A/N: Lord Demon: I... guess I can do that. Shouldn't be too hard to draw although my knowledge on feet is rather lacking. And it might not be for a while because I am rather behind on art (and other things) as is. But I'll try. Hmmm... I feel the Redwallers might not notice- too busy living on the mountain y'know... I mean they are mice.
Sebias: I feel I should credit both the Flitchaye and their accents to Keldor. As for Far-Eyes hmmm... all shall be revealed (when I figure out what I'm doing muahahahahaha)
AlexFalTalon: Personally I rather like Blendfur :P He's fun to write in the enigmatic spy sort of way. Plus he's an excellent POV character because his whole shtick is that he observes people and things. (the Flayface joke was amazing XD) Although i would like to point out that Flayface earned that name from being Faceless rather than flaying other people's faces.
Abrahem: Don't worry about the reviews. Really it's fine. You're not obligated to review an hour after I publish. In the same way I'm not obligated to update on a schedule. (This is me, apologizing for the rather sporadic updates). Oooh! A Blendfur drawing? This is definetly something I'm gonna work on! Yeah, I think think the Flitchaye are great, but I think I'm better off not giving them tooooooooooooooooooo many lines of dialogue. Beasts like them run the fine line between quirky and obnoxious XD As for death... Fret's still alive, isn't he? :P
Thanks to everyone for the reviews and the reading and the favs/follows and whatever. Now without further ado...
The vermin watched him from the wall-tops. Tiny specks of brown and white and grey. The distant furbodies so greatly resembled ants that the toad felt his tummy rumble. Soon, he thought. Soon we shall all be feasting.
Warthog was small as far as toads went, yet still larger than the average mouse. He had traveled swiftly through the tunnels, avoiding danger at every step. Guided by the hunger in his stomach and the promise of beetlejuice he had crossed tunnels and pits and valleys of snow so deep a smaller creature might have drowned in it. Warthog was lucky enough to know how to swim.
He was named for the innumerable little warts all over his form and the general sluggishness of his appearance (it was commonly thought among toads and frogs alike that a hog was a rare kind of snail), and now armed with the small black and white hairs of their captive ferret, the amphibian stomped towards the high walls of dark stone.
"I bear a message!" He called up to the ants above. "A message for your King!"
Standing on the chilly walls high above, a pair of rats were frowning down at him from where they stood at their posts. From so high above the creature below could've been anything from a worm to a bear. Granted, it would have to be a very big worm to even be visible from afar.
One guardsbeast leaned towards the other and whispered.
"Did ye hear what he said?"
The other leaned back and covered the side of his muzzle with a paw. "Nah mate. Wind go' in the way diddenit?"
The toad below stomped the ground impatiently. He had not expected a warm welcome. The Lands of Ice and Snow were rarely warm, and the King of said lands had to be colder. But to be ignored at the gates after days of traveling? It was more irritating than chilling and set the amphibious blood within him boiling. Were it not for this rage he would probably have frozen to death on the spot. It might have been spring-time but the weather was always cold. He lacked fur and was dressed in nothing more than a loincloth. Wrapping his arms about him, the toad began to shiver violently. "I said open these gates! I bear a message for your King!"
Between the whistling of the ever present wind and the height of the walls, the two rats still could not make out a word the toad was saying.
"Ye think we ought te tell somebeast?"
"Migh' be impor'ant."
"Aye, we'd better tell somebeast impor'ant."
The toad below was growing impatient. The ants had left the walltops, presumably to open the gate. It had better be to open the gate. Or else Warthog would make sure they suffered... somehow.
A few minutes later the toad lost all patience and threw himself against the gate. His fists slammed into the cold iron with the fury of a badger in bloodwrath and the mad strength of a fly. "Let me in! Let me in you foul furbodies!"
A particularly vicious kick, delivered to the base of the door, set him hopping on one webbed foot. The snow was not exactly melting, but the warmer temperatures made it slicker than usual. Within moments the toad had slipped and fallen on his rump. He howled in pain and his cries punched through the chilly air, penetrating everything in it's path.
It was then that the gates swung open.
"State yer business frog!" Demanded a weasel with a stomach to rival Slimegut's. He was unarmed, unarmoured and wrapped in a thick cloak. The beast besides him seemed ready to kill at a moment's notice; there was a coldness in her eyes Warthog only ever saw in corpses.
Still the toad was nothing if not smug. After all, he, Warthog the Mighty, had been selected to act as the envoy of his tribe. Surely Slimegut had chosen him for a reason? His skill in battle, his courage, his craftiness, his intellect, his ability to solve problems easily, and of course- his powers of intimidation and complex manipulation. "And who are you?" The toad sneered. "Don't yew furbodies know how to treat an envoy?"
The weasel's fur bristled with barely-suppressed rage. The ermine besides him gave a little snicker. "Yer talkin' te Zabal, newly promoted Captain of the Guard, an' I be Chorba. Now state yer business quick-like an' scram."
Pulling himself out of the snow Warthog spoke in a thunderous voice- the kind one did to impress dibbuns. "I bear a message for the Warlord Mad-Eye Marik, or else the King of Ice and Snow himself, Longclaw! 'Tis for their ears alone I will speak." He patted a small pouch hanging from his belt. "There is something I must show them as well, they will want to see it."
The weasel looked to the ermine, who seemed even more amused. "Ye really wan' te talk te the king? Don't ye have any idea what Longclaw does te false envoys? Firs' off ye haven't got a letter, ye haven't got proper winterwear either so whoever sent ye's as dumb as ye are an' Mad-Eye Marik's been dead fur about ten seasons."
He should've known some unimportant vermin lackey would cause problems for this important mission. Who did this furbody think she was anyways? "Then take me before the King. I bear an important message that he will want to hear, from none other than Chief Slimegut of the Yellowbellies!" He spoke with such vigor and fervour that, were it a thunderstorm, lightning would have flashed behind him.
If the Lands of Ice and Snow had enough grass to house grasshoppers, crickets would have chirped at the silence. As it was the icy air was still for five full minutes, before laughter shattered it.
Chorba was rolling on the snow and clutching her stomach. She shook and rolled and cackled from the deepest part of her lungs. Zabal was making a conscious effort to stay upright but shook with such severity that it seemed like he was constantly on the verge of collapse. Warthog's green face reddened and the toad balled his webbed fingers into fists.
"Chief whoohoohoohoo o-o-of the whahahahahat?" The weasel asked between his snickers.
"SLIMEGUT OF THE YELLOWBELLIES!" Hollered the infuriated messenger.
"Told ye it was impor'ant." Came the thin, wispy voice of a rat.
"Too impor'ant fer us." Came the other, equally small voice.
Besides the pair of rodents stood a creature so utterly terrifying that, were Warthog not blessed with courage (or, alternatively, were he blessed with common sense) the toad would have hopped back to the valleys of snow and the tunnels beneath. The fox was masked, but walked stiffly, as if always in extreme pain. It's tail dragged along the snow besides him, lifeless and rotten-smelling. Any good healer would have amputated it. Flayface seemed at once half-dead and half-alive.
"Yes, ye did well te call me here, wot." The pair of rats frowned up at the taller beast.
"Wot wot sir?" One ventured to ask.
"Wooot're ye still doin' out of yer posts!" The fox cracked his whip with newfound fury. "Back te yer stations, the pair of ye afore I decide ye ought te be chucked inter the sea!"
The rats scampered away as fast as a pair of flying arrows.
Warthog would have admired the command this furbody held over his minions had he not seen Slimegut do the same on multiple occasions. As it was he was simply annoyed that another vermin was here- he had a message fit for a King and nothing else!
Still, at least the other two vermin had stopped laughing.
"So yer the one causin' all the ruckus, are ye?" The fox demanded of the toad he now towered above. "State yer business rapidly or suffer the wrath of me whip!"
Warthog was getting tired of repeating the same sentence over and over again. Were vermin truly so thick-skulled and weak-eared? "I, Warthog, Envoy of the Great Yellowbelly Tribe, bear a message for-"
"Well, well, well if it ain't Dungface!" Ignoring Warthog completely now, the ermine turned towards the slavemaster. "I've been meanin' te have words with ye fox."
"Take as many as ye like." The slaver retorted, his good eye narrowing.
"Allow us te introduce ourselves first." The weasel too turned his back on Warthog. "I'm Zabal and this is Chorba. Longclaw called us over te deal with some problems he's been havin'. Rebellious slaves an' the like."
"I bear an important message!" Warthog called loudly. None of them seemed to hear him.
"Pleasure te meet ye then, my fine foul-odoured friend." Was Flayface's cool reply. "I take it the pair of ye are the soggy-bottomed idjits who tried te tamper with breakfast this mornin'?"
"Soggy-bottomed what now?" Chorba demanded, her sharp teeth bared.
"Idjits."
"I bear a mess-"
"We weren't tamperin' with nothin'." Zabal hissed. "We were simply makin' sure everythin' was goin' smooth-like."
"Before I was present? A likely story. I'm sure Longclaw will believe it." Flayface cracked his whip over the weasel's head to quell any further talk on the matter. "Nobeast enters the kitchen without me express written consent! An' if I find out ye were snoopin' around again I'll report the pair of ye."
"Is that a threat?" Chorba asked, her paws resting on the hilts of a pair of daggers.
"Are ye plannin' on snoopin' around again?"
"Only if I think yer up to somethin'!" The ermine shot back. By now Warthog had given up trying to bring the attention back to himself.
Flayface harrumphed. "Accusing me, eh? Keep up yer good work an' ye'll wind up a skull on this here fortress. Now, onto important matters. Toad follow me, I'll take ye te the King."
"Finally!" Warthog exclaimed, shoving past Chorba and the fat weasel. "A furbody what knows how to do their job correctly!"
Zabal gritted his teeth, clenched his paws into fists and glared at the fox's retreating back. Chorba punched him.
"What was that fer?" He hissed, rubbing a bruised shoulder.
"Needed te hit somethin'." She replied dismissively. The ermine signaled for the gates to be shut before motioning for Zabal to follow. "Let's see wot the King has te say about this."
"A message?" Longclaw's claws were on full display now, each the size of a small sword. Idly he waved away a strange, small, dripping wet creature who had been whispering in his hear moments before. The filthy furbody, whatever it was, gave the group a wary look before scurrying from the halls.
The castle temperature had failed to impress Warthog, the skulls had sent nary a shiver down his spine, the pained footsteps of his guide and the muttering of the vermin behind them had failed to instill in him a sense of dread. The King was yet another disappointment. There were many beasts that happily lived their lives never having seen something larger than a hare. Badgers were rare creatures and wolverines rarer still. To the average beast being in the presence of such an animal would have incited awe, horror and a sense of wonder. As it was wolverines looked quite small next to a bear.
The King sat up straight, clearly lacking the confidence of one who could lounge about on a throne. He was not paying attention to an envoy of another, more powerful creature. His claws, while indeed long, seemed to lack purpose. Longclaw was more like a thug than a true King. A thuggish child playing a game reserved for the wise. Slimegut could've made short work of him.
"A message." Warthog repeated, chest puffed out and inflated. He glanced over the vermin in the hall. The two idiots he'd met at the gate were there,having followed him and his escorter; the masked fox that went by Flayface. A bored-looking old rat entered from a side-door, and stood scowling next to a pale white fox armed with a sword the colour of snowflakes. "From Slimegut, Chief of the Great Yellowbelly Tribe, who sends you his regards."
The wolverine snorted. "I wasn't aware a Great Yellowbelly Tribe even existed." He waved a massive paw. "Please, do tell what this Slimegut has to say."
Warthog smiled. Oh how he'd waited for this moment... "He demands ransom!"
"Ransom?" Longclaw repeated, suddenly puzzled.
"We have your warlord's heir!" The toad said wickedly, relishing the way everybeast present seemed to glance at the King with worry. "Fufret! The son of Mad-Eye Marik! I have his fur here in this pouch." Plucking said pouch off his belt, Warthog hurled it at the wolverine's feet. There it burst open and scattered small furs of black and white all over the floor.
"Warlord's hair more like." Muttered Flayface. Longclaw snorted again, to Warthog's delight. He was no doubt at a loss for words or coherent language.
"Hair indeed! We will treat the boy well, but you must understand that if there is any delay in carrying out our demands." The toad's lips parted into a sinister, toothless smile. "He shall loose more than fur." The wolverine was going red in the face, no doubt suppressed rage. Warthog went on, loving the attention. "We do not ask for much... just... twenty times his weight in bugs and beetles!"
There was silence, a stunned silence Warthog liked to think. He had no doubt his name would go down in toad history. The Bog-dweller who brought down a King!
Any and all visions of glory and power vanished the moment Longclaw burst into laughter.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Boomed the voice of the wolverine. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" His great clawed paw slapped his knee with enough strength to kill a lesser beast. "Y-you- w-wait hahahahaha! Let me cahahahatch my breaAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Warthog felt his confidence waning and his chest deflating. The masked fox gazed at him with pity in his eye, the fat weasel was smiling gleefully (which could not be a good thing) and Longclaw still had his head thrown up at the ceiling. The air was growing colder and Warthog could not help noting the size of the wolverine's fangs. He swallowed audibly and shivered, waiting for what could only be called diabolical laughter to end.
At last it did and the wolverine composed himself, his broad chest shaking with suppressed giggles. "You are... quite the tribe."
"Th-thank you." Warthog stuttered out, now truly frightened.
"But please do tell me why I should care about this... Fufret. Last I heard Marik had many sons and daughters but left no heir. How could he? He had nothing to leave behind. He was nothing. Any child of his would be heir to nothing but misery and misfortune." He flicked a speck of dust off his throne, the tip of his claw making a loud scratching sound. "You call Marick my warlord? He has been dead for about ten seasons and whatever that beast was he was not mine. Oh yes, he grovelled at my feetpaws when he needed something and everything he ever had, he had because of me." Longclaw smiled down at the shivering toad. "Yet I would not raise a claw to help him were it not to my benefit. Tell me, why should I do anything for one of his kits?"
"B-b-because..." Warthog swallowed again. He was well and truly at a loss for words. "B-b-because the little beast said- he said to tell his father about it o-or you. An-and he said there would be a ransom. Offered to write a l-letter an-and everything."
Longclaw shook his head, on the verge of uncontrollable laughter again. "The Great Yellowbelly Tribe... outsmarted by a child. Of course he'd tell you he was important, that way you're sure to keep him alive. It would not surprise me if he has already slipped through your webbed little fingers. A clever little beast no doubt. And what was your plan again? To remove body parts and bring them to me for inspection until I decided, from the goodness of my heart, to pay a ransom of insects to you?"
"I-i-it wasn't m-my plan y-your m-majesty Kingbeast f-furbody. 'Twas Slimegut's our Chief's. I-I said the boy was lying. I-I thought it m-might be a-"
"Spitteeth, if our guest lies again I would like you to behead him and add his skull to the walls." Longclaw waited for the white fox to give a small nod of understanding, before turning back to Warthog. "I find your stupidity amusing, but do not insult my intelligence. You toads have long tongues, but they're not all made of silver." The wolverine paused, idly drawing circles on the arms of his throne. "I could send you back to your tribe now, you would inform them of the ferret's duplicity and the kit will meet a grisly end if he has not already escaped."
Warthog nodded feverishly. "Y-yes. I-I'll tell them the l-little rat was lying! W-we'll make the brat suffer! L-lots of painful things!"
"Indeed." Longclaw steepled his fingers. "But I'm not going to do that. To allow your tribe to murder a helpless vermin... is not the act of a Vermin King. Instead I will lock you up in the coldest and darkest of my dungeons. Flayface can decide whether or not he wants to feed you. When the next toad comes, with presumably the next piece of ferret, I will bring you out. Whichever part is missing from the kit, I will remove from you. Pray they remove his tail and not his head."
Warthog's eyes went as wide as a pair of saucepans. He saw pity flash across the eyes of the dead-fox, but a moment later it was gone. "B-b-but I-I'm j-just the m-m-mess-"
"Yes, yes." The large vermin sounded bored. "Don't kill the messenger and all that rubbish. Never fear frog-" The fact that Warthog did not immediately respond with 'I am a toad' spoke volumes of the depth of his fear. "I am sure once your Chief hears of your plight he will swiftly release the captive ferret. We will in turn release whatever's left of you."
The sound of loud whimpering pierced the chilly air of the throne room, followed swiftly by the cackles of Zabal and Chorba.
"Shoulda run when ye had the chance tadpole!" Hooted the fat weasel. Swaggering over he delivered a sharp kick to the once-proud amphibian's nose. This only increased the volume of the whimpers.
"Take him away." Longclaw commanded. "Put him somewhere dark and cold and..." He paused on the verge of saying 'damp'. Weren't frogs partial to swamps? "And dry. "
Zabal nodded and placed a firm paw on the toad's shoulder. "Don't worry yer majesty, I'll take good care of him."
Chorba slunk over and placed a paw on the toad's other shoulder. "Aye, yer Kingliness. Make sure he feels right at home!" With identical, sadistic cackles the two dragged the terrified toad away.
One-Eye Fleetfoot felt a stab of pity for the poor toad. Neither vermin nor bog-dwellers were known for their mercy, the arrangement at paw would mean suffering for everybeast involved and the captives especially. He felt a stab of pity too, for the ferret... even if they were Mad-Eye Marik's son. The wolverine king had sounded dismissive of it. What kind of a name was Fufret anyways? The poor beast was undoubtedly terrified. Strangely enough the name sounded familiar... He had no more time to ponder for Longclaw was speaking again.
"Spitteeth, please escort Far-Eyes to her chambers. Something has come to my attention that I must have a discussion with Flayface." The wolverine smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. His fangs gleamed and his claws motioned the disguised hare closer.
One-Eye Fleetfoot could only guess what he wanted.