Bishop Skaar sat on the ramparts of the Deev castle taking tea at a small table as he had done each day since the Deev left Xenoth. He had not slept well since learning from Azmeritus of the mongoose's intention to awaken an Ürgod. His own knowledge of the Ürgods was limited, clouded with the fog of legend and the uncertainty that accompanies speculation and myth.
In the Bishop's mind, the stories he had heard as a child of the desert swam at the edge of his consciousness. He trusted Azmeritus, his life was devoted to the mongoose, but this news gnawed at him. Nothing he had ever heard of the Ürworld or the creatures which ruled it seemed in anyway to be a thing to be desired. It was, from what he had been told as a child, a world of terror and destruction. It was a world where grand thoughts and high aspirations had no place, where survival itself was a questionable endeavor.
The Bishop looked out over the Cold Narrows and sighed. Too late now, he thought, too late to change the course of events. He would need faith, the very thing he felt he lacked. If he could not muster faith, he would have to settle for blind devotion. It was a lazy compromise, but it was the best he could manage. His tea began to taste bitter and he put it aside. He heard footsteps and turned toward the keep which provided access to the ramparts.
Prester Jauba appeared through the archway heading in his direction. When the sable reached the table and bowed in greeting, Skaar addressed him.
"What is it Jauba?" Skaar asked, not bothering to mask his annoyance at being disturbed.
"I'm sorry to bother you, Bishop. I wanted to discuss the castle security."
"What about it?"
"With our brothers now divided between the compound and the castle, we are spread a bit thin and there has been no change in our guard patrols even though we are now patrolling both sites."
Skaar thought for a moment.
"A good point, Jauba. His excellency has informed me that we will be increasing our numbers very soon. He has called for the entire Brotherhood to join us here on Xenoth, so our numbers will be substantially swelled very soon...within the next month, I should think."
Jauba's eyes grew to the size of saucers.
"The entire Brotherhood? That is good news indeed. Should I arrange for any preparations?"
"My understanding is that half of our brothers will remain on our ships patrolling Xenoth. We will need to accommodate about a thousand additional beasts, those who will not be on board our fleet. I think the majority should be housed in the compound and the rest here, in the castle."
"I will see to the arrangements, Bishop Skaar....about the patrols?
"I'm glad you brought that up, Jauba. Certainly you should double the patrols, but there are some additional precautions that I would like you to take."
"Bishop?"
Skaar stood and walked to the edge of the ramparts facing the sea. He stared out at the surf, pounding the rocks below him at the edge of the cliff. He was silent for a moment. Jauba remained patient as Skaar leaned out over the wall to observe the torrent of water from the falls cascading down the cliff-face.
Finally, the Bishop answered.
"We will be sending out the Gleaners soon. The natives have become a good deal more effective in warning their families of our movements. As a result, our harvests have become smaller. Now, as the final awakening approaches, the supplicants are particularly vital to fulfilling the prophecy. Understand, Jauba, that each supplicant you fail to harvest will result in a brother taking their place, so it behooves us to be efficient.
"It is my feeling, and I'm sure you'll agree that the only way the natives can be warning their fellows is by watching the compound from some nearby point and signaling the Gleaner's approach. Therefore, starting today, I would like you to station additional squads, hidden on the plateau, to watch for spies and to deal with them as necessary."
"I will see to it," Jauba replied.
"Good, now leave me," Skaar said curtly, "I wish to be alone."
Max circled high above the field at the bottom of the densely vegetated hill where Egbert's 'army' congregated to dig the massive pit so integral to his plan. As the parrot rode the thermals he chuckled loudly to himself. Life is so glorious and strange, he thought, so unpredictable and counter-intuitive. He felt happy, not joyous, but simply happy and it was such an odd time to feel that way. He was trapped on an accursed island ruled by a cruel and mysterious cult. His life would doubtless be in dire danger soon, and yet he felt the best he had since his dear friend and companion Ellios passed from this existence over a year earlier. It was purpose, he imagined, that had suffused him with this renewed vigor and elevated mood.
Willum was a blessing to the bird, both had lost someone dear to them. Willum's kindness and generosity of spirit toward Max was in stark contrast to his need for revenge and the fury that seethed in his soul, but both the pirate and the parrot realized that Willum's hatred was a weakness, a weakness the pirate accepted and the bird could avoid.
Max had learned to stop feeling sorry for himself, to realize his stagnating grief was a selfish emotion, hurting his friends and rendering himself into an eternal victim. The darkness enshrouding the parrot's soul passed as suddenly as a sunrise. Purpose, he thought again, purpose was the key and his purpose was to help save his friends who had stood unquestioningly by his side through the darkest of times.
Far below the circling Max, there was another creature in the thralls of happiness. For all his adventures, for all the joy his books brought him, for all the comfort he took from his friends, there was no more satisfying experience to Egbert than digging. Digging tunnels, digging holes, digging anything. He was a mole first and foremost and when his mighty digging claws attacked the soil and stone, his soul sang with a million year old song, a wordless song all moles could hear and all moles could sing with their mighty strokes and strikes.
Even with the considerable digging skills of Egbert and Wilbur, the pit was a big project. The twenty creature crew, comprised of all the volunteers with the exception of the seven beasts who were to play the Scarlet Brothers and the old or infirm, began the excavation at dawn. Egbert traced the outline of the hole at the base of the hill and with Wilbur assisting quickly dug a trench along that outline.
The pit would measure about twenty feet wide, twenty feet long and ten feet deep. The Scratchbacks had spent the previous day scavenging shovels, picks, and anything which could be used for digging from the numerous abandoned ships, long run aground, which they had previously harvested for food and weapons. The pit was slow back-breaking work, but few complaints were heard. There was a genuine sense of enthusiasm at finally doing something which might result in reunions with their friends and families.
While the digging crew worked relentlessly at the base of the hill, Ozab was serving as an acting coach. He assembled Winky, Groggs, Salto, Trey, Cat, and the lock picking ferret, Ritter on the beach in front of The Crimson Rose and addressed them.
"If you listen to me and behave exactly as I tell you, you should be able to pass for Scarlet monks. I will show you how to walk and how to hold your bodies. Under no circumstances are you to speak ...except...except if you are challenged directly by the guards. I will be the only one who speaks at any other time. Is that understood?"
"We ain't supposed to speak, no matter what...got it!" Groggs exclaimed loudly. Ozab stared daggers at him and Winky shook his head mockingly.
"I'm glad you 'got it'," Ozab said derisively, "now I suggest you 'do it'."
Groggs was about to reply when the light of understanding shone on him and he merely nodded.
"Good," Ozab said smiling, "at least you are capable of learning... now let us continue." With that declaration, the old mongoose put his crew through a quick, but effective course on posing as a Scarlet Brother.
As the sun prepared to set, the pit was completed. Twenty exhausted beasts sat around the edges of the massive hole, panting and arm-weary. Egbert examined the project with satisfaction. Willum leaned on his shovel, with Max again perched on his shoulder.
"A fine hole, mates," the pirate acknowledged, "ye could bury a fine bunch of booty in that monster." He looked to Egbert, "What's next, me diggin' fool?"
Egbert couldn't keep from smiling.
"We need to send scouts to the plateau. Oi'll lead the first squad. Max, you come with us. If we see the Gleaners leave the compound, you'll floi back here and warn everyone to get ready. Willum, you're in charge here and you know what to do."
"Aye, we're all set."
Max interrupted.
"Why risk a squad, a squad? I could just fly above the compound and watch for the Gleaners," he suggested.
"If we knew the toime they were loikely to leave, Oi'd agree with you, but we don't. As good a floier as you are, Max, even you can't stay aloft for days at a toime, not to mention that they moight leave at noight, when you wouldn't be able to see them. No, it's worth the risk to have you as a strong messenger who can floi back here swiftly as soon as we see them."
Max nodded at the mole's assessment of the situation.
"Any questions?" Egbert asked. No one responded, so the mole concluded, "Good. Let's go back to the beach, eat and take a short rest. Oi'll choose two others to go with me as scouts and we'll trek to the plateau. It should take us about half a day to get there."
When everyone finished eating, most of the work crew settled in for some well earned sleep. Egbert called a small meeting for himself, Willum, Ozab, Zian, Max, and Wilbur.
"Oi've chosen two humans, Degar and Pretus, for the scouting party with me."
"Good coves," Willum interrupted, " tough old salts they be, brave and decent."
Egbert continued.
"We have our supplies, enough for a week. If nothing has happened boi then, send a relief squad. We'll keep watching till the Gleaners make their move. It could be tomorrow, it could be next month, we just don't know for sure. But we must remain sharp. Are you clear on what to do if we send word the Gleaners are on their way, Willum?"
"Aye, we be ready. I've had a fine talk with that mountain of a beast Ursamus and we be set."
Zian interrupted.
"If all goes according to plan, we'll hold the prisoners on that wrecked slave galley by the jetty. She's got a hold with manacles that will hold up to sixty prisoners."
Egbert laughed.
"Let's hope it's a lot less than sixty."
"It will be," Ozab assured them, "thirty, maybe."
"Are your faux brothers set, Ozab?" the mole asked.
"Ready as their likely to get, they're willing enough and should pass muster if those stoats, Winky and Groggs can keep their gobs shut. We'll make for the compound as soon as we can."
"Remember, foind a hoigh-ranking brother and get him out as fast as you can. Getting out of the compound should be easier than getting in."
"We thought we might start a fire in the kitchens to keep the brothers occupied," Ozab said.
"A foine notion, just be careful," Eggy said sincerely.
"We all need to be careful, there's a lot that can go wrong." Zian agreed.
"Well, that's that then," Eggy concluded, "Oi guess Oi'll be off. This may just work, Targas willing." He stood and headed to his waiting squad.
Max, still on Willum's shoulder turned to face the pirate.
"Good luck to you Cap'n, cap'n"
Willum smiled.
"And fair winds to you matey."
Max flew to join Egbert as the scouting squad headed along the shore towards the Deev fortress.
As night fell, there was a sense of hope and anticipation obvious among the weary creatures. Some slept soundly, many stared out at the sea. Otto lay next to his sister, while she told stories of heroic deeds and brave creatures to little Odette, who hovered on the edge of sleep. Around her though, her audience had grown, Gella, Winky, and Zian, listened intently, trying not to worry about themselves or their friends.
Behind the shield, a storm raged, the lightning adding punctuated flashes to the otter's story. Orange Willum sat high on the mainmast, in the crow's nest, legs crossed. A whetting stone was on his lap and he methodically ran his cutlass across it, honing it to razor sharpness. He spoke to a imaginary Azmeritus.
"Ye can feel me, can't ye? I'm comin' fer ye soon, beast, but don't ya fret none, I aims to finish ya quick. I'm sendin' ya to the hell ya deserves, by Targas, I am."