Redwall: The Krimson Traitor

Chapter 3

Azrahai sat sharpening one of his throwing knives - doing his best to banish a host of troubles from his mind with each stroke of the whetstone - when a sudden voice from the flap of his officer’s tent broke his concentration.

“General?” The grey-brown head of a female coyote guard poked its way through the tent opening.

“What is it, Raski?” Azrahai demanded, perhaps more brusquely than he’d intended.

“General, the Ranger has returned.”

With a tired sigh, Azrahai put aside his whetstone, returned his knife to one of the ornate sheaths at his belt, and pushed himself to his footpaws. After securing the red cotton scarf that concealed his face from the common militia beasts, he stepped out into the cool night air.

“Where is she?”

“Sitting by the main fire, General.” Raski replied. She was being uncommonly courteous for a coyote; no doubt in an effort to avoid souring her officer’s already darkened mood.

Brushing past the guard, Azrahai wound his way through the sleeping sprawl of the camp to the huge fire at its heart, where a young grey fox sat warming her paws.

“What do you have to report?”

“Hmm?” Vatcha turned to face her General. “Oh. We can take those foxes out any time. Tonight if you want.”

“I’m in no mood for jokes, Vatcha.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not joking. They’re nothing but a pack of low-level raiders. Just catch them by surprise with the force we have here, kill their chief, and they’ll crack.”

“You’re certain?”

“As certain as I’ll ever be.” Vatcha noted the doubtful look Azrahai gave her. “Can’t you trust me just this once, sir?”

“If I was fool enough to trust foxes on their word, I’d be trying diplomacy here instead of a surprise attack.”

“Heh. Fair enough.”

“So, where is this chief?”

“He’s shacked up in the largest building in the village, funnily enough. A big, ill-tempered fellow by the name of Kagrel.”

“What sort of fighter is he?”

Vatcha shrugged. “I know he’s got the only proper weapon I saw; a falchion, I think. Other than that, his son told me that he used to be a corsair once upon a time.”

“His son?”

“Yeah, a little blackfur called Smutty. He gave me most of my information.”

“And what information did you give him?”

“Nothing that he’d ever bring to his tribe, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Azrahai breathed an exasperated sigh. “What does that mean, Vatcha?”

“It means that even if he does realize that something’s about to go down, he won’t lift a claw to stop it. He’d probably welcome any sort of change.”

“Hmm. A malcontent, then?” Azrahai looked off into the distance for a few moments, thoughtful. “How old was this fox?”

“Not sure, but he had to have been at least a couple seasons younger than me. Why, you thinking of making him a Ranger?”

“I’ll decide that when I meet him in the morning.” Azrahai turned to walk away. “Raski!”

“Yes, General?” The coyote seemed to materialize at his side.

“Wake the soldiers and have them break camp. I want us to be ready to march before dawn.”

“Yes, General!” Raski made a showy salute with her glaive before turning to carry out her orders.

“Oh, and Vatcha…” Azrahai addressed the young Ranger with a backwards glance. “If this backfires in any way, it’ll be on your head. Do you understand?”

Vatcha forced an uncomfortable smile. “Of course, sir.”

“Good.” Azrahai left Vatcha alone by the fire. There would be a lot of preparations to make before morning came.

---

Smutty was curled up in his bed – a grimy grass-stuffed mattress tucked into one of the lonely corners of the longhouse – dreaming confusing dreams, when he was awoken by the sounds of chaos.

A chorus of screams, battle cries, and clashing weapons filtered in through the small shuttered windows of the longhouse. Alarmed now, Smutty sat bolt upright and quickly surveyed the room. He saw his father holding his ear against the dead-bolted longhouse door, sword drawn. Whatever was going on, it had woken Kagrel up just as suddenly as it had Smutty; the older fox still looked groggy and muddled from the night before.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, the din quieted down. Soon, the only sound that could be heard outside the longhouse was the distant moaning of injured creatures. Just as the silence was threatening to become oppressive, somebeast slammed bodily into the door. A calm, commanding voice called out from the other side.

“Open the door, Kagrel; you’ve already lost.”

Kagrel backed up a couple paces, holding the side of his head where the shuddering door had struck him. “Ha! I bet yew wish I was that stoopid!”

“This is your only warning, fox; you can open the door and surrender, or you can face a summary execution here and now.”

“I’d like ta see yew try it, rockbrain. Yer fancy words won’t git yew through that door.”

The only thing that greeted Kagrel’s response was more silence. Whatever the creatures outside the door planned to do next, it didn’t involve bandying words with a bandit chief. Realizing that he was still sitting in his bed, Smutty began to shakily pick himself up…

CRASH!

Only to fall backwards again as something heavy slammed into the door. The aged wood showered splinters from the blow, and the rusty iron deadbolt keeping the door locked was visibly bent.

CRASH!

Morning sunlight filtered through the large crack created by the second blow. Kagrel backed as far away from the door as the dining table behind him would allow, his sword held in front of him like a ward.

CRASH!

The deadbolt finally gave way, and the broken door lurched violently inward on loose hinges. The silhouettes of the creatures holding the battering ram jumped out of the way as soon as the door caved in, allowing their leader to enter the doorway alone.

It was impossible to tell what sort of creature he was; a red scarf made from some sort of thin, soft cloth made sure of that, and even his tail was obscured by a red cloak-like garment. Only his rust-red fur and bright white underbelly gave any sort of clue as to his species. Stepping past the broken door frame, the red-furred creature held Kagrel’s gaze for what seemed like an eternity.

It happened so quickly that Smutty almost didn’t comprehend at first. One moment Kagrel and the red creature were sizing each other up, but the next… The red creature’s paw shot out from his side, and Kagrel had dropped his sword to clutch at the red-gripped throwing knife that now sprouted from his throat. With a strangled sound that might have been a scream, Kagrel fell to his knees, still pawing at the knife as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to pull it out or not.

The red creature stepped closer, a second knife in his paw, while Kagrel could only stare on with wild, pleading eyes. Grasping Kagrel’s head with his free paw, the red creature stabbed viciously into the fox’s midriff. Leaving the knife lodged in its victim, the red creature let Kagrel slide to the floor. He watched as the fox chieftain bled to death, an expression of aristocratic disdain plain even through his scarf.

Once he was certain the fox was dead, the red creature seemed to notice Smutty huddled in the corner for the first time. Picking up the fallen falchion and recovering its sheath from Kagrel’s corpse, he carried the weapon across the hall, stopping a few paces in front of the wide-eyed young fox. He took a few moments to look Smutty over before speaking.

“That beast was your father, was he not?” The red creature used the falchion to point in the direction of Kagrel’s body. “What do you feel now that he’s dead?”

“I… Umm…” After taking a while to compose himself, Smutty answered truthfully. “I’m… Grateful.”

The red creature seemed to nod at his response. He then held the blade of the falchion before his face, as if inspecting its quality.

“This is a fine weapon.” He commented. “Too fine for the sort of creature your father was. Do you feel that you’d be better suited to hold this blade?”

Smutty rose unsteadily to a standing position. “Y-yes.”

“And would you only use this blade in service to the Krimson Empire?”

Smutty wasn’t entirely sure what the red creature meant by “Krimson Empire,” but his answer came more certain than the last one. “Yes.”

Sliding the falchion into its sheath, the red creature passed the weapon to Smutty. “Then I, General Azrahai of the Krimson, present you with this weapon. I also gift you with a new name, as befitting an imperial soldier; from now on, you will be called ‘Nihil.’”

Speechlessly, Smutty – no, Nihil now – took the proffered blade into his paws. The whole affair felt like a dream to him, even as he was passed on to a tall grey-brown foxlike creature and led outside. His father was dead, the sword was his, he had a new purpose as a soldier, and he even had a new name; it all seemed too good to be true, but it was true.

Blinking in the morning sunlight, Nihil followed the foxlike creature to the center of the village, where the rest of his tribe had been herded together. A familiar voice called out from behind him.

“Hello, friend!” Before he could turn around, Vatcha had thrown her paws across his shoulders in a hearty embrace. “I see you’ve got a toy. Did you get a new name too?”

“I… Uh, I’m Nihil now.”

“Ooh, fitting.” Vatcha chuckled. “See? Didn’t I tell you things would seem brighter?”