Jewel: Chapter One
#2 of Jewel
Chapter One
A small group of several creatures; consisting of stoats, ferrets, and one scrawny little weasel were trekking through the forests, grumbling under their breaths all the while. Their warlord, the fox, Vedran, had sent them out on this menial little patrol; to hunt down and bring back recently escaped slaves, two young and seemingly timid little mice.
Ambitious but somewhat delusional, Vedran was well-known for his arrogance. For several years now, he had taken up residence in an abandoned castle in the hills that was said to have once belonged to a royal family of foxes- which he believed, undoubtedly, had been his own ancestors. But as his self-contained empire was simply not going to run itself; Vedran needed slaves to wait on him as well as perform tasks of menial labor that not even the lowest of his ranks dirtied themselves with.
Every once in a while, the prisoners (mainly woodlanders) would try to escape or otherwise have some sort of revolt; but none had ever actually been successful in escaping until now. Judging by the trail the hunting party was following so far- straight south- the fleeing slaves had probably passed by here, but it was difficult to discern where exactly they had gone.
Thinking it best to simply keep going in their current direction and see if the pawtracks continued; the hordebeasts continued on south. After several minutes of walking by paw, with all parties sore, blistered and exhausted from having hiked all morning; they reached a peaceful little clearing with lush, soft-looking grass and a few sheltering willow trees blocking out the harsh glare of summer sun.
There did not appear to be any pawtracks that led here, but some of the creatures were intrigued all the same about the limp, unconscious figure who lay unmoving in the shade.
"'Ey! Hey, you there! Wake up! You're dealin' with the soldiers of the great warlord Vedran and......"
Brandishing a short sword as though it were a much more powerful weapon than it were, the thin weasel- whose name was Wartfang- tried to rouse the unconscious fox in this manner, but ultimately failed. Flinching at the jeering laughter coming from his comrades; Wartfang stepped over to the apparently injured fox, curious to get a closer look.
The red fox was clad in simple clothes enough; a durable-looking tunic likely made of leather, trousers, and little else. What genuinely intrigued Wartfang, however, was the red-and-purple patterned mask that covered the stranger's whole head.
A fox with a red-and-purple mask that hid his face..... Now where by the fang had Wartfang heard that before? And then, abruptly, it dawned on him. This was most likely Slagar the Cruel; an infamous and quite well-known slaver and self-proclaimed 'Lord of Double-Dealing' among several other titles.
Slagar was best known for doing slave runs for Lord Malkariss, a mysterious and unseen entity who supposedly ran a kingdom beneath the earth; although just where it was located, nobeast knew.
Wartfang was well aware that Vedran was in dire need of new, fit slaves who would be the backbone of the empire he had worked so hard to construct. The rewards would probably be well worth it, the weasel knew, if he brought the masked fox before his leader; although that was a position he did not envy Slagar for in the least. Half-shouting to his fellow hordebeasts- who were beginning to yell at him to pick up the pace already; Wartfang retaliated:
"I think you lot ought to see this...... Look who I found over here! Slagar the Cruel himself."
An older female ferret strode over to where Wartfang was standing, glanced down at Slagar, and nodded; reluctantly confirming the young beast's discovery.
"The Sly One, eh? I've heard of him. Poor bastard. Lord Vedran's gonna want to have a word with that one."
"I know, but just think about what it'll mean for us! Vedran's wanted new slaves for ages, I bet he'll reward us handsomely....."
A sly grin lit up the females' features as she considered this.
"Aye. Now come on, let's haul this carcass back to camp....!"
Once the older ferret had hauled Slagar's limp body into her arms with a grunt, the hordebeasts made their journey back to their Chief's castle. The escaped mice, they knew, were going to have to wait.
~
The warlord Vedran did not look like most foxes. Instead of being red, black, or perhaps even white; most of his fur was a pale cream color that looked soft to the touch, along with a silver face, snout, and throat. Despite having something of a muscular, brawny build, he was quite cunning and egotistical, in spite of the fact that Vedran always seemed to be perpetually scowling. Most interestingly, his eyes were a peculiar shade of yellow and always seemed to be watching someone or somebeast.
Sitting on an elegant throne chair that had been roughly carved from a slab of granite; Vedran bit into a cooked leg of thrush, juices dribbling from the limb as he ate his fill.
"Milord? You'd never believe what we found just down the road, sire."
Scowling imperiously, Vedran lifted his eyes from his breakfast and shot a cold glare towards the young, emaciated-looking weasel who had interrupted him. This had better be important.
"Well? Don't just stand there grinning like some common idiot, tell me!"
Realizing how incredibly stupid he must have looked in front of his superior, the younger beast winced and shifted around on his footpaws, tense.
"Erm.... We....We... We- Me and a coupla other beasts that is- were on the trail of some escaped prisoners, m'lord, but we didn't find anythin', sire. We were just about to head on our way back when we saw this fox, passed out by the ruins of an old well."
"And is his identity of any concern to me?"
Vedran coldly inquired, yellow eyes unblinking.
"Why yes, sire, yes it is!"
"Then for Vulpuz's sake; tell me!"
"All right, all right! The fox we found.... He was wearin' a mask, in these fancy colors, red an' purple."
Suddenly Vedran was extremely interested. There was only one fox he was aware of that went about in a harlequin-patterned mask; and that was Slagar the Cruel, 'merchant' of Malkariss and apparent liaison in the latter's underground kingdom. Slaving was a lucrative business in the pastoral surroundings of the south of Mossflower; but Slagar was known to be the best at what he did. All the other slavers Vedran had done business with had been little more than common charlatans; charging extraordinarily high prices for slaves that had been sickly and barely able to work.
But Slagar, as the warlord had heard, had had quite the little business partnership with Malkariss; and Vedran got the impression that the masked fox would be willing to capture slaves for him as well so long as the reward was sufficiently profitable. And if only to get the moneys' worth out of the slaves he would be purchasing, the vulpine warlord was all the more desperate to have an audience with Slagar- just as soon as he was conscious.
"Tell me, Wartfang, is our little.....Guest awake just yet?"
The weasel shook his head.
"Not that I know of, sire. I think he was hurt real bad. He was breathin' all funny, and I think his leg was broken."
Heaving a sigh, Vedran slumped back against his throne.
"Very well. When he awakens and improves enough to have company, have somebeast inform me."
"Yes, milord."
And with that, the weasel- who was little more than an adolescent- skittered from the throne room, and was gone.
~
A young white vixen of no older than twenty-four; youthful and with startlingly blue eyes, folded her arms and let out a sigh of exhaustion. Jewel, Vedran's healer; was a good deal smaller than most foxes, although she was by no means below the average height. Lean and slim- but not implausibly so- the vixen had a fluffy, slightly bushy tail, and short ears.
She was dressed fairly modestly; in a simple, medium-blue gown with a slightly ruffled white chemise. Jewel was considered pretty by typical standards, but not outstandingly so; not that she really minded- the idea of being fussed and fawned over for her physical attractiveness was just not something that appealed to the white vixen. She saw no point in being adored and worshipped by males when there was work to be done, and hard work at that.
Jewel's current task, however, was not one she relished: The young vixen was vaguely aware that a patrol had been sent out earlier that morning to retrieve a couple of escaped slaves. The beasts had returned, however, with a strange, wounded fox who hid his face behind a mask. Jewel was vaguely aware of who Slagar the Cruel was; he was something of a minor celebrity here in the south of Mossflower.
He had always been known as a mysterious figure, though, and the reason why he wore the harlequin mask, nobeast knew. And Jewel was in no great hurry to find out. She had spent a good portion of the rest of the morning treating Slagar's wounds as best she was able:
His body was covered in black and purple bruises, probably from a hard impact. Those, while painful, would heal on their own; so Jewel had simply dabbed a bit of salve on the areas that looked the worst. Most concerning, though, was the fact that Slagar's left leg was broken, as well as the quickened heart rate and rapid, gasping breathing that were classic symptoms of a punctured lung.
This Jewel had attempted to remedy with a crude tea made from grated ginger, followed by a bit of mustard oil for the pain. Although there were other remedies the vixen knew that were known to help collapsed lungs; the vixen did not want to try them just yet until she saw how the current treatments worked- which, hopefully, they would.
In addition, having also treated the other fox's broken leg as best she was able; there was little to do now but relax on the job.
Rising from her seat, the vixen was about to cross the room to have a brief drink of water, when she was caught most off-guard by the sight of brown-green eyes studying her from behind the silken mask.
"And just who,"
Slagar gasped out, his voice rasping and fairly guttural.
"In the Hellgates are you, wench?"