Thread:ScottyBlue/@comment-4507006-20121119173120/@comment-3462718-20121125082341

OK, here's the start for the story. It takes place in that indefinite period of time between the books Salamandastron and Redwall. It's called "Dual Warlords", and is about two very different armies with two very different approaches of attack who come to conquer Mossflower.

Chapter One
To a casual observer, Mossflower Woods seemed at its best this particular autumn. The treetops represented a veritable explosion of molten gold, copper, and ruby tones; their branches, and those of humbler flora residing beneath them, were bowed with an abundance of seasonal fruits. The air was cool, but not uncomfortably so, and the sky was neither too cloudy nor too bright. All in all, a most satisfactory day indeed.

Such thoughts passed through the mind of the ferret Delango, as he sat beneath a russet tree crunching viciously into a large apple. Juice dribbled freedly down the chin of the lithe, muscular young creature, showing up in a yellowish stain against his unusual, pale grey fur, which only just barely darkened into the usual socks-and-mask markings of a ferret.

Sitting a suitable distance from their leader - close enough to hear any orders given, but far enough away to converse among themselves - there sat seven other rather scruffy ferrets. Few of them were of any age to be considered young adults; most of them could only just barely be considered adolescents. A ragtag, unimpressive little group of ne'er-do-wells, with aspirations to make a name for themselves - bullies and sneak-theives, themselves bullied by the strongest-willed member of their band.

Delango tossed aside the core of the apple, laughing so suddenly that his followers jumped in alarm. "Haharrr, d'is izza life, ain' it, mates? Good idea o' mine t'come up here, ain' it?"

There were dutiful members of agreement. However, one of the youngest (and more stupid) members of the band piped up, "But, I thought it wuz Grinkgo's idea t'move north!"

Delango's move underwent a sudden change; he snarled angrily, leaping upon the young one savagely and beating him with a rusty metal rod he used as a cudgel. "Shuttit, shuttup! I told ye, I never wan' t'hear Gringko's name agin; I'll kill th' next un wot sez that name! Am I clear, Rotlug?"

The unfortunate Rotlug wailed piteously, trying in vain to doge the blows. "Yeeeeeargggh! A'right, A'right, I'm sorry! Eeeeeeeagggh, gerroff, I learned me lesson!"

Giving his subordinate a final whack for good measure, the pale-furred ferret kicked him roughly away, eying the rest of his cowering followers with menace. "Hear me now; as far as I'm concerned, dere ain't no Grinkgo anymore. We've done wid his stupid high an' mighty highness an' his lot f'good, see? From now on, I'm in charge, an' I don' wanner live in some ol', bloated win'bag's shadder the rest o' me life! See?"

The rest nodded dutifully, too nervous to speak. Delango sheathed his weapon (really an old rudder pin from a tiny boat) in his belt. "Right! Now up on yer limbs an' foller me; we're gonner find sumplace sheltered t'camp. T'morrer we start lookin' f'more members t'recruit in our gang. Now march!"

They obeyed with alacrity, following him into the deeper reaches of the forest. Rotlug was the last to rise; rubbing the aching welts on his body, the younger ferret stumbled foward in the wake of the rest as fast as his wounds would allow.

Suddenly, he stopped dead, his nose catching the whiff of an unfamiliar smell. "Delango! Wait a minnit!"

The grey ferret marched back, pawing his weapon threateningly. "Wot ''now?"

Rotlug pointed off to the west. "I think I smell somthin' burnin, comin' over thataway."

Delango sniffed hard. "Yer right, mate. Hoi, Blackgob!"

The ferret in question, though strong and otherwise healthy, had already lost most of his teeth to rot. He came trotting back. "Yessir?"

"Up that tree, quick like. See wot's burnin'."

Blackgob obediently ascended the nearby apple tree, sending several loose russets and a storm of leaves down upon his waiting companions. After a moment, he called back down. "Big coil o' smoke off t'the left; looks like sum sorta likkle buildin' on fire!"

Delango called to the rest of his followers, who were milling about uncertainly, having missed what was going on. "Change o' plans, lads; we're movin' west, see wot's goin' on! But keep quiet, unnerstand?"

With further nods of nervous aquiesence, the group followed him silently towards their destination.

About half a league to the north, another young ferret with unusually silvery fur led a band through Mossflower. However, this ferret was not lithe and scruffy, but well-groomed, sleek, somewhat paunchy of middle, and had a well-trained group of about fifty assorted vermin under his command.

One of these, a stringy-looking vixen, came up to him and saluted. "Chief Gringko, there's no sign of 'em; if they were headin' north, they must've cut back to the south, or else we somehow passed them."

Gringko was, in fact, Delango's elder brother; however, the pair were poles apart in mannerisms. Where Delango was unpredictable, brutal and bullying, Gringko was cool, deliberate, and almost polite. It was true both were ruthless, and shared the same ambition to conquer, and desire to reign in terror over their followers; however, neither considered their brother to posess the intellengence or means to amass an effective group of followers, and thusly refused to work together. Gringko's personality was more impressive to an outsider; thus, he had become the ruler of the small band they had been raised in upon their parent's death. The hot-headed Delango and several like-minded peers had argued against this strenuously, and had finally broken away from the little army during Grinkgo's aforementioned migration northward.

Grinkgo returned the vixen's salute with a cold nod. "I suppose we must have; but then, none of us are experienced trackers, so I suppose it was bound to happen. We may as well let the dolts go; they'll kill themselves before a season's out in this unfamiliar territory."

The vixen, whose name was Splutchy, swallowed nervously. "I agree, yore highness, but do ye think it's wise? Yore brother did threaten to kill you, many times; not knowin' where he is, ye run the risk of...."

"Bah! What risk?" Grinkgo waved a fat paw in dismissal. "That little steam-eared oaf; he couldn't kill a broken-winged robin if it was bound to a tree in front of him. We have nothing more to fear from him; as far as I am concerned, he does not exist! I will thank you not to speak of him again!"

They traveled on in silence for some moments, until Splutchy volunteered another question. "Beggin' yore pardon, but wot's our next move?"

The sleek ferret pointed to the northeast. "We'll travel that way until sunset, and set up camp. That will put us a good distance between us and that hut we burned. News travels fast in goodbeast-infested areas like this; I don't want any direct attacks until we've amassed more recruits."

Splutchy grinned wickedly. "An' then we'll get this good land all t'ourselves, eh?"

Grinkgo looked upon her as if in sorrow. "My dear fox, you are impatient. It will be many seasons before we can feasibly conquer this area, and when we do, there will always be those who try to take it from us. You must learn to wait and endure, or else. Am I clear?"

Splutchy shuddered; nobeast liked to hear Grinkgo say "or else", as those two words meant a slow death, in the most painful ways imaginable.

It was late afternoon by the time Delango's little band reached the hut Grinkgo's band had burned. It had been a small, shabby, and ill-constructed affair before the attack; now that fire had done its work, it was little more than a heap of ashes, with charred bones of at least two deadbeasts inside.

Rotlug stared in horrified awe. "Wot happened here?"

Delango cuffed him soundly. "Idjit! Use yer eyes! There's other vermin around dese parts, like the ones we wanner recruit; stands ter reason they'd do some plunderin' every so often. Search around, mates, see if'n there's anythin' left worth takin'."

The ferrets gingerly picked their way through the destroyed dwelling; however, there was nothing of particular interest to be seen, save the fact that the remains were of two very large beasts.

Blackgob's voice rang out suddenly; he had wandered off into the nearby undergrowth to investigate some tracks. "Delango! Over here!"

The pale grey ferret came at a trot, the rest following hesitantly behind. Blackgob pointed with a grimy claw. "Down there, see it?"

At the bottom of a sharp embankment, just on the other side of the hut, a massive ball of badly singed fur lay in a huddled heap. It was moaning in pain, and obviously badly wounded; however, it was unnervingly big. In fact, it was taller than any two of the adolescent ferrets combined.

The young ferrets stepped back, muttering amongst themselves. "D'ye think it's safe?....Wot is it?......I dunno, but it looks dangerous....."

Delango silenced them all by swishing his metal rod about threateningly. "Shuttit, fools! Wotever it is, it's bad hurt, it ain't dangerous. Cummon, let's get a closer look!"

He pushed them ahead of him down the embankment, all of them slipping and sliding a bit as they scrabbled down the loose earth into the depression where the beast lay. Delango, in locating its head, stepped back with an exclamation of suprise. "Wot d'yer know; it's a mink!"

Rotlug blinked at him. "A wot?"

Delango explained. "I seen one of these fellers before, long ago; they lives at sea on ships, mostly. Not very common, but awful dangerous when they're angry!"

The Mink had continued to moan and feebly writhe in pain throuought the exchange; it suddenly rolled off its side onto its back, still groaning. It was now quite plain to see that it was covered in terrible, festering burns, and also suffering from a bad wound to the head which had robbed it of sight. Blackgob drew a knife from his belt. "I suppose we'd best kill it, eh?"

Delango stayed his paw, shoving him backwards. "Not yet, I wanner talk ter it first. Hoi, minkface, wot happened, wot are ye doin' here?"

The creature's voice was feeble; between cries of pain, it gasped, "Marooned.....left by captain t'die.....me an' me husband an' son....managed t'make do out here in hut....plunderin' farmers an' such....."

She trailed off into a wail. Delango shook her roughly by the shoulder. "Wot happened, who did this?"

The mink groaned louder, her whole body twisting with pain. "Ferret.....funny color fur.....wanted our loot, our supplies....ran him off last night....came back early mornin' wid a whole horde, burned us out....." She again trailed of into an even louder wail of agony, which was suddenly choked off short as merciful death overcame her.

Delango's jaw tightened. So, his brother had already been here, and taken all the plunder. He probably was going to get all the best recruits, too, before his brother had a chance. Delango had been frustrated yet again by that oily, smiling, complacent, pompous, overgrown.....

"Delango!" Rotlug's voice had a note of suprise in it. "Ye'd best come an' take a look at this!"

Recalled from his vengeful thoughts, Delango did take a look. He had already noticed the creature's heavily bloated appearance; what he had not realized, not being much acquanted with medical matters, was that the female creature was expecting a babe. Apparently her ordeal had caused her to prematurely begin delivery; that last wail had come just as she had finally given birth.

Delango and his followers looked down at the massive dead body of the mother, and the wriggling, whimpering form of the infant. Slowly, but surely, the great idea came to the young ferret. If he could only pull it off; but yes, it would work. It had to!

He pointed suddenly at an older female ferret. "You, Chalza, ye've had experience wid babes?"

Chalza nodded, startled. "I knows a liddle about 'em.

Delango's metal rod tapped her nose. "Den you raise that 'un. As long as ye keep it alive, I'll keep ye alive. Unnerstand?"

Rotlug scratched his ear. "But, wot d'we need a whelp like dat for?"

Delango grinned broadly. "He ain't gonna be a whelp f'long; give 'im a few seasons, an' e'll be as big as 'is mama. Bigger, bein' a malebeast. If'n we raise 'im as one of our own, we won't need a huge army; we'll have a practical war machine of our own. We'll still git recruits, mind; but wid him on our side, we'll have dis whole place in our pockets by th' time 'e's good an' grown!"

They moved off into the woodlands, precious burden in tow. Chalza turned to her leader. "Wot were ye gonna call 'im? 'E needs a good name!"

Delango had no hesitation at all. "Killer, dat's gonna be his name. Killer! An' dat's gonna be his job, if we do it right. Now quick march!"

Many seasons would pass before goodbeasts recieved news of either brother again; however, events had already been set in motion for what would be one of the most spectacular wars in the HIstory of Mossflower.