Commissioned from  FortunataFox

A Captain of Kostomar attempts to murder Markem

You can find my fan fiction either in Fanfiction dot net or in Archive of our Own now, which although incompetent I am truly working on it.
_________________

The battle was over, and the battle won, but Markem and Kylan were tired. The plan work perfectly, but the battle was long. Fighting into the keep was easy enough, fighting in the close knit spaces without being crushed became difficult. Scarl’s hand picked soldiers had to drag Markem from the battle and into a small alley to prevent his own soldiers from accidently crushing their warlord, and even later into the battle, Kylan jumped into a slave barricade and hid there when his own bodyguards were felled. The battle had been over quickly, and the warlord of Jusbrag was killed in his own stone hall, speared to death by Markem’s soldiers. The head of the fox was presented to Kylan, who raised it on a pike and paraded it around in the fort in celebration of his victory. Many weeks of planning had come to fruition, and all Markem wanted to do was return to his tent and rest.

The warlord rat returned to camp along with his horde, allowing his new ally to enjoy his victory. Tomorrow would be a long day of actually dividing up the loot, a process which made Markem dread his decision. Kostomar would likely cause trouble that day, although it was well deserved. Kostomar’s captains were able to use heavy shields to prevent grievous casualties as they assaulted the stone fortress. After dismissing his retinue for the night, Markem returned to his great tent and war room in the middle of the camp.

Awaiting in the tent was ‘Dirt’ and ‘Mud’, both younger otters had been playfully testing out a captured gameboard, but having no clue how to use it. It was one of many trophies in the tent. When Markem entered, the two quickly arose to their feet, not expecting him to return too quickly. Markem saw that his undone bed was still not well put to use, and his plate was empty. A quick sneer from the rat made the two quickly return to their tasks. Markem couldn’t blame them too much, they may have been slaves for a long time, but they were still otter children at heart. ‘Mud’ collected a plate and glass and rushed out to grab some fresh meals, while ‘Dirt’ shifted himself over to the bed to organize the sheets and fluff the pillow. Markem however called to him.

“Not yet. First, help me get out of this damn armor.”

‘Dirt’ reluctantly agreed. It was one of the worst jobs in his opinion, because Markem was never happy with how he helped him. Markem liked having armor, he just hated wearing it so often. He complains constantly about it overheating him in the summer, and making it too cold for him in the winter. As Markem finally was undressed, he began looking over the maps. He admired how far he had come since being a common horde beast to Pelg the Tall, and now he was assaulting fortresses.

“Today, Jusbrag.” He mumbled to himself “Tomorrow Mo--”

There was a padding of feet at the edge of the tent, as a figure strode in unannounced. It was a ferret, but it wasn’t Scarl, he was too big and too mean looking. He was well armored and carried a large spear in his paw, but held a sword to his side. Markem nearly recognized him straight away, it was. . .was. . .well Markem couldn’t remember his name, he just knew he was a captain of Kostomar.

“My lord. Kostomar sends his deepest regards on the victory at Jusbrag this night.”

“Aye. Yer lord be impatient, I’ll meet with him tomorrow as soon as I--” Markem didn’t finish his words, as the ferret captain quickly lowered his spear and jammed it into Markem’s unprotected shoulder, fumbling as he did. He had aimed for Markem’s chest, but the rat let out a pained shout. Markem grabbed onto the spear’s handle and forcefully pushed it out, grabbing his sword and parrying another swipe. Markem flipped the table at his would-be assassin as the ferret leaped over and tried to spear him again. The ferret was skilled and quick, but not quick enough as Markem smashed his sword into the spear and forced it to the ground.

The ferret drew his sword in anger and knocked at the head of Markem’s face, forcing the rat to be downed. Years of effort felt wasted as Markem laid on the ground, bleeding and in pain. The ferret cruelly raised it’s blade to strike down the rat, and was stopped when ‘Dirt’ grabbed the ferret from behind. With an arm over the ferret’s throat and another arm holding for dear life at the captain’s sword paw, ‘Dirt’ felt tiny claws from the beast’s free hand as it attempted to grasp and claw at his own arms. In pain himself, ‘Dirt’ fell backwards onto the ground, still holding the vermin in the chokehold, hearing the pained gasps as the armored beast felt cheated of its life as it desperately tried to claw and scratch. ‘Dirt’ was strong, years of laboring under Markem tended to do that. The otter felt the body numb a bit, and then slump over, the ferret letting go of its sword. ‘Dirt’ let go and rolled the beast over, but he looked at the cadaver mortified with what he had done.

Markem arose, gripping his arm as he looked down at the dead ferret, and then at the shocked ‘Dirt’. He had saved Markem that day, for what reason, Markem did not know. He wanted to ask, but he felt it was a bit inappropriate, for ‘Dirt’ gripped his arm in pain and looked back at his kill, over thinking what he was doing. Markem calmly put his paws on his shoulders in understanding. It would be a long night, but a longer day tomorrow.