Redwall: The Krimson Traitor

Chapter 1

Vatcha wasn’t sure how many hours she’d spent sitting in that oak tree, but her attention never once strayed from her prey. The object of her interest was a small, run-down village near the foot of the Northern Mountains, which currently played home to a sizable population of foxes. Aside from the poorly-maintained wooden huts, a slightly-better-maintained cobblestone longhouse, and the occasional makeshift tent or lean-to, the only structure of note was a derelict old mine built into the side of the rocky hill that bordered the village’s north-eastern edge. Vatcha couldn’t tell from her vantage point what sort of metal the mine might be for, but she’d seen enough of the foxes going in and out to know that it was still being used in some capacity.

Somewhere around midday she finally decided that she’d seen enough, and began gathering her few possessions; the red-stained longbow and quiver tucked against the trunk at her back, and the small haversack hanging from the branches above her head. Securing everything across her shoulders, she descended from her perch, sure and silent as a shadow, and went to work.

---

It had been an unusually good few weeks of raiding for Kagrel and his tribe, and the fox chieftain, in unusually high spirits, was hosting a feast in his longhouse to celebrate. It was a suitably chaotic, raucous affair, with the foxes enjoying good food and drink (to vermin palates, anyway), bawdy songs, rude jokes, and the occasional drunken brawl. The whole atmosphere was permeated by a strange, thuggish sort of camaraderie.

Chief Kagrel was leaning back in his chair, one footpaw resting carelessly upon the crowded feasting table and picking food scraps from his teeth with a shard of woodpidgeon bone. Like his underlings, he’d gorged himself, and had a thoroughly bloated stomach to show for it. After creating some room by letting out a loud belch, Kagrel decided that he was thirsty again. Throwing his bone shard at his son, a young silver fox sitting alone in one of the darker corners of the hall, Kagrel called out.

“Oi! Smutty, c’mere!”

Reluctantly, Smutty shuffled to the chieftain’s side, seething with ill-concealed contempt the whole way. Kagrel picked up the stone cup he’d been drinking from earlier and shoved it roughly into his son’s paws.

“Make yerself useful, mudbrain, an’ git me some o’ that fancy wine.”

With clenched teeth and a backwards glare, Smutty went about his father’s command, failing to notice that a nearby fox had stuck their footpaw out in his path. He didn’t notice the cruel trick until it was too late for him to avoid, and tumbled down face first, hitting the hard stone floor with a pained yelp. Foxes all along the huge dining table turned their heads to the pitiful, whimpering black form lying on the floor, intent on gaining some entertainment from his misery. Half-stunned and nursing a badly bleeding snout, Smutty managed bring himself to a kneeling position.

Smutty shut his eyes against the pain. But it wasn’t just his injured snout that hurt, or the shame, or even the laughter and jeering that now echoed all around him; it was his own impotence that hurt him most of all. The knowledge that he was too young and small to ever be able to stand up and make them pay.

“Now lookit wot yew did, idiot. Yew went an’ busted my cup!” Kagrel sneered, an unpleasant smile plastered on his face. He always took a special joy in tormenting his son.

Smutty looked over to the stone shards scattered across the floor in front of him. For a moment, he could almost imagine himself picking up one of the sharper pieces and…

“Well, wot’r yew waiting for? Git up an’ get me my drink!” Kagrel straightened out from his slouched position, his previous good humor now quickly fading into an all-too-familiar rage.

All vengeful thoughts shriveling at his father’s drink-tainted voice, and with his left paw still clapped tightly over his bloody snout, Smutty tried his best to push himself upright. However, between his shaky state and blood-slick paws, he only succeeded in sliding back down to the floor.

“Arrgh!” Kagrel jumped from his chair, fuming. “Yew useless liddle whelp!”

There was no way that Smutty could act in time to avoid what was coming, and he knew it, so he did the next best thing; curled into a ball and braced himself. The distinct metal hiss of Kagrel drawing his falchion from its sheath was the only sound to break the deathly silence that had now descended upon the hall. With the sword raised above his head, Kagrel readied himself for the first strike and…

The door to the longhouse burst open, flooding the dining hall with sudden sunlight. Merk, one of the tribe foxes who’d been assigned to sentry duty, came skidding to a halt in front of his leader, breathless and panting.

“B-boss. There’s… Somebeast ‘ere…”

Kangrel gave him a venomous look. “Wot sort o’ beast?”

“Some queer lookin’ vixen. Waltzed right inta the middle o’ camp like she owned the place. Didn’t say ‘er name, jus’ that she wanted to see ya.”

“An' she’s not dead?”

“Well… No. We didn’t know wot to…”

Kagrel shoved his way past the sentry, sliding his sword back into its sheath on his way to the door. The matter of tormenting his son had evidently been forgotten. Merk was first to follow him out, but, slowly, the rest of the curious diners made their way outside, until the only creature left in the hall was Smutty.

Once he was certain that he was alone, Smutty went about the unsteady business of dragging himself over to the dining table and using it the pull himself upright. Overcoming his momentary dizziness, he searched along the table until he found a pitcher of water, which he used to wash most of the blood from his face. After drying himself and staunching any further blood flow with a nearby grubby rag, he followed the rest of his tribe outside; he too was curious about this mysterious stranger whose sudden arrival had saved him a beating.

Making his way to the place where his tribe was gathered, Smutty finally got a glimpse of the visitor. It was indeed a vixen, but not like any he had ever seen before. Most of her fur was a combination of ashen grey and soft reddish-orange which made Smutty’s silver coat (which was unique among his tribe) almost feel common and drab by comparison. Her face also bore a vaguely cat-like appearance, owing to an unusually short snout and a pair of thick black stripes running down her muzzle. She was very young too, perhaps only a few seasons older than the eleven-season-old Smutty. However, despite her youth, she carried herself with a calm self-assurance, and seemed unimpressed as Chief Kagrel paced menacingly in front of her.

“Are you in charge here?” The vixen asked.

“Yah, I am. Now why don’t yew gimme one reason why I shouldn’t run ya through fer tresspassin’, whelp.” Kagrel pawed at his sword hilt to give his words more clout.

“Why, because I’m sure I’d be more use to you alive than dead. I wish to join your tribe.” The vixen gave a stiff bow. “My name is Vatcha.”

Kagrel spat contemptuously. “Hah. ‘Join?’ Wot could yew be good fer, eh?”

Vatcha indicated the red longbow slung across her shoulders. “I’m an archer. Surely you can always use more hunters?”

Kagrel narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like this strange vixen or her arrogant demeanor, but she was right; decent bowbeasts were always in short supply among his tribe. Thinking on the matter for a few moments, Kagrel eventually came up with a solution that brought a slight smile to his face.

“Hmm. Mebbe I will let you join us. But first, yew gotta pass a test.” Kagrel looked around at the crowd of onlookers. “Will somebeast grab that useless son o’ mine an’ bring him here?”

Oh no…

Smutty tried to slip away, but he was spotted and grabbed almost immediately. Though he struggled as best he could, he was eventually dragged before his father by two burly male foxes.

“Lissin up, this is real simple; we’ll tie my idiot son ‘ere up to one o’ those trees over there…” Kagrel pointed to a group of young ash trees near the edge of the village. “An’ we’ll put somethin’ on his ‘ead. If you kin shoot it off from where yer standin’, yew git to stay. If ‘e dies, yew’ll be put to death fer killin’ my one an’ only son. Sound good to yew?”

Vatcha looked over the panicking young fox, and then back to Kagrel, her face a perfect mask of impassivity. “I can do that.”

Once Smutty had been firmly bound to one of the trees, it was Vatcha who provided the target; a small red apple from her haversack.

“A little cliché, perhaps, but it should stay put as long as you don’t shake too much.” She said conversationally as she was placing the apple on his head. “And try not to worry; I’m not going to hurt you. Even if I did, you can take comfort in knowing that it would be my life on the line too.”

She gave him a sly smile before turning on her paw and stalking back to her previous position, about forty paces away. Unslinging her bow, she pulled the string back experimentally. Satisfied with its condition, she picked one of the red-fletched arrows from the quiver at her back, nocked it, and took aim. The fox tribe was utterly silent was they waited for Vatcha to make the shot.

Smutty had shut his eyes, so the next thing he knew was a deafening thud as the apple was torn from his head. Shaking uncontrollably, he carefully opened one eye and looked up to see that the apple had been pinned to the tree above him. Realizing that he’d been holding his breath the whole time, he let out a huge sigh of relief before looking back over to the place where Vatcha stood.

It was almost impossible to see the vixen through the mass of tribe foxes which had gathered to marvel at her bow prowess. He saw Kagrel give her a hearty pat on the back, laughing.

“Hahar! I ain’t seen a shot like that in a long time! It looks like yew will be worth keepin’ around, then, eh?” He winked at her before turning his attention to the crowd of tribe foxes. “An’ wot are yew lot doin’ still standin’ around? Git back to yer posts!”

After the tribe had dispersed, Kagrel turned back to Vatcha. “You’ll be part o’ the next hunting party. Don’t make me regret my sudden generosity, or I’ll tie you up with that other whelp an’ gut yew.”

With that, Kagrel left Vatcha alone. Shouldering her bow, she walked over to the place where Smutty had been left tied up.

“Well, that was easy.” She said casually, staring off in the direction Kagrel had taken. “You’re not too popular around here, are you?”

Smutty looked away and shook his head.

“Good.” She said as she unsheathed the small dagger that hung from the red cloth belt around her waist and cut his bindings. “Then you won’t mind helping me with something rather important.”