"Given enough time, any man may master the physical. With enough knowledge, any man may become wise. It is the true warrior who can master both…and surpass the result." ~T'ien-T'ai.
"Hey. Khaimtsu! Pass th' grog, will ya?!"
In the middle of the camp, Khaimtsu gripped the bottom of a large grog barrel perched atop a rectangular wooden dais. The yellow-brown weasel pulled down on the golden spigot. He hovered a copper mug underneath it.
A mahogany, coppery-colored liquid spilled out of the spigot into the mug. Khaimtsu stirred it with anticipation as he filled it to the brim with grog.
"Here ya go, Ember!" He carried the mug to Ember; the fox stood up from a tree stump to accept it. "One cup of grog, made with love!"
Ember didn't waste a second. He tipped his head back and chugged down a mouthful of grog with noisy and hefty gulps. The deep brown liquid dripped down the sides of the orange-furred fox's jaws.
"Ah, th' smoky-sweet caramel flavor o' Blistery Barnacle Grog!" Ember straightened up, licking at the stray grog. "Th' ultimate drink fer corsairs an' vermin sailors in th' evenin's…" He fidgeted with his tunic and trousers, flattening out the wrinkles and creases with increasing irritability.
"You seem restless, Ember," Gurutharc, the lieutenant, sat on a stool at one of the camp's many blazing fires. He ran a sharpening stone over his broadsword. Its harsh metallic ringing resounded throughout the entire camp.
"All this standin' roun' is rubbish!" Ember stamped his foot on the grass and dirt, a dark scowl on his face. "We've got our reinforcements; our arms an' armor! We've gan'-pressed enough vermin inta Deathblade's service t' build an army that'll brin' Redwall t' its knees! What else could we possibly be waitin' fer?"
He tossed his grog-free paw towards the southwest. "We oughta be takin' th' figh' straigh' t' Redwall righ' now!"
Khaimtsu let out a low chuckle, perching one foot upon the tree stump that Ember had vacated. "For once, Ember, I don't disagree with you."
"Really?" Ember spun around to raise a sarcastic eyebrow at the weasel. "That's a first."
Khaimtsu did not answer, but swirled the grog in his own mug, staring down deep into the mahogany-colored liquid. "His Lordship Nagrig Deathblade wants to be prepared for anything and everything," he stated rather matter-of-factly. "Every eventuality and contingency plan the Redwallers and the beasts of Mossflower might have up their sleeves. The Scornful Tyrant wants to be ready to combat them all. This plan must go off without a single hitch."
He met the fox's eyes over the rim of his mug, an unmistakable craftiness in his. "He'll know to begin our assault on Redwall when the time is right."
"When th' time is—t' HellGates wit' th' time!" Ember stamped his other foot. The Blistery Barnacle Grog sloshed around in his mug, small drops falling onto the ground. "We've been sittin' roun' here fer th' past four or five days without event. All th' while, them Redwallers be preparin' themselves fer an attack on their little Abbey."
He turned his head to the southwest and spat upon the ground. "It's almost as if they're paranoid. They're expectin' us t' strike at 'em anytime. We should get 'em while they're most vulnerable!"
"And what do you expect to get out of it, Ember?" an armored Krodnal appeared beside the grog barrel, draping one arm over it. He held his own half-empty mug of grog in his other paw.
"What am I 'opin'? Glad ya asked!" Ember chugged his grog, then turned and hopped upon the tree stump. He stood to his fullest height.
"Four days we spent at sea sailin' to Mossflower!" He hoisted his quarter-empty mug high in the air. "Three more days we've spent in these 'ere Skeleton Rocks, sittin' on our tails! Meantime, Nagrig Deathblade plans an' schemes in that fancy tent o' 'is! What've we gotten outta our patience?! Nuthin'! Now I'm not th' desertin' or mutiny type, no, sir."
He lowered his mug and took a quick swig of the grog, raising an assertive claw in the air. "But dontcha all thin' it's about bloody time we got a relief from all this waitin' an' sittin' an' schemin'? Dontcha thin' Deathblade oughta reward us fer all our tolerance?"
"Whaddaya 'ave in min', Ember?" Arvuk, sitting across from Gurutharc at the campfire, stood up. The sable's ears quivered with curiosity.
"Aye, Ember, do you feel like you're not being treated fairly?" Gurutharc shrugged, nonchalant. "Or being paid enough? You know full well Deathblade offered us all the choice to join his grand army, and participate in his noble hunt."
"Oh, that's easy for ya t' say, ain't it?" Ember scowled, his lips drooping into a fanged growl. "I got conscripted inta this mess."
"Do enlighten us, then!" Gurutharc gestured with his sharpening stone, genuinely curious rather than sarcastic. "What's on your mind as far as rewards are concerned, Ember?"
Ember's lips pulled into a wicked grin, showing his white fangs stained mildly copper from the grog. "I'm talkin' gold beyon' our wildest dreams! Jewels that sparkle in th' moonlight an' blin' yar eyes in th' sun! Priceless artifacts wort' more than only one pretty penny!"
He spread his arms wide over the assembled throng, his bright yellow eyes twinkling. "Maidens! My personal favorite! How lon' as it been since we've had maidens t' comfort an' grant us much-needed relief from this torturous monotony? How lon' since we've been away from th' maids o' Terramort, or Sampetra, or Morrin'tat, in their pleasure houses an' on the streets? How lon' since we've spent a nigh' doin' whateva we wanted wit' em—t' 'em?!"
He raked his claws over his palms as if grasping at something. "Been far too lon' since I've had a little girl squirmin' an' writhin' an' fightin' fer her poor precious life underneath me. While I controlled 'er entire body t' satisfy me cravin's!"
"Ya know, Ember, now thatcha mention it…" Krodnal cupped his elbow in one paw and rubbed his chin with the other. He stared off in no particular direction, lost in thought. Ember dropped one arm by his side to listen, the other lifting his grog to his lips once again. "There's quite a good number of fair maidens in Redwall Abbey. Maybe we can find some more in Mossflower, to, if'n we look hard enough."
"All them pure maidens…" Gurutharc licked his lips, a lecherous grin tugging at his lips. He tucked his sharpening stone away in his travel pack, and sheathed his broadsword. He climbed slowly to his feet; his eyes distant in wicked fantasies. "Needing to be taught the truth of their places in this world. Pure turned impure…"
"That's exactly what I mean, Hux!" Ember snapped his fingers. He hopped off the tree stump and approached the grog barrel. "We deserve as much after all this superfluous waitin' we've been doin'!" He raised his voice to a shout to motivate the others as he refilled his mug.
"Come to think of it," Gurutharc scratched his chin, thinking, while Ember was busy at the barrel. "Most of them maidens, especially the ones at Redwall, are young teens, going through their juvenile and adolescent phases where their bodies are changing and the like. Some of them ain't even fully grown or mature yet."
His lips pulled into a broad predatory grin. "They're all ripe for the taking and using for our pleasure!"
"An' what if none o' them consent t' bein' shown th' truth o' their place in th' world?" Arvuk tilted his head to one side, although a lustful fanged grin adorned his face.
Ember let go of the spigot and turned to Arvuk to match his grin. "Well, then…We'll just 'ave t' force 'em, won't we? They'll serve our desires, whether they like it or not! They don't exist t' work in greenhouses or kitchens or whatever else they do! They exist to serve us!"
He pulled at the crotch of his tan knee-length trousers to clarify his words. "They exist to obey our every whim and will, in bed and out!"
"I think I get what you're planning, Ember!" Khaimtsu snapped his fingers. His eyes sparkled and gleamed as bright as the blazing campfire. "We kidnap a bunch of maidens from Redwall and Mossflower, and force them into a pleasure house of our own making right here in this camp!"
"Aye, now ye're gettin' it!" Ember took a large swig of grog, hooting as he came out of it. "Aye, that's what I was thinkin'. Nuthin' like tyin' a poor, innocent, 'elpless little maiden t' a tree—or yar cot—an' 'avin' yer way wit' 'er! Usin' 'er t' pleasure yerself all nigh' lon'! Pleasure beyond measure! Whoeva said pleasure isn't th' meanin' o' life was a bloody fool!"
"We got a problem with this plan, though, mates," Krodnal stopped any further excitement short by hitting his gauntlets together. "Nagrig Deathblade might not approve of such radical actions. We're supposed to be operating in secret, remember? This whole 'hunt' business and all?"
"You've got a point there, Krodnal," Khaimtsu agreed, nodding. "Aren't hunts s'posed to be done in secret?"
"I've said it before an' I'll say it again!" Ember chugged back his last mouthful of grog. A couple loose streams of the drink stained the chest and torso of his tunic. "'T' HellGates wit' Deathblade! He won't treat us; so, we'll 'ave t' treat ourselves! When all's side an' done, th' negligence will be 'is fault! We'll go after those maids an' take what's rightfully ours!"
Ember half-rushed, half-stumbled to the standard. It had been planted safely away from the fire in the center of the camp. Ember blinked his blurring eyes and reached out his twitching paws to it. In the firelight, he could clearly discern its image. A gauntleted fist raised upwards with two crossed bloody scythes painted on the wrist, and an inverted bloodstained sword between them.
"An' I'll lead th' charge!" He forced the standard out of the ground and waved it from side to side. His arms were bent and spaced at an irregular width from each other. His palms faced downward on the wooden rod.
"Oy!" Arvuk bolted to Ember's side and seized the standard from the fox. He bared his fangs and shook his fists clenched around the wooden pole. "Dat's mine! Deathblade 'ppoin'ed me an' me 'lone t' carry 'is standard! An' yer 'oldin it' wron'! Put it down afore ya strain yar triceps!"
"Last I checked, Deathblade was headed somewhere in the forest," Gurutharc thought aloud, pointing a claw towards the southwest. "With Bloodeyes, Adhuxnuo, and that new varmint, Dragel. Which means we…"
He spread his arms wide to indicate the rest of the vermin. "…have this camp all to ourselves!"
"We oughta send word to Mudclaw and his crew," Krodnal suggested to Khaimtsu, while Arvuk and Ember tugged back and forth on Deathblade's standard. They staggered and reeled drunkenly over and under each other. "I know they'll get a kick outta kidnapping and torturing fair maidens."
The others pointed and laughed before Gurutharc finally pried the two apart. Arvuk let out a bark of triumph as he held his standard tight. Ember tripped over his tail and flopped flat onto his rear in the dirt.
"Aye," Khaimtsu nodded his agreement, snickering at the action that had just unfolded. "Maybe Baric and Ripspit would like to get into it, too."
"What about you, Brosk?" Krodnal turned over his shoulder, talking into the shadows. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet so far."
The cessation of a sharpening stone being dragged across a massive, double-pawed steel sword was all that came in response. The stoat flinched as a pair of stoic, bronze-black eyes glared back at him from the shadows. Khaimtsu put a paw to his mouth to hide his instinctive snicker.
"Pleasures of the flessshhh do not concccern me," Brosk spoke in something between an ominous hiss and an irritated growl. "I have more important thingsss to dwell on. You go and do whatever entertainsss you. Leave me in peaccce."
"Ooh, what's da matta, Brosk?" Khaimtsu teased, sardonic. He scrunched up his face in a mock sympathetic expression, brow furrowed and eyebrows creased, and his lips pressed together. "Heartbroken about being away from the irresistible female lizards of Sampetra?"
Whing! Slam! Crrrck!
"Aaahhh!" Stoat and weasel screamed aloud together at the double-pawed sword swinging downward in front of them. It sliced straight through a small tree stump, cleaving it cleanly into two equally-shaped halves.
"Leave! Me! In! Peaccce!"
Khaimtsu and Krodnal scurried away, scrambling and tripping over each other in their desperate attempt to escape Brosk's wrath. The monitor lizard slunk away into the shadows from whence he'd come. The sound of his sharpening stone running over his blade resumed once more.
At this time, Mudclaw, Darksnout, and Skullback surfaced from the depths of the forest. Baric and Ripspit took up their rears.
"So, it's a plan, then?" Ember hopped off his tree stump and landed flat in the dirt. "We'll go 'roun' Mossflower an' try t' kidnap as many maidens as we can, woodlander or vermin, an' haul 'em back 'ere?"
"What's goin' on?" the befuddled Mudclaw asked. He approached the fire while Darksnout and Skullback headed to the armory tent. Baric and Ripsit gathered around the grog barrel.
Gurutharc explained the plan as fast as he could. Mudclaw's face broke into a perverted grin and he rubbed his paws together.
"It's getting awfully late, Mudclaw," Adhuxnuo sat back down on his tree stump, picking up his sword and sharpening stone again. "Deathblade's not here, so why doncha take it easy tonight? You and your boys can go after that peculiar Fernleaf fella in the morning."
"Whaddaya thin' o' Ember's plan yerself, Adhuxnuo?" Mudclaw accepted a fresh mug of grog from Baric. "Thin' we can pull it off? Do we even 'ave permission t' act ousside o' Deathblade's orders?"
Gurutharc answered by way of an unconcerned shrug. "I am little more than Deathblade's lieutenant. It is no concern of mine what you all choose to do with your time."
"All righ'! Let's go!" Ember pumped a fist in the air and bent backwards to chug the last of his grog down his throat. Coming back up, he tossed the mug aside; it went rolling through the dirt and stopped beneath a large sandstone boulder. "Let's go fin' our maidens! We'll start wit' Mossflower Forest firs'! Then Redwall!"
Ember broke into a bolt through the camp and disappeared into the shadows of the forest. Mudclaw, Darksnout, Skullback, and Baric followed.
"Remember!" Gurutharc cupped his paws around his mouth and shouted after them. "Deathblade wants the Sandeyes alive!"
"Hey, Jared?" Larina thought aloud, approaching Jared.
The two teenage squirrels stood together in the large kitchen of Brockhall. From the open windows, evening had slowly set in. The pearly moon bathed the dining room and adjoining larder in its milky-white light. Multitudes of stars twinkled and blazed in the spaces between and above the enveloping trees and folding branches.
"What's on your mind, Larina?" Jared looked up from pouring himself a warm cup of peppermint spice tea. On his right, a lively fire crackled and danced in a circular stone and mud brick hearth.
"Jared, I was wondering," Larina placed her cup of tea and bowl of vegetable stew on a wooden counter adjacent to the hearth. "How on earth will you face Log-a-Log Tipuka? I don't meant o be rude, but haven't you practically exhausted every single style in the Akret Branch that you know at this point? Against Gavlin, Jacob, and now Log-a-Log Tiraqoo?"
Jared bit his lip, brow creasing in thought. "Well, actually, Rina…There's one last style of Akret I haven't demonstrated yet."
"Oh?" Larina asked, idly stirring her steaming hot stew with her wooden spoon. "There's more?"
"Yep," Jared hung the tea kettle on a metal hook hanging above the lively kitchen hearth. "In our language, Akret translates to 'The Way of the Open Paws'. There are five in total." He held up five fingers and wiggled them for emphasis.
"Let me guess," Larina's eyes widened, awed. "You've studied them all?"
"Only three, I'll admit," Jared confirmed with a confident nod. "Kōnōtash, Gōryjūn, and Hoskinyuk." He counted each one off on his fingers. "I only mostly use Kōnōtash because it's my favorite. Hoskinyuk is far more aggressive, so I only use that as a last resort." He curled his paw into a fist and nodded to stress his words. "Fritz used Gōryjūn against Tiraqoo and Samson, you already know that. I'll admit I never studied it as thoroughly as he did."
Shrugging, he clarified, "I guess I've just never felt the need to use Gōryjūn all that much."
Larina nodded, remembering. "Madeline also told me about this friend of your family's who practiced Rtuyoshi. Divan Tonaka?"
Jared chuckled, lifting his tea to his lips for a quick sip. "Oh, yeah, she would tell you about Divan, wouldn't she? He was far more adept in Rtuyoshi than I ever could be. I only learned the basic techniques."
Leaning in, he put a paw to his mouth and half-whispered, "Between you and me, I'm pretty sure Maddie and Divan were boyfriend and girlfriend."
"We were not boyfriend and girlfriend!" Madeline shouted across the kitchen. A bread roll came flying in a high semicircular arc from one of the dining room's many misshapen, tree-stump-shaped tables. Jared shook with teasing laughter and caught it in one reflexive snatch.
"Anyway, the fifth and final style in the Akret Branch is called Hayisōkū," Jared continued, giving the roll to Larina, who took an enthusiastic bite out of it. "In Maraul, we translate it as 'the School of the Ever-Evolving'. The far lands like Mossflower, Salamandastron, and even Southsward call it the 'Ascension to Brilliance'."
"Hayisōkū…" Larina spoke the word in the utmost reverence. She took great care to form her mouth and tongue properly around the foreign, accented vowels. "I don't believe I ever saw you use it before."
"I did once against Tiraqoo." Another sip of tea, then, "But it happened fast, so it was easy to miss. You know when Tiraqoo used the style of the drunken bankvole Kalayn Garloun? He brandished his rapier down towards my ears the second time?"
He raised one paw in the air and mimed bringing down it down upon Larina's head. The squirrelmaid made an instinctive evasive movement away from him, giggling.
Then Jared stopped his "attack" short just above her ears. "When I caught the blade between my palms, that was a Hayisōkū move."
"Ohhh..." Larina's eyes widened, and she nodded to show her understanding. "Oh! Now I get it! You were blending Akret styles together, as usual!"
"Exactly," Turning back to the counter, Jared picked up a green apple from a fruit bowl. "Now, mind you, Hayisōkū is a separate Wungkan style from the others in Akret. As you can imagine…"
He shrugged nonchalantly. "Learning Hayisōkū is not just a privilege; it's a luxury. But I haven't earned that privilege yet. I don't claim to be as proficient in Rtuyoshi as our friend Divan, either."
"I understand," Larina assured Jared through a vigorous supportive nod. "I won't interrogate you about either of them."
Then she let out an unprompted awkward laugh. "Why do I feel so…excited?"
She stared out across the kitchen. At one of the misshapen, tree-stump tables, Jacob and Madeline sat with their backs to them. Madeline placed peppermint tea leaves into her mug. Jacob was busy spreading fresh pear jam on two slices of freshly-baked wheat bread. A cup of Strawberry Cordial stood beside his plate.
"Why am I anticipating your fight with Tipuka?" she asked, sitting down at a high stool in front of the counter. She placed her stew in front of her and her bread beside it. "This doesn't usually feel like me."
"Maybe we're starting to rub off on you," Jared took a bite of his green apple. He didn't at all sound sarcastic or blithe, but instead sincerely encouraging. He chewed and swallowed, and then added, "Of course, that's not a bad thing, per se. There's so much more Maddie and I can teach you. When we get back to Redwall, we'll teach you whatever you want."
Larina fidgeted in her seat, shifting her weight. She cradled her bowl between her paws. "I don't know, Jared."
She stared down into her stew, again mixing the vegetables and broth in her soup. "I don't really know if I'm strong enough to be any kind of fighter. The closest things I've ever done physically are the day-to-day chores at Redwall. Or when I'm carrying buckets and tools at my parents' garden. I can't fight like you and Madeline and Jacob can. I know I wouldn't last long in a real Wungkan fight."
She met Jared's eyes, hers full of genuine uncertainty mingled with a veil of mild anxiety. "Or any fight for my life, for that matter."
A gasp of surprise escaped her when Jared's paw rested on her shoulder. Her face flushed a mild red.
"Larina, listen to me," Jared's voice came soft to her ears, tender and full of care. "I want you to know that I would never force you to do anything that would make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe. As much as we both know that Redwall and Mossflower are in serious danger because of—"
He lowered his voice to a sudden whisper as a gaggle of Guosim and Guoraf shrews entered the kitchen. "—Deathblade, Madeline and I won't ever try to force you to learn Wungkan so you can protect yourself in the event of an emergency."
He watched in his peripheral vision as the shrews helped themselves to food and sat down. They chatted amongst themselves and with Jacob and Madeline. Then he cupped his fingers underneath Larina's chin and lifted her face to his. His other paw still held his green apple. Hazel eyes met cocoa in the glimmering amber firelight.
"I could spend all night telling you about how important it is that you learn how to defend yourself during this hostile time," he continued in the same discreet yet audible whisper. "But I can also tell you how improper that would be of me to do."
He tilted his head to one side. His features softened and his eye contact turned steady, comforting, non-invasive. "So, what I want is for you to think about it. Take your time; sleep on it. You can think about it for as long as you want and need to. Maddie and I won't rush you. Whenever you feel you are ready, you can come tell us. Okay?"
"Wungkan…" Larina whispered the word in a reverent whisper, as if it almost sounded sacred to her. "The Unity Path…"
"Yes, exactly," Jared nodded back, and he stroked a tender thumb across Larina's chin. "The Unity Path is a lifelong process. But I can't tell you when you have achieved that balance. Neither can anybeast else."
He gestured with his apple-holding paw, first to himself. "I'm still walking it. So is Madeline." Then to his sister and the wolf. "Jacob is going his own way. We don't judge him for it. In fact, we welcome that he has his own path. There's so much we can learn from each other."
He pointed a claw at the shrews seated at the tables. "You see all those shrews? Gavlin, Remy, Ruth, Fritz, Samson, Tillie, Ace, Laurel. They're all traveling the Unity Path in their own way. Even Tiraqoo and Tipuka are continuing their journey. Everyone experiences it differently, and everybeast travels at their own pace. And look at Saffron, Coco, Phoebe, and Gelaea, too."
He gestured past the tables at a quartet of chatting shrewmaids ladling stew into their bowls. "They're not fighters, either, and they're doing just fine in life."
He raised a claw of emphasis in the air. "My point is, Rina, that Wungkan isn't a mandatory discipline or skill that everybeast is required to learn in the Eastern Islands. Or anywhere else in the world. It's your choice to either learn or not. In the East, you're accepted whether you choose to pursue Wungkan as your way of life, or not. You can instead be a gardener like your parents, and you'd still be loved for who you are."
He turned his half-eaten apple over in his paw. "We're all still learning, Larina; discovering new things about Wungkan, and especially about ourselves, every single day. Only you can discover that balance for yourself."
"But how will I know, Jared?" Larina asked, drawing closer to him. Her face and neck reddened mildly beneath his fingers. "How do I know when I've achieved the balance of the Unity Path?"
Jared offered her a small uplifting smile of acceptance. "You'll know, Larina. In here." He took his paw from her chin and placed it on his heart. "But remember. It's a matter of when. Not if."
Larina closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Jared's face flushed, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest. As Larina's chest and shoulders fell as she steadily let out her breath, Jared's heart soared.
"All right," Larina reopened her eyes and locked with his. "I'll think about it."
Jared took her paw to give it a friendly squeeze. "I know you will." One final smile, and he resumed eating his apple. Larina, her spirits lifted, let out a little childlike giggle and started on her stew.
Before long, Tipuka came into the kitchen. Upon seeing Jared at the counter, he crossed the room to him, cheerily greeting his Guosim shrews as he went.
"Uncle!" Gavlin sprang straight up from his chair and drew his uncle into a hug.
"Dearest nephew," Tipuka gladly hugged Gavlin in return. Then he took his nephew's face in his paws and planted a deep kiss on his forehead. They hugged once more, then Gavlin tagged along as Tipuka went up to Jared.
"Good news, Jared," Tipuka informed the young squirrel leaning back on the counter. "Tiraqoo and I have drawn out a brand-new fighting ring. Turns out Remy and Gavlin dug somewhat deeper trenches in it during their match than we thought they did. Nobody's fault, of course," he added over his shoulder at Gavlin, who snickered in response. "It's a miracle nobeast fell into them and twisted their ankles."
Putting his paws in his tunic pockets, he continued. "Anyway, after you're finished eating, come find me. We will begin our match."
"I'm prepared now, sir," Jared pushed off the counter and stood up straight. He shoved the last of his apple into his mouth. "I'm ready for our match when you are," he told the Log-a-Log after he'd swallowed.
"Are we?" Tipuka's eyebrows raised, then his face broke into a proud smile. "Then let's go!"
"Yeah!" Jacob pumped his fists in the air as Jared and Tiraqoo passed by him. "Go get him, Jared! You can do it!"
"This is what you've been waiting for, Jared!" Madeline sprang up from her chair and planted her palms on the table. "The fight of a lifetime! Show him what you can do, big bro!"
"We'll be rooting for you, Jared!" Larina called from the counter. She pressed her paws to her flushing face, hopping on the balls of her feet. "I can't wait!"
"Kick his tail, Uncle Tipuka!" Gavlin cupped his paws around his mouth and bellowed. "Punch him into next season! Show him the true fists of the Guosim!" Around the kitchen, the Guosim and Guoraf had also raised their voices in heartening and anticipatory cheers and whoops.
"Seems everyone has been looking forward to our bout, Jared," Tipuka chuckled and patted Jared on the back as they emerged into the hallway. "Let's give them a fight they'll never forget, shall we, lad?"
"Yes, sir!" Jared hit a proud fist to his chest, licking apple juice from his other paw. "It'll be a fight for the ages!"
Tipuka and Jared stood opposite each other in the ring. Jared stood on standby watching Tipuka affix a thick steel ring to each of his wrists.
"Are those…Githinsteel training rings, sir?" he asked, his eyebrows raising, then furrowing and releasing. His eyes gazed with unmistakable curiosity.
"You recognize them, don't you?" Tipuka chuckled, holding his arm up to show the squirrel. "I'd expect nothing less from a blacksmith."
"But how did you even get them?" Jared blinked, eyes shifting from the rings to Tipuka's eyes. "The fighter monks of Githinien rarely if ever share their styles with outsiders."
"Well, how about this?" Tipuka shook the rings. They bounced with metallic ringing on his wrists. "I'll make you an offer. Last for the entire two minutes in this exhibition match against me. Then I'll tell you my secret of how I learned Ganguen Huk from the legendary Githinien warrior monks. Deal?" He extended his paw to the teenager.
"Deal," Jared took Tipuka's paw in a vigorous shake.
"Wonderful," Tipuka shook Jared's paw in return. "No pressure, of course. And please do try to have fun with this fight, lad. You're not competing for any grand prize; and it's not like you're ruining any sort of reputation."
He clapped once. "Now, then. Prepare yourself!"
Jared lifted his shoulders and drew them in. They dropped as soon as his shoulder blades met at the back. Chest stuck out from the movement of the shoulders. Chin pulled in, keeping the back of his neck straight. Finally, he tightened his rear, then put his heels together, toes apart at forty-five degrees. Arms hung casually by his sides. The squirrel drew in a breath as his abs and hamstrings tightened. He almost seemed to tower over the shrew before him.
"Nakahanda," Jared intoned, and bent into a formal respectful bow to the Log-a-Log. "Ready when you are, sir."
Tipuka's eyebrows raised, his jaw dropping and eyes widening. "The Natural Posture?" His jaw dropped. "You weren't kidding when you told me you'd been planning for this fight in your mind."
"Katutubo na Tinding," Jared replied with a nod to confirm. "Nagulat? Surprised?"
The Log-a-Log opened his mouth wide in a full-throated laugh of excitement. "Not at all, dear boy! Use one Akret style on me or all that you know; it matters not!"
"I'll show you my complete skillset, then!" Jared curled his palms into fists and set them at his hips.
"I shall endeavor to do the same!" Tipuka promised, and he bared his claws.
"Whenever you're ready. Saffron!" Tiraqoo gestured to the shrewmaid at the gong. Saffron stuck her soft cheese sandwich into her mouth and picked up her trusty mallet.
Brrrooonnnggg!
Tipuka's aggressive, deep-throated hiss snapped Jared into focus. He threw himself into the fray faster than lightning.
His claws rounded from either side at Jared's neck and face. One paw after the other.
Jared shifted his footpaws. He twisted his body to one side in a desperate dodge. The world spun around him as he circled the shrew, struggling to gain any sort of advantage he could.
Remember the fight with Gavlin! he told himself, circling the elder shrew. Remember your instincts!
He blocked the blow with the outer edge of his hanging foot. Then he twisted it around so his sole intercepted the attack to his face.
He retaliated with a heel front kick. Tipuka inched back and caught Jared's foot short of his torso in a horizontal block.
Tipuka closed the distance. He aimed for Jared's face once more. Jared crossed his arms over each other in an X-shape.
The cross caught Tipuka's palm in the crosshairs. He summoned his strength and pushed the Log-a-Log's bared paw up and away from him.
But Tipuka stood his ground. Jared lunged his double fists. The elder shrew turned his steel-ring-adorned wrists inward.
Twannnggg! Jared's fists collided with the metal rings. He cringed at the impact with the cold hard metal vibrating through the bones and nerves of his paws. Tipuka had scarce recoiled.
Jared's right paw hooked sideways under the Log-a-Log's chest. Tipuka sidestepped and reached down to grapple the squirrel's groin.
Jared brought his other fist up by his ears. Then he dropped it by the force of gravity to his knee. His low block knocked Tipuka's grapple out of the line of injury.
Now Tipuka unleashed his legs. He kicked low at Jared's legs, feet, and pelvis. Jared sprang in between Tipuka's knees, lessening the space between them.
His paws formed an outward and downward block with his wrists. It caught Tipuka's ankle short of his pelvic bone.
Whoomph!
Suddenly, Tipuka's claws swiped lightning fast across his right cheek. The blow knocked Jared to the left. His paws sprang outward to his sides, releasing Tipuka's captive ankle.
Jared held a paw to his cheek, staggering to the edge of the fighting ring. Thank the seasons: Tipuka's claws had not broken the skin beneath his fur.
"Taming the Wolverine in Ganguen Huk!" Tipuka declared. He brought his legs and footpaws together. Paws extended outward in front of him. One curled into a fist; the other a bared clawed palm. Jared, comprehending, nodded and resumed his original "Natural Posture" stance.
"Hargh!" Tipuka roared at the top of his lungs. His claws swiped at either side of Jared's face, grasping at his cheeks and ears. The Githinsteel rings leaped up and down along his wrists.
Jared backed right up. He swerved side to side to dodge each grab from the shrew—
Lightning fast! In a split second, Tipuka's claws caught the fabric of his tunic around his elbows. He jerked back to no avail; the shrew dug in his claws to grip him in place.
Tipuka raked his aggressive yet playful digits down Jared's arms all the way to his palms. Jared winced on instinct. The sharp slender claws dug into the cotton fabric and nicked his arm fur beneath.
Then Tipuka withdrew his claws. He fell into forward and backward stepping. Advancing and retreating. Jared watched, waiting for an opening to attack.
Just then, Tipuka thrust his claws forward to grapple Jared's face.
But Jared brought his arm straight up from his belt, fists facing upward and rotating to face away. The pinky side of his forearm took Tipuka's blows on his bone.
Tipuka released an exasperated sigh mingled with a growl. He threw a knee kick to Jared's groin in retaliation.
Jared drew one fist over his shoulder then brought it downward. Wrists crossed over each other. He opened and rotated his paws to catch Tipuka's knee just below his crotch.
"Feral Cat Blow!"
Tipuka folded his fingers at their first joint. He thrust the middle portion of his fingers right at Jared's throat.
Jared flinched inward. He swept his footpaws through the dirt and sidestepped to throw his left arm across the front of his body. Forearm rotated to push aside Tipuka's attempted punch to his throat.
He pulled in his breathing until it turned silent. He pushed through with the right side of his body. His straight punch broke through the air at breakneck speed.
Whoomph! The punch struck Tipuka hard in the stomach. The Log-a-Log drew in his belly to keep the wind in his diaphragm contained.
"Hahahahaha!" Tipuka found himself laughing. "Good, Jared; very impressive!" He held his stomach, taking a few deep breaths to regain his breath and wits. "Adaptation and improvisation! But do not take me for an amateur, boy."
He pointed a firm claw at Jared; half a warning, half an encouragement. "I've only been playing with you up until now!"
"That's funny," Jared focused his mind into Hoskinyuk, assuming the appropriate stance. "So have I!"
"That's the spirit!" Tipuka snapped his fingers and chuckled. He returned to his "Taming the Wolverine" ready pose. "Claws" extended sharper and thinner than ever. "Give me everything you've got, Jared! No more holding back!"
"One minute and forty-five seconds!" Tiraqoo cupped his paws and bellowed out to the ring.
Tiraqoo struck through with another "Feral Cat Blow" from the other paw. This time his fingers lifted to form a claw that raked at Jared's face. Jared clamped his paw around Tipuka's wrist and wrung it safely aside.
"Eagle's Eyes!" Tipuka punched the knuckle of his other index and middle finger to the pressure points of Jared's eyes.
"Whoooaaa!" Jared strained his head backward to evade the blow. Tipuka's knuckles passed harmless straight over him.
He seized Tipuka's wrist and dug his claws in. Now he had the shrew right where he wanted him.
He whipped his knees into the shrew's thighs in quick succession. Tipuka jerked back, freeing his wrists from Jared's clamped grips.
Jared leaped into the air to side kick Tipuka's knees. Tipuka dropped to one impacted knee. A grimace mixed with an impressed grin.
"Wolverine and Heron Twin Figure Fists!"
Tipuka positioned his fists from his kneeling stance. Rear paw up and front paw down.
Jared delivered a pair of heavy roundhouse punches. They struck Tipuka's upper arms one after another. Tipuka thrusted his fists out in a counterattack to Jared's head and crotch.
Jared stepped and spun to his right. Tipuka's fists grazed his scalp and genitals.
He moved in to retaliate. But Tipuka swatted his fist aside with his wrist and leaped around him.
He vice-gripped Jared's wrist in a forcible pull abreast of himself. Now Tipuka pushed back onto his feet.
Whoop! A short disciplinary jab to the left shoulder blade.
Whump! A low kick to the stomach.
Jared lurched rearward. He held his stomach from the wind being blown out of it.
Unshadowed kick! he thought to himself, falling onto one knee. The signature move of Ganguen Huk!
"Deep breaths, Jared," Tipuka's counseling voice pierced through his brain fog. "Take deep breaths!"
Jared allowed himself some twelve seconds to gather his breath and wits. Then he pushed off his knees to his feet.
One leg drew back straight behind himself, foot angled acute. Front leg likewise bent oblique at the knee, shin vertical above the ankle. Foot turned at a slight inwards slant, with the knee pushed outwards over the shin. He pressed two-thirds of his weight on his front leg to center his gravity; the rest rested on the back. Pressure focused on the insides of his feet. A classic stance of Kōnōtash.
"Remember, Jared," Encouraging words of validation poured from Tipuka's mouth into Jared's mind. "You already know you're better than this."
He positioned himself into his wide-legged Ganguen Huk stance. His paws crossed over each other out in front of him and curled into firm fists.
"Believe you're better than this."
"Profound words of motivation, Log-a-Log Tipuka!" Tiraqoo rang out his agreement. "One minute, thirty seconds!"
Believe I'm better than this. Jared turned the shrew's words over and over in his mind.
He took one swift step forward and fell into a crouch. Then he leaped into the air.
Tipuka stepped back in reaction. But Jared had already turned round to face him. Gravity would take care of the rest.
He landed flat on the tail side of the shrew. Tipuka spun round. He sidestepped and twisted his body from the hips.
A paw shaped like a heron's beak pecked at one side of Jared's chin. Jared dodged sideways and threw up a quick wrist block. He lashed out his other palm at Tipuka's free paw to knock it behind him.
He threw his foot behind Tipuka's ankles and pulled in a single contrary movement.
Tipuka slammed flat on his back, stamping up dirt in all directions. In an instant, the Guosim clamored for their leader to recover.
"Uncle!" Gavlin bellowed loudest of all. "Get up! Come on!"
"Log-a-Log, stand up!" "Come on! You can do it!" "Give that squirrel what for, Log-a-Log!" Coco, Phoebe, and Galaea all shouted in succession.
Tipuka shook himself out of Jared's grip and planted his palms in the dirt around his head. He pushed his legs up in the air and threw himself to his feet.
A forward punch from Jared met his stomach. Then the squirrel leaped into the air and dropkicked him smack in the chest.
Tipuka's laughter mingled with his groans of pain. He reeled and teeter-tottered to the edge of the fighting ring.
Jared's forward punch and dropkick had knocked him off-balance. Jared couldn't help but laugh out loud, a triumphant and amused roaring.
Tipuka clenched the dirt between his toes. He stopped himself short of the ring's perimeter. Then he smirked.
He placed the fronts of his feet slightly inward. His inner thighs faced side on with each other. One fist he held close to his chest, arm bent. The other fist extended outwards at his eye level with the arm straight.
"The Triangle Fundament!" Remy hit his wrist joint to his forehead. His eyebrows rose and eyes widened with realization. "Brilliant!"
"But isn't that a Domnal posture?" Madeline turned to Remy; brow thoroughly furrowed.
"Aye, technically it is," Remy nodded, accepting an ice-cold Cup o' Cheer from Matilda. "But it's also one of the seven primary stances of Ganguen Huk."
"Why is Tipuka using a stance that belongs to another style?" Larina wondered aloud, also rounding on the young shrew. She too accepted a Cup o' Cheer from the shrew chef. "Is he even allowed to do that?"
"Wungkan styles can borrow from each other, it seems," Jacob's brow furrowed, scratching his scalp. "I mean, I've come to understand that all the Akret styles are identical to each other. Ganguen Huk borrowing from Domnal looks more like stealing, though. So what gives?"
"Oh, you'll see," Gavlin winked at the confused squirrelmaids and wolf, his lips pulling into a knowing ear-to-ear grin.
"We'll see?" Madeline and Larina repeated in unison. "What—?"
"Hammering Fists!"
The girls screamed aloud. Tipuka seized Jared by the shoulder and turned him sideways.
His forearms hammered the squirrel's upper arms and shoulders. Jared cried out and winced at every single blow to his body.
Tipuka did not stop coming. He slung the side of his fists into Jared's shoulder blades.
Jared pivoted and turned his left arm inward to the right into a guard position. His arm lowered to slap Tipuka's paws aside.
"Splashing Fists!"
Tipuka clamped Jared's falling arm around the wrist. His other fist slammed into Jared's spine in wide arcs.
Jared threw out his paws in erratic sweeping side and rising upper-level blocks to counter each blow. His palms pushed or stopped Tipuka's paws short.
Tipuka did not slow or cease his assault. He stepped round the squirrel to attack him in every place he could reach.
Jared bit his lips and tensed up his muscles and joints. But every strike from the Log-a-Log sent his body tossing one way and then the other.
He clenched his legs up and flattened his footpaws in the dirt. He pivoted again to face Tipuka.
His palms thrust out in chopping "knife" strikes to Tipuka's wrists. They smacked the shrew's arms just below the Githinsteel rings.
Thirty seconds passed in a wild rapid blur. Jared's arms spun and jerked around him to block Tipuka's windmilling fists.
The Log-a-Log did not relent for a fraction of a second. He beset his opponent with variations on "Taming the Wolverine" ("Triple Wolverine Windmill!") and the "Twin Figure Fists" ("Shrew Hammers Vermin!").
Jared kept his arms up to shift between blocks and deflections. Rarely if ever did he counterattack.
"Now! For the final minute!" Tipuka set his paws in front of him. One curled into a fist facing the other paw, open and curved at a slant. "The Five Elements!"
He barraged Jared in a form the squirrel had never seen before. Fists whipped and lunged out at him from all angles. They blurred until Jared found himself on the retreat.
He half-walked, half-leaped the perimeter of the fighting ring. Tipuka came relentless, primal. Domnal-esque speed combined with Timakwo's raw fury.
Shrew sent squirrel reeling around the edges of the circle. Dirt and grass and bark kicked up in every direction. Their voices drowned out the protests of their audience.
"Gilded Bridge Divided!"
"Well spotted, Jared! Now watch out!"
"Pushing Water Waves!"
"Indeed! Favorite technique of the legendary Zackary Reones Bayot! The Unshadowed Kick, too! But can you block this?!"
"Ha! That's the Clenching Wood Clutch! I'd recognize that anywhere!"
"Oh-ho! You're hard to outsmart! Take that!"
"Fire Arrow Strike—!"
Jared stopped in his tracks. He reeled and bowled sideways holding his stomach. Tipuka's clawed fingers had shot into his diaphragm.
He drew in a sharp seething intake of breath. His paws curled into tight dukes.
Only one thing for it.
He bent in reverse to dodge another "Fire Arrow Strike". Then he lurched upright again to realign his vertebrae.
The backs of his paws swatted Tipuka's apart from each other. While the Log-a-Log recovered, he moved into the Stance of the Wildcat.
"Thirty secon's!" cried out Saffron, popping the last bite of her cheese sandwich into her mouth.
"Next sequence!" Tipuka hurled back into the fray without preamble. "Plum Flower Fist form!"
"Miszukhean!" The technical name had scarce time to escape Jared's lips. He backed away from the shrew yet again.
Tipuka's bare palms and cuffs slapped or clamped around him. Unrelenting. Energetic. Snapping. They grasped at his limbs and shoulders and blades. Jared held his Wildcat posture with gritted teeth and tightened joints.
But underneath him his feet were shifting their weight. His breathing stopped and started in erratic measure. A thin sheen of sweat had collected on his nape.
Tipuka adjoined the heels of his palms together. He hurled his claws forward to clamp Jared's face.
Whack! "Oof!"
The squirrel's standard punch rocketed straight into the open space. Tipuka's brow furrowed for a split second.
His eyes darted from the duke trapped within his paws. Then back up at the squirrel.
His heart leaped in his chest when Jared smirked.
Jared's feet whipped his kneecaps right on instinct. Tipuka clamped his conjoined paws around the squirrel's trapped fist.
"Bayot Family Style—!"
"Gotcha!"
Jared raised his other paw high in the air in an arc. His fingers unclenched and bared their claws.
"Wildcat's Razor Slash! Hisssss!"
It swiped at Tipuka's wrists. First the tops then the bottoms. Then they raked diagonal to draw an X-shape over the Log-a-Log's exposed knuckles.
"Yow!" Tipuka yelped from the sudden attacks. He pulled his stinging paws open and backed away. "That smarts something fierce!"
Jared pulled his fist free. Tipuka took a few seconds to shake the pain in his paws free. He seethed and hyperventilated and flexed his fingers.
By now, Tipuka noticed Jared's breaths had turned sporadic. The squirrel's feet shuffled to either side and scuffed the floor. They dragged dirt and tree bark from side to side.
"Jared!"
"I'm okay!" Jared blurted out. But his shoulders bowed and drooped. "I want—I want to finish this!" He blinked multiple times to maintain his focus on the Log-a-Log. "How much…ti-time…we got lef-left?"
"Fifteen seconds, Jared!" Same as before, words of vitality escaped from Tipuka's mouth. Jared rolled his neck from side to side to loosen its kinks. "You can do it, lad! Believe in yourself! Come on!"
Jared did not say a word. He only set his paws at his waist and head level in his Gōryjūn ready stance.
"Our grand finale! Twelve Bridging Paws!" Tipuka reassumed his Triangle Fundament.
Hard. Soft. Press. Straight. Separate. Fix. Inch. Lift. Keep. Send. Control. Adapt.
One bridge paw for every second.
One block for every bridge.
One defense for every offense.
"3! 2! 1! Time!" All the Guosim and Guoraf bellowed as one voice. Then everybeast burst into uproarious cheers and deafening applause that reverberated off the walls of Brockhall.
"Arrroooooooooo!" Jacob threw his head back in a drawn-out triumphant howl.
"He did it! Jared did it!" Larina squealed, bouncing on the flats of her footpaws.
"My brother did it!" Madeline laughed and hugged Larina. "That's my big bro!" She pointed over Larina's shoulder at her older brother. Jacob put his delicate arms around the squirrelmaids after finishing his howl.
"Yeah!" Gavlin leaped into the air, pumping his fists. "That's my uncle! That's the true fists of the Guosim in all their glory!"
"Magnificent fight, Jared Sandeye and Log-a-Log Tipuka!" Tiraqoo applauded louder than all others. "That was an exhibition match for the history books!"
Gavlin, Remy, Ruth, Matilda, Therese, and all the other Guosim rallied around Log-a-Log Tipuka. They hopped up and down and cheered and clapped with unfettered enthusiasm. On the sidelines, the Guoraf collectively did the same. Saffron in particular pumped her gong mallet in the air.
"Jared!" Arm-in-arm with his nephew, Tipuka approached Jared. The squirrel had sunk to his knees, slumping forward with both paws on the floor. To his right, Madeline, Larina, and Jacob were also hurrying to Jared's side. Together, Tipuka, Gavlin, and Madeline helped Jared climb to his feet.
"Hold on, Jared," Jacob held Jared's back and shoulders. "We've got you."
"Can you breathe, Jared?" Larina's brow furrowed, her eyebrows drawing together. Her eyes locked on her fellow teenager, never leaving him. "Maybe we should get him some water!"
"Oh, my goodness, Jared!" Madeline exclaimed when Jared slumped onto her side. She put her arm around his shoulders as his paw rested on her chest.
"I can't…" Jared heaved, his breathing labored. "I can't fight…anymore…No more fights…I'm—I'm done…for the…for the day…" He raised a feeble finger to wipe sweat out of his eyes.
"You did it, Jared!" Tipuka spread his arms wide in a congratulatory manner. "What an extraordinary fight! Truly! Magnificently well done, Sandeye! You lasted two whole minutes against me and did not hold back! Your Akret against my Ganguen Huk! You gave me neither quarter nor respite for a second! You have impressed me beyond all measure! Your skill and ability in Wungkan are beyond the shadow of all doubt! You did it, Jared Sandeye, and I am very proud of you!"
"Haha, you certainly gave my uncle a run for his money, didn't you?" Gavlin laughed and ruffled Jared's headfur. Jared forced his sweat-stained eyes open and managed an exhausted smile.
His sister and their friends cradled him all the way to the infirmary. Still cheering, whooping, and clapping, the Guosim and Guoraf tailed close behind.
"Where are you going, Antonius?"
Madeline Sandeye looked up from placing a wooden tray on Jared's bedside table. She handed a mug of iced water to her brother.
"Oh, I'm just gonna get some fresh air," Antonius explained, strapping a straight two-edged sword and scabbard to his waist. "All this fightin' an' noise has made me feel rather stuffy. I won't be lon'."
"All right, Antonius," Tiraqoo, who sat in a stool beside Tipuka's bed, turned to give Antonius his nod of approval. "Be safe out there. Stay in the moonlight, my child."
"I will, Log-a-Log Tiraqoo," Antonius bowed before his Log-a-Log. "I'll be back afore th' next figh' starts." He turned his back and left the infirmary.
He emerged from Brockhall's main threshold to behold a full moon. He closed his eyes and inhaled the peaceful, flowery evening air. A meditative count to three. Then he exhaled slow and easy out through his mouth.
A rustling to his left forced his eyes open. His paw flew to his sword, instinctive.
Another rustling. His paw closed around the hilt.
A third rustling to the right. He snapped his body in that direction.
A fourth rustling from the center. Quicker than the previous three.
Shhhinnng! He unsheathed the sword. Its double-edged blade glowed blue-white in the star and moonlight.
"A Naijiat? Such a needlessly feeble defense, Guoraf."
A chill ran down Antonius' spine at the low, grating, rattling vocal fry.
The brush to his left rustled once more. Then a figure stepped out.
A muscular black-brown swamp rat in a gleaming set of silver steel armor strode towards him. It finely framed his tall and stocky figure. A steel falchion hung on his left hip; opposite it, a dagger. One paw rested on the hilt of the falchion, fingers drumming on the pommel. The other caressed the belt of monitor lizard scales that decorated his waist with leisurely strokes.
"How kind of you to welcome us to Brockhall, young Guoraf." The rat addressed Antonius in his most cordial tone. Antonius, captivated, backed away.
"Though I must say…" The rat stroked his chin, his eyes roving over the shape of the ancestral home. "It is nowhere near as grand as I expected it to be. Or perhaps it's more luxurious on the inside? I wouldn't count on it."
Antonius' eyes shifted right. Out from the bushes, three more figures materialized. The moonlight illuminated each of them as they crept towards him.
Another rat, black-furred with bloodred eyes.
A dark brown pine marten in leather armor, sans helmet.
A lean and lanky sable twirling twin daggers between his fingers.
Thump. Antonius' back had hit Brockhall's front door. The figures drew closer. Their strides lengthened with each step.
They were not stopping.
Antonius' grip tightened around the Naijiat sword. The black-brown rat stood directly in front of him.
"My name is Nagrig Deathblade," Nagrig explained. He continued drumming his fingers on the pommel of his falchion. "I am the Scornful Tyrant of the land of Morringtat. I have come to these lands you call Mossflower in pursuit of two high-priority and high value targets."
"Whoever they are, they ain't 'ere," Antonius hissed back through gritted teeth. He turned the Naijiat so the flat of the blade faced the sky. "Even if they were, I wouldn't let ye get t' 'em."
"Did I give you permission to interrupt me, shrew?" Nagrig growled, his own teeth gritted. Then he cocked his head to one side, raising an unconvinced eyebrow. "Is that so that the ones I seek aren't here? My intelligence sources have suggested otherwise. Did they tell me wrong, then?"
His head cocked to the other side. "Or are you lying to me, shrew?"
Around him, the other figures stopped. The black-furred rat crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in disapproval. The sable and pine marten chuckled under their breaths. Another chill coursed down Antonius' spine.
"And did you by chance forget with whom you are speaking?" Nagrig pressed, a prideful grin stretching across his lips, showing his fangs. Antonius shuddered inwardly. "I am the lord of a grand and mighty kingdom, young Guoraf. A monarch and a king. You will obey my orders…"
He curled his fingers around the hilt of the falchion. "Or you shall perish. Like all others before you have by my blade."
"I won't let ya get t' 'em!" Antonius raised the Naijiat above his head, its blade pointing vertical towards Nagrig. "Not on my life!"
"Ah!" Nagrig spread his arms out, his eyebrows raising in confirmed suspicion. "So they are here, aren't they? Was that so hard, little shrew? Didn't your masters always teach you the virtue of honesty?"
He dropped his arms by his sides and pointing a claw at the shrew. "No matter. You're going to take me to whom I seek. Or I shall cut your throat and force you to watch yourself bleed to death."
"I'm not afraid o' ya!" Antonius turned his body to face Nagrig side on. One foot drew back, the front foot digging into the dirt. "Four tails can move a thousan' pounds!"
Nagrig's lips shrank into a smirk. "I'll be the judge of that."
"32 Naijiat Forms of Halichit!" Antonius lashed out. He turned to face Nagrig straight on. Nagrig dug his footpaws into the grass. He raised his armored fists to eye level. The other three stood still. All but motionless.
"Wolverine Holds Head!" Antonius positioned his sword at his waist. The blade angled at Nagrig's chin.
Nagrig dashed straight at Antonius. The shrew shot his knee and sword up at the rat's chin.
Nagrig leaned away to dodge the assault. He sidestepped the blade to the shrew's left and swatted it aside.
"Wild Horse Leaps Over Matutinao River!" Antonius' paws closed in on Nagrig from either side. He lifted one paw over his head. The other stabbed the sword at Nagrig's armored chest.
"Monitor Lizard Contemplates the Moon!" Antonius thrust the sword diagonal at Nagrig. The rat leaned to his right. The Naijiat passed harmless over his left shoulder. Then Antonius withdrew the blade low to his hips.
"Cuppin' th' Moon from th' Bottom o' the Ocean—Unh!"
Two claws bit into his right temple. Two more scratched at his left.
"Lashing Poison Serpent!"
He recovered in time to dodge claws to his eyes.
"Ugh!" A steel boot caught him straight up the throat.
Nagrig retreated on his straightening right foot. His left paw grabbed at Antonius' arm and pulled.
Antonius choked from the blow to his throat. He jerked forward and followed the rat, stumbling over his footpaws.
"Hurk!" Sideways paw to his throat.
"Aahhh!" Knuckles to his eyes.
Nagrig pivoted on one foot and turned to kick him a third time in the neck.
Antonius slumped on the door. He slid to the ground. The Naijiat fell pathetically from his paw onto the ground. Hot tears sprang forth and stung his eyes. His paws flew to his heaving, aching throat.
"What?" Nagrig gibed through the haze that now filled Antonius' mind. "Did you think you and your pitiful kind were the only beasts trained in the ways of Wungkan?"
All of a sudden, his arms were hoisted into the air. A pair of paws caught him under the armpits. Two more took each forearm. He opened his mouth to protest. A length of cold metal pressed to the side of his neck stopped it short.
"Now, then. You're going to show me where the Sandeyes are."