Catsclaw Isle was located off the north coast of the Kingdom of Hedjeria, some distance from Tsesanne. At about two miles long by a half-mile wide, Hedjeria paid it little notice. No beast had set foot on it for centuries from outside, and this was exactly what its inhabitants wanted.
The Sub-Hedahr, Eyarg'kli—the saurian who reported directly to Kveilaz—sat behind a desk made entirely out of the bones of beasts. From the walls hung tapestries, embroidered with the hair of beasts, dyed with their biles, and framed by preserved giblets. His chair was upholstered with skin and fur, and his inkwell held a red liquid of dubious origin. His heavily scarred face looked down at the scout's report and twisted in anger.
He turned his gaze toward the guardsman standing at the door, and held up a beckoning hooked claw.
Bring me Kri'vis.
The saurian was hauled in and thrown before the mercy of Eyarg'kli.
According to the soldiers stationed in the Scaribald Mountains, some very special beasts have entered Tsesanne. Two of them took an Unholy Stone from one of our battalions before it could be retrieved. Oh yes, it was your battalion! How could I forget?
He turned and looked out the thin window down at the troops practising in the courtyard.
If these thieves bring that Unholy Stone to Her,
he spat on the cobbled floor, then She will no doubt destroy it. We cannot risk that happening.
You used to be a boar, before you joined us. True?
Yes, sir.
It is said that beasts such as the one you once were adore being covered in mud and dirt. Grime is the best friend of a boar, as the saying goes.
Your name was befouled by your failure, just as your skin was once befouled by the earth beneath your feet. However, you have served this army with loyalty for nearly a century, and I am reluctant to dispense with you if your mistake can be rectified.
He turned to look at Kri'vis, hissing through clenched teeth.
I am giving you a chance to cleanse your name. Do not take this second chance lightly, Assaul,
the Sub-Hedahr seethed, using the name to which the saurian had answered while he still lived. Kri'vis' face flashed with angst.
Because if you do and it results in another failure on your part, you will spend the next thousand centuries continually drowning in the mud you once adored. You are dismissed.
In the days that followed, the Army of Darkness invaded and decimated Hedjeria. The Hedjerian army fought back, but they were ill-equipped for any sort of war—they had no quarrels with any other countries they knew of. The nation's soldiers tried as well as they could, but it was a futile resistance.
Thousands of Hedjeria's people died as arcane sacrifices on makeshift temples to Kveilaz. More than a few woke up from death to find they had been added to the unwilling ranks of the Army that had overtaken them.
Few beasts and fewer saurians were worried that the sun had failed to rise during this most vile of wars. Hedjeria was far north of any other nation, and often went months without sunlight, followed by months without twilight. Most dismissed it as that, assuming they had time to ponder such things, between killing or fleeing.
At the same time, Mitaria was undergoing its own transformation. King Nikros began to openly worship Kveilaz and encouraged his people to do the same. He claimed that in doing so, the sun would rise again.
In turn, the Mitarian people, led by a popular duke named Annil, immediately rose up against the king and civil war ravaged the countryside. Nephew of the king and a skunk as well, the people rallied behind him. His popularity, however, was not enough to save the country from the wrath of an angry king.
Bloody but brief, when the fighting was over, there was martial law. Annil disappeared as the king executed dissidents
by the hundreds, and the people lived in fear that their neighbors would turn against them in order to claim a reward. Some did just that.
And entire villages continued to disappear, leaving little else than soot and crumbled foundations. Others were abandoned as their inhabitants sought refuge in bordering countries. Some just faded away as beasts were rounded up and executed as traitors.
Once terror had been thoroughly and undeniably instilled in the people of Mitaria, Nikros allied himself completely with Hedjeria and its demon rulers. Then he began moving his troops—all of whom now sported some rather reptilian forms—toward Tsesanne.
Litam stumbled over loose, rocky ground. Lanyur, Koshos and Briole fared little better than him. Skenleth had apparently gone this route before, because he knew his footing like a wilde mountain goat.
Ske—Skenleth! Are you sure there's no other route?
Litam huffed. Lanyur gave the fox a translation after a few seconds.
Skenleþ, sacae ya mespf n'iźes ín kmur otŕ?
Ja, a legóe vánt dekr.
Yes, I have done this before.
Ij mespf n'iźes ín ró?
And there isn't a pathway?
Neng.
No.
And so it went. As they walked, climbed, and tumbled over the field of volcanic rock and ash, Lanyur would relay what everyone said, and was usually able to translate for Skenleth. Twice, she mispronounced RH as R, thus dealing the fox a grievous insult, but he was gallant enough not to take offence.
Finally, the terrain thinned out and the rocks shrank to grains of sand. Not plain, dull, ordinary sand, however. It was swirled with colours, from pale yellows to rich blues. Litam stood, jaw agape, staring in wonder.
This is the Grand Desert,
said Skenleth, in Tsesial of course. We must be very careful, my companions, for a great number of wildes live here. Most are harmless, but not all.
Litam was instantly wary. Can't we go around, then?
No, for Her Majesty's palace lies at the centre of the desert, and she dwells within it.
Nice, that way nobody ever has to see her and they can't tell she's a fraud.
Let's go get lost in the sand, then,
grumbled Litam.
They could not have been ten minutes into the desert before they came across a blue-treed and green-watered oasis containing some very curious wildes indeed.
The animals, standing on six hoofed legs, were half the height of a beast and had strangely-moulded humps, as if the wildes had actually been designed to carry riders. They were covered in short, fine, mottled fur, tinged amber with deep red rosettes.
These are wild ormuffs,
explained Skenleth/Lanyur, and they are a blessing. The army uses raised and trained ormuffs to transport cannons as well as generals. We can travel like royalty!
He grinned. Litam just raised a brow. He'd never ridden on a wilde, griffins excluded.
Skenleth snuck up on the nearest ormuff and grabbed hold of its long ears, climbing onto its back. It mooed and Skenleth motioned for the others to join him.
Lanyur, Briole, Koshos and Litam imitated him. Briole grabbed his charge by the neck instead of the ears and it bucked, knocking him into the green pool. Lanyur found this to be beyond funny and burst into laughter. Her giddiness was contagious, and soon Koshos and Litam involuntarily joined in. Skenleth just blinked at them from atop his mount, not understanding the joke.
Finally, Lanyur had to bite on her own tail to stop giggling. Briole, thoroughly soaked and somewhat humiliated, grinned slyly, picked Lanyur right up off the ground and dropped her headfirst into the water.
She shrieked and scrabbled back out, onto the sand. Not nice, Briole!
she chided, slightly shocked at his audacity. She stood up, wrung out the water from her hair, and punched the squirrel in the arm. I'll get you back, I promise…
Briole just grinned. He climbed onto his ormuff and clutched the loose skin of its nape. The others did the same, still suppressing chuckles and chortles.
In retrospect, they probably should have asked themselves why five perfectly healthy beasts of burden had been right on their path, or at least why they hadn't resisted when they'd been mounted. But the beasts were tired, and they did not question their luck.
Had Litam been paying close enough attention to voice this concern, he might also have noticed that the weight in his boot vanished as soon as he came to rest atop the ormuff he chose. Alas, he never had the chance to, as he and his companions were distracted by something else entirely.
Without warning, the ormuffs shot off into the desert at an insane speed, faster to move than any wilde Litam had ever encountered. Fur was blown flat against skin and cloth whipped sharply around limbs. They were bounced around violently with each gallop.
Vhat in the name of Shalyon?!
shouted Koshos. Her voice was drowned out almost completely by the wind, and she had to bellow to be heard.
I don't know!
yelled Skenleth (through Lanyur) in reply. Ormuffs are supposed to be docile!
These obviously aren't! Jump!
added Briole. And they leapt from the ormuffs, landing in the hot purple sand and rolling. The ormuffs continued to stampede. Soon they were gone.
Litam got up and brushed the sand from his doublet, before he froze. He stood in mid-brush for several seconds before yanking off his right boot and shaking it upside-down.
No!
he yelped, blood draining from his face. He dropped the boot in the sand, staring at it as if it had bitten him.
Vhat is it, Litam?
Koshos asked, frowning down at him.
The stone is gone!
Koshos' ears went flat immediately and she stared at Litam.
We've come this far and it's gone!
the mouse breathed in fear.
It must have been left back at the oasis, Litam,
Briole said. We can retrace the path of the ormuffs to find it.
Dés amileisz mer,
Skenleth said, drawing attention away from the stone and its carrier, wer iźes Lanyur?
She was gone too.
Briole's bushy tail fell limp to the ground, then he narrowed his eyes and looked up at the others.
We are going to find Lanyur and the stone, and we are going to get them back. Follow the ormuff trail, my friends,
he intoned coldly.
Are you kidding? We'll never find her. The ormuffs are long gone, and the Unholy Stone may be somewhere else entirely,
Litam cautioned.
Do you want to just leave Lanyur, then?
Briole asked, glaring down at the mouse. Find the stone, and let her be carried away?
The squirrel then swivelled and started walking along the ormuffs' path. Koshos and Skenleth were quick to follow him, making worried glances back at Litam.
The mouse was torn between looking for his friend or for his World's salvation. He lowered his head and followed the others, looking back toward the oasis with worry.
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