staring at his feetpaws. Silently he motioned for them to follow and with a final affirmative nod from Clogg they turned and went. One by one the crew vanished into their allocated rooms and closed the doors behind them. Scringewhiskers was the last to go with a flourishing bow and a grin.

That left Whimper with Spitteeth. The young ferret half-walked half-ran to keep up with the grown fox's long strides. "You new?" His tone was uninterested.

"Er... well... no."

"How comes I've never seen your face before?" His eyes were narrowed and cold.

"Well I don't think I've ever been here before."

"Ah. You were promoted recently. Tell me, how does one so young get promoted to Captain?"

"C-captain? I'm not a captain. I'm just the..." Whimper went silent. "I..." A pressure in his chest was squeezing for answers, but he did not know what he was. The fox kept on looking at him suspiciously. "The... Captain's er- nephew."

"Captain Clogg? That fat rat's yer uncle, eh?"

"Nuncle." The word sounded familiar, he must have said it before.

The fox shrugged and turned away. Whimper followed until Spitteeth put key to lock, twisted and gave the ferret a 'gentle' shove into his chambers before closing the door behind him.

It was plain, with a bed in one corner, a table and a barrel of water in the other corner. There wasn't even a tapish. "Good friends, huh?" The room was cold and had a thin cut in the wall that served as a window. Poking his head out he was surprised to find how high up he was, he didn't remember encountering any stairs, and the ship was far below.

He lifted his head at the sound of giggling and was surprised to find somebeast closing the door.

"Who are you?" It was a little wolverine, though still twice his mass. Fat and broad-shouldered.

The wolverine spun around and saw Whimper standing there. Suddenly though the child was not the most important thing in the room, for in his paws he held a great collection of muffins. They frowned at the sight of him.

"What are you doing here?" They said in a tall, commanding voice.

"It's my room." Whimper snapped.

"My castle."

"No it's Longclaw's."

The wolverine frowned at the ferret. "My father's castle. Now, who are you?"

"Whimper."

"I didn't ask for your name midget!" Snapped the thief.

"I gave it anyways fatty!" Whimper snapped back, edging away defensively while the furs on his back prickled.

"Say that one more time!"

"Fatty! Fatty! Fatty! Hahahaha Fat-teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" The wolverine grabbed him by the throat, all muffins lay on the floor, forgotten. Whimper was surprised by how easily the wolverine lifted him off the ground.

Bork tried to sound like his father. "Manners, manners... where would we be without them? Now apologize."

"I'm sorry." Whimper squeaked immediately.

Bork shook him like a rag doll. "Not good enough."

"I'm sorry er-your Majesty."

Bork let him drop to the floor. "Better." The wolverine turned back to the muffins and sat against the door, chewing on them delightfully while Whimper rubbed his throat.

A thousand insults made themselves present in his mind, but Whimper thought better of them. "So... you're Prince?"

"What are you?" Bork demanded.

"I'm a ferret." Whimper replied automatically. He gave a nervous chuckle at the deep scowl on the wolverine's face. "Well... I'm Captain Clogg's nephew. So er... yes."

"Well I'm Prince of the Northlands." He said, his chest puffed forwards with pride. "Meaning one day this whole place will be mine and I'll be able to do whatever I want." He fell back with a contended sigh. "As soon as father's out of the way anyway." He chose another muffin and chewed at it thoughtfully.

"Can I have one?" Whimper asked, pointing at the pile still at his feet. "Please." He added as an afterthought.

"Oh what, one of these?" Bork held up one of them, it was dotted with dried strawberries. "No I don't think so. Too good for you."

Whimper gritted his teeth and chose a different tack. "Some Prince you are. You have to rob food from your own kitchens. I wonder what your father would say about that."

Begrudgingly a muffin was kicked his way. "My father doesn't know. Of course many beasts don't know many things. Perhaps you'd like to know what it feels like to crack like an egg."

"Somethings are best not being known." Whimper said. They grinned, hit their muffins against each other and were silent as they chewed down the pile.

At long last when it was done Bork lay against the door, patting his stomach happily. "So what was your name again."

"Whimper."

"I'm Bork."

They shook paws, or rather Whimper's paw was temporarily crushed within his friend's iron grip.

"Corsair. I always thought you lot were a pile of stinking fishmugs."

Whimper shrugged. "Most of them are."

They laughed at this and Bork rose, and towered over the still-seated ferret. "Say tiny, would you like to see what this castle looks like?"

Whimper stood up and grinned up at him. "Lead the way fatty."

For a minute Bork's face darkened. "Call me fatty again and you'll know what flying feels like."

"Call me tiny again and you'll know what flaying feels like." Whimper snapped.

Bork laughed. "You're funny." They were silent for a moment, before Bork opened the door. "Come on."

Light blinded them as a door, hidden somewhere in the walls, burst open. Somebeast tried to swing, and was promptly kicked in the stomach.

"They haven't got their cuffs on... corsairs, always slow-minded." Said a voice. "Well what are you doing standing there for! Get those beasts tied and on their feetpaws."

Momchillo was grabbed by the scruff of the neck by something strong, and two more tied his paws behind his back. Sickletail bit off an ear and was punched repeatedly. Silvertongue roared with rage and tried to tear forwards, but was held back by the ropes that held him.

"SILENCE!" Boomed a voice, and silence was restored. The speaker stepped into the light. It was a stoat, tall and slender, with a whip hanging casually from one paw. "Good. You know how to obey." It cackled wildly. "Get 'em moving."

Momchillo and the Honest Bunch were half-dragged, half-carried out of the darkness, where they were stood in a straight line. The slavemaster walked up and down the line, admiring his catch. "Five of you, eh? Right let's see." He pointed at Silvertongue. "Kitchen." The weasel was dragged away. "Kitchen." He said, pointing at Sick-Eyes. "Tailoring." Sickletail was taken away. "And you two are with me." He grinned. "Mining."

"Woah." Was all Whimper could say.

"The Bridge of Skulls they call it." Provided Bork. It was a narrow bridge of rope and wood that lead from the Southern-most Walltop to the peak of Mount Bloodhelm, named after the red sandstone that was visible through gaps in the snow. A gate stood between them and the bridge. A gate of red metal decorated with strange writing. "It takes you to the top of the mountain, then down the mountain you have Blue Lake. Snow, snow, snow! Hahahaha! I'll be king of ice and snow one day."

"Yeah..." Whimper froze at how high up they were. The wind was howling in his face, and his ears were threatening to freeze off and crumble. He found his paws left the ground and Bork was holding him by the scruff. "H-hey!"

"What? You wanted to see the Northlands, you can't see it from down there."

"B-but if you d-drop me-"

"I'm not an idiot. And I'm not gonna drop you."

The ground was far below him. A sheet of snow. A sheet of snow thick enough to bury him. Whimper felt his heart beat rapidly as he dangled over the side of the wall, sweat built up on his brow and froze there. "B-bork, c-can you put me down n-now? P-please?"

Bork let go of his neck and for a moment he was plunging downwards, screaming. Then he stopped falling and realized Bork now held him by the tail. The wolverine dropped him back down on the floor before falling on his back and laughing.

"You should have seen your face! Hahahahaha! And your scream! Hahahaha! You scream like a little girl! Hahahahaha!"

"I do not!" Whimper snapped, his face pink with shame and anger. He stared down at his feetpaw. The sensation of being hung over the walls... there was something familiar about that... Something... something... red? Maybe it was the fear, he was called Whimper after all.

"Yeah you do. You scream like this. 'Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!' Hahahahahaha!" It was a while before Bork stopped laughing and wiped away the tears that had built up. "Oh boy Whimper...Haha! Me and you are going to be the best of mates."

Somehow I doubt that.

"I don't know what it is exactly, but the properties of red sandstone are immensely powerful, some even call it magical. It is tough, durable, and pretty. What more could you want, am I right? In the morning you will be brought here. You will work hard and you will eat. Rinse and repeat. Collect the sandstone and only the sandstone, and bring it to construction. Do it slowly, and you'll get a lash. Protest, and you will get a lash. Disobey, and you'll loose your heads. All good? Yes? Excellent! Now get to work."

Momchillo paused in front of the sandstone dumbly, and was whipped hard for it.

"That's your first warning. Now hurry up! It's going to be a long day!"

For a moment he was tempted to take the rock and bring it down on the cursed stoat's head, but Deathglare must have known, for he was between them in a second, collecting the rock with shackled paws.

When the slavemaster was out of earshot the pine marten frowned at him. "Getting yourself killed in hopeless heroics is one of the stupidest things you can do mouse."

"It wouldn't have been hopeless if I bashed his skull in."

"Do you know what it takes to do something like that?"

"A rock. A lot of anger. Maybe some muscle-power."

"I see. You don't."

Momchillo opened his mouth to retort, but was whipped once more. "I'm warning you mouse. Get to work."

The pain was like a bee sting and he could feel his eyes going wet, but Momchillo picked up a rock and began chipping away at the impurities.

"Martin the Warrior was a slave once." He told Deathglare, who had still not left his side.

"How long did it take for him to escape?"

"Er...Several seasons..." Hope vanished once more.

"Good thing you're not Martin the Warrior."

"And this is my room." It was richly decorated with glorious carpets, soft silken cushions and a pile of sweet biscuits laying on a table, ready to be eaten.

"It's nice." Said Whimper, moving towards the pile of sweets.

Bork held him back by pressing a foot down on his tail. "Those are mine. And they're not stolen so you can't go and complain to father about them." Pushing him away Bork sat down against the table leg, a pawful of the biscuits now on his stomach as one by one he proceeded to chew them.

"So, what do you do? Aside from eating?" Whimper asked, his eyes still scanning the room.

"Oh well, I fight in the practice yard and then I have lessons with Spitteeth, he's the fox with the fancy white sword and then I have to study history for a bit."

"History's the worst." The young ferret said automatically. Then before he knew what he was doing he was ranting. "So many stupid names and places, who even cares about Marshank anyways? And Abbot Martin always gives me the difficult questions! The stupid old mo-" He stopped. Abbot Martin? Who was Abbot Martin?

To his surprise Bork was passing him a biscuit. "I know. History is pointless. It's not like I can change the past anyways, right? When I'm King I'm going to tear up every book in this castle."

Whimper pushed away thoughts of Abbot Martin and began chewing the biscuit. "In that case, I can't wait for you to be King."

"OI! Mouse!"

Before he could get his fifth lash Momchillo spun around and showed off the bucket full of red sandstone he had filled. "I finished." he said through gritted teeth.

"And thought you'd have a little break, did you?" He was smacked across the cheek. "Get that to construction, now."

"I... I don't know where it is."

The stoat growled in annoyance. "SPIKE! Come 'ere ye dumb hedgepig!"

The hedgehog turned shakily. "I'm w-working h-hard sir."

"Good good! Your bucket's almost full, get that to construction and show this mouse where it is, alright?" The shaking hedgehog nodded and went away, Momchillo followed him.

"You new?" He asked when he was sure they were out of earshot.

"First day." Said Momchillo glumly.

The hedgehog frowned sympathetically. "Nothing you can do for it, I'm afraid. Just do as you're told. They won't hurt you then...b-but... if you do anything bad, they hurt you. You g-get hurt. You don't want to be hurt, do you?"

Momchillo shook his head.

"G-good. J-just do as you're told."

"So where are you from?"

"D-doesn't matter now. N-nothing matters now. Just be good. Be good. You want to be good don't you?"

Momchillo felt his paws curling into fists. This poor creature must have been here for a long time. "I want to kill that stoat."

"NO! NO! N-no! Then, then, they hurt all of us." The hedgehog grabbed him by the paws. "Promise me! Promise me you w-won't!"

"I w-won't. I p-promise." The hedgehog let go of him, and as if he carried plague hurried forwards a few feet. Momchillo stood there, stunned. Never had he seen anybeast so scared.

He glanced up at the huge castle that lay ahead. Welcome to the Northlands. He thought bitterly.