"We ain't nothin' but pore shipwatchers, 'tis Cap'n Vizka ya wants, but watch yoreself, 'e's an evil fox."
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With a massive effort, Gorath fought to shake off the Bloodwrath, which threatened to engulf him. Whump! He slammed the tines of Tung deep into the deck timbers. Grabbing the two ferrets by the scruffs of their necks, he lifted them up bodily. They screeched in terror as he shook them like rag dolls.
"Yeeeeeek! Oh mercy, sir, mercy!"
The young badger's chest expanded as he sucked in a huge gulp of air. He threw them from him, clear over the stern rail into the River Moss. Leaning over the rail, he bared his teeth at Widge and Baul. "Go! That way, north. Go now before I change my mind and kill you both. Go while you still have your lives!" Gorath turned his back on them, knowing that when he looked again, all he would see was the muddied water they had churned up in their mad flight.
Retrieving his weapon, Gorath stood there shaking, forcing himself to calm down. Making his way to the galley, he went in and sat down. Overcome by thirst, he drank a full pitcher of water. Then he sat still, awaiting the arrival of the fox.
Shimmering calm had settled over the ford as noontide softened to early evening. Blue damselflies hovered over the River Moss, tiny, winged insects flitted about in myriad patterns, whilst a trout made a halfhearted jump at a mayfly, which skimmed gracefully out of harm's way. A meadowbrown butterfly stretched its dun-hued wings, settling close to the golden fox's footpaw.
Vizka was oblivious to the tranquil charms of the summer's day. Shielded by clumps of knotweed and hemlock, he lay watching the Bludgullet from a short distance. There was no sign of movement from on board the vessel. Had he brought crewbeasts with him, he would have sent them to investigate his apparently deserted ship. Several times since his arrival, he had flicked pebbles at the side of the craft, with no result. He rose slowly. There was
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nothing for it, he would have to board her and see for himself.
Placing one paw cautiously in front of the other, he approached. Still no sound from the ship. Gripping one of the midship mooring lines, he pulled gently on it. The Bludgullet drifted smoothly to the bank until it scraped bottom. Martin's swordblade clattered against the rail as he boarded. Vizka held his breath a moment, waiting for any reaction to the sound. There was none. Drawing the blade, he unhitched the mace and chain from about his shoulders, calling in a voice barely above a whisper, "Ahoy dere, guards, show yerselves!"
Silently cursing himself that he could not recall the names of the two vermin he had left to watch his ship, he called out again, this time in a normal tone. "Ya slab-sided idlers, where are ya?"
A startled wren darted off from the bowrope. Vizka whirled to face forward. He thought he saw a shadow flitting somewhere near the galley. The old smile, which had given him his name, Longtooth, appeared on his face. It was the usual tale with crew vermin, leave them alone for awhile, and all they were interested in was sleeping, and feeding their faces with grog and vittles. He tip-pawed toward the galley. The two guards, whatever their names were, would have to learn a harsh lesson, for disobeying Captain's orders.
He was about to place his paw on the door latch, when some inner instinct made him stop. If the ship's guards were in there, why had they not responded when he called? Perhaps they were asleep, but then why were there no sounds of snoring or ragged breathing from within? There was a tiny crack in the door planking, the golden fox squinted his eye against it, peering in.
Gorath had heard Vizka come aboard, The young badger stood facing the galley door, his pitchfork aiming squarely at it. He thought he heard his enemy's footpads approaching, and readied himself. Then there was complete silence
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from outside, nothing but a thin sliver of sunlight from a crack in the door, playing on the floor in front of Gorath. Then it vanished.
Alarm bells began ringing in the badger's head, he knew the fox was watching him through the crack. Without giving a second thought to the consequences, Gorath put all his muscle behind Tung, giving the pitchfork a ramming thrust as he roared, "Eulaliiiiiaaaaa!"
Vizka leapt to one side, he saw the twin metal prongs of the weapon come thundering through the shuddering timbers, almost to their full length. The golden fox was an expert fighter, the most feared among the sea raiding brethren, he saw the immediate chance and took it. Avoiding the prongs, he threw himself hard against the galley door, slamming it wide open. Gorath was thrown against the bulkhead, still gripping the pitchfork haft tight as it snapped, leaving him holding only the end piece.
Vizka bounded in, flailing his mace, and brandishing the sword. The advantage was all his in this battle to the death, he grinned wolfishly. "I'll finish ya dis time, stripe'ound! Haharr!" He held Gorath against the bulkhead, swinging the mace and hacking away with the sword in a frenzied attack.
With his back to the wall, armed with just a broken piece of wood, Gorath could only try to weather the vicious onslaught. Splinters flew as the spiked ball struck the bulkhead timbers, he ducked and swayed, trying to avoid the whirring mace and flashing blade.
Vizka found himself imbued with a new confidence, this was no seasoned warrior he was facing, merely a big, young beast, armed with only a bit of stick. Moreover, the stripehound's eyes were not blood red, as he had seen them before. Had he lost the power to go into one of his berserk rages?
The golden fox slowed his assault, laughing as his victim tried to wriggle out of harm's way. Vizka performed a clever maneuvre with the mace, grazing the side of
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Gorath's head. "Ya want me ta give ya another fancy mark on yer skull? Mebbe I'll knock one of ya eyes out dis time!"
Now that he had the upper paw, the old Vizka returned, swaggering as he taunted the young badger cruelly. What he did not realise was that as he mocked and toyed away, Gorath had been gradually edging round the galley until he was close to the door, still trying to parry his foe's random sallies with the battered little section of wood. Almost chopping Gorath's paw, Vizka hacked a chunk from the broken haft, he waved the sword of Martin proudly in Gorath's face, as the badger tried to parry it away. Vizka was really enjoying himself now.
"D'ya like me new blade, ain't it a beauty? I tell ya, I could take yer 'ead off wid one swipe. Dat'd be nice'n'quick, wouldn't it? Stan' still, stripe'ound, an' I'll show ya--"He swung the sword back as far as he could.
That was when Gorath made his move. Throwing himself out of the open doorway in a sidelong roll, he grabbed at his pitchfork, which had pierced the door through, to the length of its prongs. The handle snapped, right at the socket where it joined the metal fork.
It was at that point the tracking party arrived alongside the Bludgullet. Rangval seized a pair of his daggers, but was halted from boarding by Salixa.
"Leave Gorath, this is his fight, he wouldn't thank you for helping him!"
Maudie was aghast. "I say, that's a bit thick, ain't it? The other rascal's armed to the bloomin' teeth!"
The badgermaid warned the others, holding her paws wide, "My friend is facing his fate, we cannot alter what's about to take place. Have faith in him. Watch!"
The combatants faced each other on the deck. Vizka did not seem unduly put out by his quarry's escape. "Ya had yer chance t'die quick, stripe'ound, now I'm goin' to carve ya up nice'n'slow!"
Gorath swung the long part of the haft like lightning.
Crack!
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It struck his adversary's paw as he slashed out with the sword. Vizka screeched with pain and shock, his paw totally numbed, and broken, by the blow. The sword of Martin arced through the air, ending up point down in the shallows. Gorath's eyes were calm, he stood waiting until his opponent came at him again. This time it was with a long, flailing swing of the mace. The young badger switched his hold; seizing the wooden haft in both paws, he held it forth horizontally. The iron chain of the mace wrapped thrice around it, the spiked metal ball dangling useless in the tangle. One wrench from Gorath tugged the weapon's handle out of the fox's grasp. Vizka watched, horrified, as Gorath tossed the shaft and the mace into the river.