| Subject: Prologue -- |
Author:
Retina
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Date Posted: 20:38:32 12/28/02 Sat
In reply to:
Retina
's message, "The Alliance Saga: Novel" on 20:36:34 12/28/02 Sat
Prologue
The sky was dark, as was the foreboding feeling in many a beast's heart that lived on the southwestern coast. The moon and stars had been overlaid with wisps of thick clouds, and so the only source of light came from the small torch that was lit with a fire that flickered with bright red and orange. Inside the stronghold of Salamandastron, the torch sat with it's handle placed inside a brass ring that was embedded into the mountain wall, and there, the fire of the torch danced and wove inane patterns, lighting up the night enough for a pair of dark eyes to inspect the happenings outside.
Lord Darien Roamheart of Salamandastron was intensely aware of the approaching corsair ships, and of their purpose of arrival. Still, he stood at the window impassively, narrowed eyes fixed on the five ships of countless corsairs, each one heading towards his mountainhold.
It had been less than two weeks that the searat king, Lord Stormclaw, had united all vermin groups with a treaty of alliance. Juska clans, corsairs...every single vermin immaginable had joined the Enemy, which the alliance was called. And their goal was simple. To demolish all good from the earth.
Noonvale had already fallen to the Juska; the secret glade's inhabitants were too inexperienced with the art of war to counterattack. News of Noonvale's fall came from the red kite, Airiela, who had dashed quickly to alert everybeast she could that was opposite of the Enemy when the last creature had fallen or been taken prisoner. Now, Salamandastron would be next.
The white fox, Klunevi Winterfang's thousand-strong horde was already making their way to Redwall Abbey, though the Enemy had yet to mention Southsward. The Juska clans were roaming around, destroying any stray villages, otter holts, and the like. The fate of those opposing the enemy was on the edge of doom.
Bracken Lamooris slid up next to his lord, joining him at the window. His green uniform tunic, contrasting with his mussed light tan fur, was neat and untousled, as it was expected to be. Planted on his left sleeve was his rank insignia, which was Major. He stood rigid and alert, and his face was grim.
"Sire," he began, gaining Lord Darien's attention. "We are ready. There are five hundred bally hares on this mountain that kin fight, an' two hundred that are either too young, too old, or too injured. We're all at your command, sire."
The badgerlord nodded in an absent manner, as if he hadn't heard a thing said to him. The corsair ships were getting closer to the shore. "That is well, Major."
Bracken's dark gray eyes held a glimmer of hope as he asked, "So do you think we stand a chance, wot?"
There was a pause from the badger, then Darien cast his eyes downward, wordlessly.
Crestfallen, Bracken nodded stiffly, then gestured with his right paw to the outside of the window and said, "That is to be expected. How many d'you reckon there are?"
Darien was thoughtful for a moment, looking upward to calculate quietly, and then he sighed, bowing down his grizzled head. "Too many, my friend. Too many."
The two stood in silence, both staring intently at the dark shadows moving swiftly across the ocean waves. Beyond the ships, sun rays began to withdraw from hiding, peeking over the dark horizon. Drawing in a sharp breath, Bracken hissed, "The ships have landed."
The badgerlord reached up and touched the large white stripe that ran down his head forlornly. "Then the war... it has begun."
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