| Subject: oops, scratch that.. The Mask: chapters 11&12 |
Author:
Dakkan
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Date Posted: 20:44:01 09/13/02 Fri
In reply to:
Dakkan
's message, "Oh..." on 20:15:43 09/13/02 Fri
CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE BATTLE ENDS
Riverwyte was only looking to slay one beast – the wildcat known as Verduaga Greeneyes. It was like he was trying to cut his way through a dense jungle as the gray otter dispatched many weasels, stoats, and ferrets around him. But he only saw the wildcat. Riverwyte dashed sweat and blood from his brow as he tightened his hold on the rapier hilt.
The woodlanders fought with all their strength, but the truth was they were still heavily outnumbered. Brave creatures were beginning to fall as myriads of Kotir soldiers swamped them. Otters and squirrels were being set on by three or four vermin at a time.
Verduaga was unaware of the hot-eyed gray otter ten feet away as he roared, “Don’t kill ‘em! Take ‘em prisoner! Use your ropes…grrraahh!” Riverwyte had broken through the final row of vermin and laid a long slice down the wildcat’s left arm. As Verduaga turned with scimitar drawn, vermin on the field began to tie up exhausted fighters.
Riverwyte engaged in deadly swordplay with Verduaga. He was swifter and more skilled with a blade than Barkstripe had been, and was forcing the wildcat to stay on his toes. As each gave the other as good as he got, Verduaga suddenly bulled into the otter. Not expecting this, Riverwyte fell heavily to the ground, losing his rapier by accident. Verduaga quickly put the point of his scimitar to Riverwyte’s throat and whistled to a nearby stoat with rope in his paws.
The wildcat suddenly felt his blade jerk, and looked down in astonishment at the gray otter, who had both paws locked around the blade. Not seeming to feel the keen edge at it sliced into his paws, Riverwyte’s eyes were tinged red as he wrenched the scimitar from the wildcat’s grasp and threw it away. He’d leapt up toward Verduaga, claws aimed at his throat, when the stoat hurried to the rescue with a cudgel. Running up behind the otter, the soldier clubbed him flat and quickly tied him up before he could recover.
Riverwyte, half-dazed from the blow, glared angrily at Verduaga as the wildcat smirked and left, treading purposely on his rudder.
Threescore otters and twoscore squirrels were still not dead or captured. Skipper held the limp form of Mikk in his arms, tears of anger and grief streaming down his tough face. Seeing all was lost, he called to the others, “Fire one last volley of stones ‘n’ arrows at ‘em and take off into the woods. Otters, get to the River Moss as fast as you can. Squirrels, stay in the trees. Oh, I knew this would happen!"
The squirrels Amber was beginning to panic. She had seen her mother, the Squirrelqueen, get knocked down and bound by Kotir soldiers. “Where will we go, Skip?”
Skipper thought for a few seconds. “The Rock. Now give ‘em one last salvo to remember!”
Arrows and stones flew into the vermin ranks, killing fifty. Verduaga looked up, but nobeast was there.
“Ran away, hah!” growled a scarred weasel. “No matter. We’ve won, mates!”
Weasels, stoats, and ferrets raised a ragged cheer, throwing down weapons and pounding on each other’s backs. The bound captives on the ground groaned despairingly.
Verduaga held up a paw for quiet. He ignored his wounds and stood before his horde with a look of silent triumph. “Stand up the captives!” he ordered suddenly. Soldiers grabbed the restrained woodlanders and stood them upright. A ferret soldier bent to pick up Riverwyte, but the otter bared his teeth and growled fiercely enough to convince the vermin to leave him alone.
Verduaga spoke. “Well, you woodlanders have defied me. I will send you farmers back to work, and those who refuse to labor in my fields will be sent to the dungeons.”
The more peaceful farmers gulped audibly. They knew that imprisonment in the wildcat’s dungeons was worse than death, and they kept any mutinous comments to themselves.
The wildcat allowed himself a cruel smile. “All the squirrels and otters who stirred up my workers will be imprisoned. Any who resist will be slain. I will also kill any farmers who reenter my fields but later turn against me. That is the end of it.”
Verduaga turned, strode through Kotir’s main gate, and headed up to his chamber in order to find a jerkin of his that was still in one piece. As he stalked up the stairs, he chuckled to himself evilly. The pathetic woodlanders’ rebellion had failed, and now he was undisputedly the ruler of Mossflower.
CHAPTER TWELVE: KOTIR DUNGEONS
Riverwyte struggled in his bonds, hot anger flooding through him. Nearby, an otter was getting dragged off by Kotir soldiers. Riverwyte watched as the otter thrashed suddenly, knocking the two vermin carrying him sprawling. As they tried to lay paws on him, the otter bared his teeth and bit the first paw to come near.
The bitten weasel swore loudly. Taking off a bandanna he wore tied to his tail, the soldier cinched it tightly around the otter’s neck. “Greeneyes said to kill anybeast who resist. Are you resistin’?”
The otter choked as his windpipe was blocked, but he refused to reply. The weasel and his companion watched impassively until the creature went limp. Leaving behind the slain otter, the pair came for Riverwyte.
The gray otter was repulsed by their touch as they seized the ropes near his shoulders and began pulling him to Kotir. Rage coursed through his veins and his pale eyes were tinged scarlet as the warrior in him begged to fight. But Riverwyte had seen what had happened to the otter back on the battlefield. With an effort, he forced his emotions into submission, but anybeast watching would have noticed his teeth grinding and his paws clenching.
Out of the sun and into long, dark hallways the three creatures went, two soldiers and one prisoner. They entered the dungeon and went down several flights of stairs and hallways before stopping. The weasel held Riverwyte still as his stoat accomplice produced a rusty key and opened the door. Quickly they threw the gray otter in and locked the door, cackling. “Enjoy yore new ‘ccomodations, otter!”
Riverwyte waited until the pawsteps and laughing had faded away. Arching his neck as far as he could, he set his teeth into the ropes. In a few minutes he was free, and he cast the pieces of rope into the corner before taking stock of his cell.
Being the only living creature to personally face Verduaga, the wildcat had obviously made certain that Riverwyte was given the worst cell possible. The gray otter noted that all of the floorspace was covered with an inch of water. Mold grew on the walls and filled the air with a musty aroma. Riverwyte knew that if he stayed here long, he’d take ill very quickly and die. He squatted on his haunches to avoid sitting in the water as he thought. His only chance of escaping death in the dungeon was to escape the dungeon itself. But how? The gray otter stroked his chin, eyes half closed as he put his brain to work. After a while, a small smile crept across his features. Of course! He knew exactly how to handle things…
At that moment, a stoat very wide in the gut unlocked the door. He tossed some bread in haphazardly, which Riverwyte caught before it could hit the water. Chuckling cruelly, the stoat slammed and relocked the door. “Didn’t bring ye water…figger y’had enough already.” His footsteps disappeared into silence.
Riverwyte munched grimly on the bread, chancing a look of the water he was standing in. It was filthy, murky slop; he’d have to be at death’s door before he drank it. Now he had a time problem…he’d have to be out before his need for water killed him.
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