The Lengthening Shadow

At that very moment, a new threat was making its way through Fernwood. Crowblood the pine marten and his gang of ferrets and martens was traveling in search of food, shelter, and a good fight. They had come down from the land of Nortpoint looking for warmer weather and a place that was not as barren as their homeland. The vile leader was dressed like a chieftain, in a chainmail tunic, crossbelts, ragged breeches, knee-length boots, a tattered gray cape, a chain-link belt, and various earrings and brass bands. His weapon was a basket-hilt attached to a large sickle, making a sword. He had six others under his command: three ferrets and three martens. His strong right paw was a burly, axe-wielding ferret called Slashtooth. Others were Rotlug the one-eared marten and his mate Vincie; Hangear, the acknowledged swordsbeast; Gringutt, the hefty sharpshooting ferret; and the most powerful of the group, Hisser the marten.

Hisser was unusually tall, with dark gray fur and one hand. His eyes were the most noticeable indicator of his peculiarity, they were yellow and slitted, like a cat’s. His power was that he could speak in the tongue of snakes, and understand what they said. In that way, he could give orders to the slithering reptiles. His most frightening feature was that he was a Destromancer, a servant of Ra’vok.

Hangear had been swordfighting since childhood, causing him to have one eye; from a duel with an angry fox. The ferret always carried his large scimitar and a small sword for up-close fighting. He had been born with a withered and torn arm, a deformity that nobeast could explain. Still, it did nothing to impede his skill.

Gringutt was huge and well-muscled, perfect for a wrestler. It was strange that his prefered weapon was the large rifle he carried slung across his back. More true to form, he held a cudgel most of the time, for close combat. Also, he was armed with a blowgun and poison darts. His scarred eye was pale white, but had the power of a rangefinding scope.

Rotlug was a small, dull-witted marten with a missing ear. He spoke with a highland accent and had a pronounced squint. He and his mate Vincie had joined up with the gang about six seasons back, as hired fighters. He carried a spear with a hooked point, nothing else. He was stupid, but a valuable asset to the group.

Vincie was a strong, wiry female marten and Rotlug’s mate. She was an expert climber and translator, armed with a serrated spear that could be used for scaling walls as well as combat. She was also a digger, and was always used when they had to break into a place.

Slashtooth was probably one of the smartest beasts in the gang. He had an axe and dagger, and often used them both in battle. He had been with Crowblood since the gang was formed, and was promoted quickly when more beasts joined. He was lithe and tough, with a scar that ran under his metallic green eye. He was dangerous, but could be charming at times. These talents combined made him a match for anybeast.

This day, Crowblood dashed out from his makeshift blanket tent at the sound of Hangear’s voice.

“Come see, chief! There’s a forest up ahead!”

The marten dashed to the clifftop and peered out. Sure enough, the bright trees of Greenbloom stood out against the light blue morning sky. He clapped the ferret on the shoulder. “Good job, ‘angear. Come on, mates. Git out o’ those tents. There’s forest!” The gang jumped to attention, packing tents and rushing over to Crowblood’s side. Rotlug squinted into the sunlight at the trees. “Och, ye’re right, Sire. Those there are sure trees, the noo.”

Crowblood snapped out of the pro-discovery euphoria and barked orders to some of the vermin. “Vincie, Hangear! Pack up the supplies, then get some branches to cover our trail wid.” As the pair rushed off to carry out his commands, Crowblood leaned back on the trunk of a dead willow, letting satisfaction course through his veins. There was nothing better than being a leader.

Later that day, around mid-afternoon, the group had gone about two leagues into Greenbloom when the marten chief called a halt.

“Alright, mates. Let’s stop ‘ere fer a while an’ get refreshed.”

They stopped, and Hisser unpacked the tents while Rotlug and Slashtooth made a firepit. Vincie and Gringutt went out to get firewood while Crowblood sharpened his sickle blade, Gra’zoth, on a rock. He spoke softly to it while honing its edge. “Come on, my faithful sword, do me proud.”

Only Hisser could decipher the language the the blade’s name was in: Thazancian, the ancient tongue of the Destromancers. The language was created in the black city of Thazanc, stronghold of Ra’vok. The lithe marten was one of the few that knew Ra’vok still dwelt there, waiting for the Three Fallen to revive him. The Three Fallen were a trio of mystical animals that each possessed a talisman. The three artifacts combined could bring him back from the black pit in which his semi-living remains were interred. Little did the rest of the gang know, but Hisser had been to Thazanc, many millenniums ago. It was an advantage of being a wizard, immortality. Gra’zoth had originally been his; he had given it to Crowblood in exchange for joining the gang. He had been one of the higher-ranking Destromancers, and knew many things about ancient wizard lore. One was that he knew who one of the Three Fallen was. At the moment, he was looking into the dark blade of Great Shadow, Gra’zoth. It had been the personal weapon of Ra’vok himself. He had vowed long ago to retrieve it. He remembered when he first set eyes on the sickle, long, long ago...

The young marten was awed when he first set eyes on the immense city of Thazanc. It was surrounded by huge, towering walls of black stone, with guard towers placed along the walltops. The roads were made of cobbled obsidian, and spread out through the fortified city like spiderwebs. He had come here to be trained in the black arts by Ra’vok the All-Powerful, ruler of all the Destromancers.

He was escorted down a large path by two large polecats and a fox who seemed to be a sort of officer. The fox, Corblay, gave instructions to the pair of guards.

“Nimnis, go on ahead to see if the master needs the young one yet.” Hisser steamed with fury at being called young one but kept his mouth shut. Corblay continued with his orders. “Vralfeth, keep an eye on this one, he’s a recruit. If anything happens to him, I’m holdin’ you accountable, got it?”

The one called Vralfeth nodded, grabbed Hisser’s arm, and dragged him up the road, followed by Corblay. Nimnis dashed ahead of them to inform Ra’vok of their arrival. Hisser braced himself as the neared the black steel door of Ra’vok’s palace. It swung open.

In spite of all his preparations, the recruit was not prepared for meeting the evil king. He was not a badger, as he first believed, but an immense tiger. He was black as night, with piercing yellow eyes that seemed to track his every move. He wore a wrought iron circlet with black jetstones inset into three hoops. His cape fluttered in a nonexistent breeze, the woven runes glowing as he walked. Even though a furnace was filling the room with warmth, the air around Ra’vok was freezing cold. His black tunic covered a mail shirt of blackened brass, which did not jangle merrily like others did. In one hand he carried a wand of poison oak with a ruby tip, and in the other he held a huge copper sickle with a basket hilt. His very presence seemed to radiate pure evil. His entire figure was drenched in shadow, but when he spoke, it was nothing like Hisser had expected. It was a deep, cold baritone, with a hint of harshness and contempt.

What is this marten doing in my chambers?

Corblay bowed low and introduced Hisser to Ra’vok. He scratched his chin, then delivered a verdict.

He may stay.

The fox took the marten away to give him his wand and bestow the gifts of the dark wizards. When Hisser returned an hour later, Corblay gave the tiger some information. “He has a gift with snakes, so I gave him their speech. Does it please your Mightiness?”

The black ruler nodded. Corblay took Hisser out of the room, flanked by Nimnis and Vralfeth. They walked down another road to the Destromancer barracks. Corblay entered with Hisser, motioning for the two guards to stay outside. When they had complied, he opened a side door and beckoned for the marten to come in. When they had sat down, a water rat and a ferret walked on in. Corblay introduced them. “The water rat is my fellow lieutenant, Roetaz.” Roetaz nodded at Hisser. “And the ferret is the Captain of the Guards, Tuthis.” The ferret smiled slightly at the recruit. Corblay continued. “Tuthis here is in charge of the city guards. We’re not all Destromancers here, you know. Roetaz has the same job as me. We command the Destromancers if Ra’vok is absent. You could say that we’re his second in commands.” As the fox went on, Hisser learned a lot about the dynamics of rank, command, defense, and civil matters in Thazanc. During that time, the new Destromancer came to respect Corblay as a mentor and teacher. He was devastated when news of the lieutenant’s death reached him. He was not the only one mourning; the entire organization was in disarray. Without a leader, their leagues scattered to the winds, each going his or her separate way.

Hisser believed that he was one of the few who still kept their wand, and he was right. Many had renounced their affiliation with Ra’vok and snapped their wands in the time-honored tradition of breaking free of the final influence of the black tiger.

In real time, he was still staring at Gra’zoth when the voice of the ferret Hangear snapped him out of his daydream.

“Hey, Hiss. Wot are yew lookin’ at?”

When he did not answer, Hangear returned to his duties around the camp.

Crowblood had led a wicked life. He was born as a slave, his parents being servants to the vile crocodile warlord, General Steeltooth. He had escaped when a slave uprising had Steeltooth distracted, running off into the northlands. From that moment on, he had sworn revenge on the General, and raised a gang to get it. However, he had never located the crocodile again, he was too elusive and crafty. Crowblood knew he had been a kinbeast of Norsӓn-Ran, the ancient land of vermin, the Mecca of evil. This fabled land was in the North, which by a strange coincidence was the direction in which Thazanc was. Three seasons ago he had run into three gilas, whom he recognized as Gridret and his brothers, minions of the croc General. Before letting Gringutt use them for target practice, he got Steeltooth’s location from them. After thanking them, he still let them be slain. When he reached Gridret’s coordinates, he had missed his quarry; they had left two nights earlier. After another few seasons of searching, he had finally given up on finding his nemesis. Nevertheless, he knew that General Steeltooth was still out there, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Far away, something much more violent than setting up camp was going on. At Cape Bucktooth, the whole area looked like a tornado had swept through. The ground was littered with bodies, some were sand lizards, some were Karakssass’s troops. Samuel’s camp was equally chaotic. Morgan and Greddez rushed around, administering bandages and medicine to the wounded. Plorten had taken a group of snakes to give their dead a proper burial. Samuel was conferencing with Croglaw and a few others on their position.

“Darghin, how are some of those water snakes faring against the water-based foebeasts?” The lizard captain’s face was grim. “Not well, I’m afraid,” he replied. “Our aquatic troopz have zuffered heavy lozzez, and I have called a temporary retreat. They should be back here shortly.” Samuel then turned to Stritter. “Did your troop break through that line of eel sentries?” The rattlesnake nodded. “Yessssssss. I have left Gaitert to lead them while I join you in conferensssssssss. We have broken through and are now penetrating the main compound.” The mouse brightened up at the good news. “Can I come and see?” Stritter nodded and the two walked off.

When they entered the battle zone, there was horrendous noise; creatures dying, officers yelling orders, steel clanging against steel as the forces of Karakssass fought to regain ground and defend their position. Samuel, Stritter, and Gaitert met not too far away from the battlefield to discuss the fight. The events had gone something like this: Gaitert had ordered Zader to lead a large troop against the main force of reptiles, while Kajdin and Jikky had split the remaining soldiers in two and hit the flanks. Using that pincer movement, the fanned out and drove the foebeasts back with brute force. For the rest of the battle, it had been a sort of tug-of-war. Both sides lost and gained ground, each trying to push the other back. Frillgan was leading the enemy, while Gaitert headed Samuel’s force.

The mouse suddenly came out of the conversation. “Come on! Let’s go get ’em! They won’t win! Vi’lleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” The other two ran after him into the violent chaos. The trio fought like madbeasts, slashing, hacking, thrusting, stabbing. None of the enemy wanted to be in the path of the avenging three. Stritter had a dagger in the coils of his tail, and was lunging with his poisonous fangs, slaying any foe that came near. Gaitert was snapping his large jaws, maiming and killing any opponent that came near. Samuel’s eyes were red with battle light, and his rapier was a blur of steel, taking out villains left and right. Frillgan was so surprised by the sudden fury of the warriors that he had no time to react to this turn of events before Samuel was upon him. He let out a screeching cry as the blade took his life. Seeing their leader slain, the fight went out of the opposing soldiers. Samuel walked between the ranks of defeated enemies, observing their position. He stopped, turned around, and walked back toward his companions.

“All defeated foebeasts, rise.”

The groveling reptiles stood up and awaited judgment.

“Lay down your arms.”

There was a loud clatter as countless weapons hit the ground like a shower of rain.

“Stand in two lines, side by side.”

The villains obeyed, getting into two equal columns. Stritter came around with a pile of ropes. He tied each one from shoulder to footpaw. After that, he went back to stand next to Samuel. The young mouse eyed the surrendering troops contemptuously while giving further commands.

“I am letting you miserable wretches live. Slink back to your master, scumbrains, and tell him that Sir Samuel of Fernwood is here, and that if he does not give up, his days are numbered. I see you cowering in fear, and you have good reason to. If my orders are not carried out to the letter, I shall send you back to whatever snotty-pawed, idiotic lunatic you serve IN PIECES!” All of the cowering vermin cringed on those last two words. Seeing this, Samuel’s tone became calmer and more reasonable. “Don’t start sniveling now, save it for when you return to your leader. If you want more instructions, here they are. Here is what you must do...”

That same evening, Crowblood’s gang was making good progress through Greenbloom. They had stopped twice for food, water, and rest, but they kept on going. When they finally set up camp for the night, Hisser called Crowblood over to his tent. “Chief, you know that I am a wizard?” The burly marten nodded. “Yep, go on.” Hisser continued with his talk. “I know a way to become very, very powerful. We need to find the Three Fallen.” The chief shrugged. “Who are they?” The sibilant Destromancer endeavored to explain. “Each of them has a talisman which can be used to bring back Ra’vok, Lord of evil, king of Thazanc, leader of the Destromancers. Luckily for us, I have just located one.” Crowblood leaned forward intently. “Who is it? Where are they?”

Hisser held a paw to Crowblood’s mouth, silencing him. “Wait, I will explain in due time. The talisman is a circlet of Thazancian Gold, with several large emeralds inset into claw holders. This is the one to bring back his mind. Another is heart, and another is body. I only know the location of this one object. Now, I will answer your questions.” The sky went dark and thunder boomed in the distance as the identity of one of the Three Fallen was revealed. “The talisman belongs to a beast that goes by the name of King Sedi Goldfur of Fort Brushtipp.”