Don't Lose Your Head

[Kentigern MacRaff]

Loft Kris slid into its sheath with a dull rasp. Kentigern heaved the scabbard, edges tarnished from centuries of use, onto his back, where it hung from a leather strap. The training dummy before him sported countless knicks and notches from an hour of relentless training. He ran a paw through his headfur, throat parched and lungs gasping for air. He stepped back and surveyed the arena.

The sandy floor was full of gladiators training for the large event. Dull thuds and grunts of exertion filled the air. A peg-legged weasel in blue stumping across the arena caught his eye. It was the same one that he had seen pushing along the otterpup. His gaze followed the weasel as it approached an otterwife who was standing in the far shadows of the training arena. He had seen that otter before. Rather than practice, she stood in the corner and scrutinized the other fighters.

Whatever the weasel was saying, it didn't elicit a friendly response. The otterwife's ears flattened and she snarled at the weasel. The image sent a jolt through Kentigern. Of course! The young otterpup was the spitting image of the otterwife in the corner.

The weasel left the otterwife with a huff, and Kentigern cautiously approached her. "Not one fer practicin', then?"

"I am practicin'," she said, surveying the gladiators. She turned to him with a suspicious glare. "Who're ye?"

"Kentigern MacRaff, o' the MacRaff clan." He offered her a smile.

"Ye ain't wearin' a collar," she observed. "But ye ain't wearin' blue either."

Kentigern shook his head. "Nae. Ah'm a volunteer."

She gave him a look of pure venom. "What sort o' scum? a woodlander no less? volunteers fer somethin' so sick?"

The hare shifted uncomfortably under her glare. He decided that this was a good time to change the subject. "Ah ken where yer daughter is, marm."

The otterwife froze. "Ye what?"

"Well," Kentigern amended, "ah dinnae ken exactly where. But ah ken how ye kin find oot." He paused. "Do ye have a name?"

"Minerva," she grunted. "How can I find my daughter?" .

Kentigern nodded. "Ah wish ah could say it was a pleasure tae meet ya." He nodded in the direction that the weasel had stormed off in. "Just ask the peg-legged vermin. Ah saw him drag yer bairn off a few days ago."

"When ye say dragged?" her questioned trailed off, but her eyes hardened.

"Ah cannae tell ye where or why," Kentigern sighed.

Minerva looked at him despairingly for a brief moment, before her eyes narrowed. "How do ye know it's my daughter?"

Kentigern shrugged. "Wee lass, green dress, five seasons or so? Spittin' image o' ye."

The otter stared forward, glassy eyed. "Fable?" she murmured. She turned back to the hare. "Why are ye tellin' me this?"

Kentigern hesitated. "Ah have a lass as well. Ah couldnae imagine?"

Minerva glanced at him sharply. "Ye have a daughter? And ye just abandoned her? What about a wife?"

"Aye, said the hare. "Ah have a wife tae. But ah didnae abandon them. Ah'm here lookin' fer a wee otter lad. The brother o' a friend. He's a slave here."

"That mayn't be the best thing fer ye to be throwin' around." The otterwife gave him a long look. "An' it's worth riskin' yer life fer?"

"Ah owe mah friend," said Kentigern.

"Ye owe yer family," she replied.

"Ah came here tae save a bairn," protested the hare.

"What about yours?"

"Ah ken'd she was safe when ah came tae Northvale tae meet mah friend," said Kentigern. "When he tahld me aboot Lloyd?"

"Ye left wi'out knowin' why ye were comin'?" Minerva snapped, and smacked him over the head. Kentigern flinched, less from the slap so much as the realization that he had, in fact, left without knowing why Dunwillie needed his help. Ah could die an' they'll ne'er ken why.

"MacRaff!" A new voice cut into the conversation. A bustling vole approached the pair. "Nire sent me to bring you to the fight!" Sly Speakeasy now stood before them with a wide grin. He grabbed Kentigern's paw and began dragging him out of the arena.

As the vole pulled Kentigern away from the otterwife, she gave him one last look. "Been a while since ye trained fer a fight?"

Kentigern nodded. "A wee bit, aye."

"Ah," said Minerva. "Then I'll fergive ye fer not knowin' yer right paw's a tad too narrow. Ye want to widen it out. Ye won' get knocked o'er so easily."

"Fergive me, but ah ken how tae?" Kentigern began.

Minerva interrupted him. "I'm just makin' sure a young lass' father comes home."

"That," interjected Sly, "is an excellent point, marm. However, we really must be going. Good ole MacRaff here and I have some things to discuss before the action. Come along, my friend." The vole reached up and threw his paw around the hare's shoulder, guiding him out of the training arena.

As they exited, Kentigern turned to Sly. "Ah appreciate yer time, lad, but ye kin tell Nire ah dinnae need a chaperone."

"What?" Sly gave him a brief glance of confusion, before letting out a short laugh. He leaned closer and winked up conspiratorially at the hare. "Oh, Goodbeast Nire didn't actually send me," he whispered. "No?you see, I think we have something of mutual interest to discuss."

Kentigern blinked.

"Now, you have this big fight coming up, yes?" Sly continued. "Now, I have a little bit of stake in the outcome, if you catch my drift." Again, the vole winked. "As such, I figured I could help me get a little bit of coin in my pocket, and you fill that unquenchable thirst for vermin blood you seem to have."

The highlander's ears perked up. "Aye?"

"Aye, laddie!" Sly said jovially. "Now listen, cuz this is the important part. You're set to face a pair of weasels? brothers, by the names of Raggabrash the Beheader and Ripfang the Wild. Now, they ain't ever been beat in the ring and they've got some heavy odds in their favor."

"An' how's that supposed tae help me?" Kentigern asked.

"Well, the thing is, Ripfang's not actually a great fighter," Sly replied. "Decent sure, but nothing your searat friend can't handle. It's Raggabrash who's the real threat. He's big, he's strong, and he didn't come by that nickname by chance? he's beheaded no less than fifteen beasts."

"So what yer sayin' is," said the hare, "Let the rat distract the small 'un while ah take the big lad."

Sly chuckled as they approached a small, nondescript door where a stoat lounged nonchalantly. "Oho, not so slow off the drink, eh? And look at that. We're here. Mister MacRaff, best of luck. Go out there and make us some money." The vole gave him a cheery wave and sauntered down the hallway.

The hare shook his head and approached the door. The stoat paid him little mind as he walked inside. The room was small, and a rack of weapons stood along the the left wall. Forward lay another gate, presumably the entrance to the arena. Kentigern looked to his right. Thrayjen was already there, tentatively testing the trident and net. The rat gave a few practice thrusts, and turned to say something to a ferret with striking blue eyes who was leaning against the wall.

The ferret noticed Kentigern and nodded in his direction. Thrayjen turned around. He made as if to approach the hare, but Kentigern fixed him with a piercing glare. The highlander allowed himself a small inward grin of satisfaction when Thrayjen stood helplessly for a moment, before deciding against coming up to him. Kentigern turned his back to the pair of vermin and slid his claymore out of his sheath.

By the rack of weapons sat a large whetstone. Kentigern eased Loft Kris along the rock, smoothing out the nicks in the edges. Ah'm sorry, he apologized to the blade. Ah dinnae like the idea o' fightin' wi' a vermin any more'n ye dae. He paused, and looked down at the blade. Despite the ancient sword's centuries of use, the blade still gleamed. Kentigern locked eyes with his reflection. Just a couple o' fights. Then we kin save Lloyd. And get home tae mah family.

"Oi!" A sharp bark cut through his musing. The ferret was waving him over. "It's time." As she said this, the doors were thrown open and a group of beasts burst inside. A dull roar emanated from outside the door. They carried the body of a hedgehog, collar around his neck. His face was beaten and bloodied beyond recognition, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth lifelessly. "Out with ye, out with ye." The ferret ushered Kentigern and Thrayjen out of a door on the far side of the room.

They stepped out onto the sandy floor of the arena to the sound of ecstatic screaming. Across the ring, two weasels were prancing around, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd. For each movement the weasels made, the crowd responded with a roar.

"Ooon the northern side of the ring," a voice echoed loudly through the stadium, "we have the dynamic duo, the terrible twosome, the perilous pair! You know them! You love them! It's Raggabrash the Beheader, and Ripfang the Wiiiiild!" The weasels' chests puffed up, and they turned to the rat and hare who stood across from them. "Aaaaand on the southern side, we have the newcomers. We've got the wily searat and the highlander from Hellgates? please welcome Hracken the Kracken, And MacRaff the Wrathful! Let the fight?begin!" The crowd responded deliriously.

Kentigern turned to Thrayjen. "Listen. Ripfang cannae fight like the other. Ye keep him distracted an' ah'll take care o' the real fight."

"Which one is Ripfang?" asked the rat nervously. He looked wholly unappetized at the thought of having to fight. Kentigern shook his head. He'll likely need a wee bit o' help tae survive.

"The small'un." Kentigern pointed the weasel on the left. Ripfang was wielding two scimitars, and teasingly twirled them around in his paws. "Gae now." Kentigern turned and focused his attention in the larger weasel.

Raggabrash was indeed more intimidating than his brother. The hulking weasel fixed Kentigern with a baleful glare and rolled his neck, sending ominous cracking emanating through the arena. He lifted a large broadsword up and effortlessly pointed it at the hare. "C'mon. We ain't got all day," he taunted.

Kentigern gave him breezy smile. "Ach, laddie. Ah had tae take a moment there, ah apologize. Yer ugliness caught me off guard. Dae ye use it tae kill yer opponents usually?"

The weasel snarled and advanced toward the hare. "Youse thinks yer funny, huh?"

"Nae, laddie," responded Kentigern, eyes wide with innocence. "Ah'm just givin' ye respect fer yer natural weapons. Deadly, yer face."

With a growl, Raggabrash swung his broadsword at the hare. Kentigern raised Loft Kris to parry. The two swords met with a clang, and the force of the blow sent vibrations curling down the claymore and into Kentigern's paws. The laddie does have a wee bit o' power, thought the hare. Ah'll haftae be careful.

Raggabrash swung again. Kentigern raised his sword to parry. When the blades connected, the hare used the momentum from the collision to spin around on his heel, guiding the blade in a circle to strike at the weasel's legs. Raggabrash swiped downward, turning the blow aside.

Kentigern stumbled, but quickly recovered his balance and stepped back. Gripping the handle of his claymore in one paw, and resting the other above the crossguard, he thrust his blade forward. Raggabrash again swiped down to stop the strike. He stepped back and hefted his sword aloft with both paws. He swung forward, and the force of the blow sent Kentigern stumbling back. He raised the broadsword again, and Kentigern was again forced backward.

The weasel began raining strikes down on the hare, and with each one he pushed Kentigern further back across the ring. Kentigern knew that if the other weasel joined in the fight against him, he would be finished in a moment. A quick glance to the other side of the arena saw Thrayjen hurl his net at Ripfang in a desparate attempt to ensnare the weasel, but the weasel easily sidestepped the throw and the net now laid in the dirt. Still distracted, then. Good.

Kentigern swore as yet another powerful blow sent him staggering. He attempted a quick jab, but Raggabrash was already swinging his sword straight at the highlander's neck. Kentigern ducked, and lashed out with a footpaw. The kick knocked the weasel back, but he barely seemed phased, lifting his sword for another stroke. Kentigern prepared himself to parry the blow.

Right footpaw! As he shifted his stance, he recalled the advice Minerva had given him. He widened the placement of his right footpaw and raised Loft Kris. This time, when the two swords met, he held his ground. Raggabrash looked at him in surprise, but had little time to ponder what had just happened. Kentigern swung at his head, and he was forced to raise his sword.

Suddenly, the weasel was on the defensive, as Kentigern delivered a flurry of slashing blows. The hare swung at Raggabrash's right, and the weasel parried accordingly. Spinning again, Kentigern then swung at his left. Still reeling from the first blow, Raggabrash barely got his sword to meet the hare's. His blade was knocked down by the strike. Kentigern used his foot paw to give a powerful kick that sent the weasel rolling into the dirt. The crowd gave a rousing cheer.

Eyes alight, Kentigern lofted his claymore above his head. "Haway the Braw!" he roared, and swung Loft Kris down towards the fallen weasel with all of his might. Raggabrash desperately threw up his broadsword to stave off the killing stroke. The steel met with a thunderous clatter. The sheer power of the blow sent Raggabrash's sword spinning out of his hand. Raggabrash tumbled into the dirt. Kentigern advanced upon the weasel.

Swearing, the fallen gladiator leapt to his feet. He whipped a knife out of his belt and lunged forward. The hare sidestepped the thrust and punched Raggabrash in the gut. Grabbing the weasel by the shoulders, Kentigern hurled him into the dirt. Raggabrash sprawled moaning in the dirt near Thrayjen's abandoned net.

Kentigern looked back to find the rat. Thrayjen was on the defensive, struggling to parry Ripfang's wild strikes with his trident. The weasel was whooping in delight as he rained blow after blow down on the rat. Dinnae worry? ah'll halp ye in a moment, Kentigern promised inwardly. Just allow me tae halp yer brother tae Hellgates first. He raised Loft Kris again and turned to deliver the final swing. As his footpaw swung forward, though, it connected with a tangled mess of rope.  Thrayjen's net grabbed Kentigern and wrestled him to the ground. Raggabrash, curled up and waiting for the death blow, looked up warily when it never came. When his eyes landed on the entangled hare as he fought, swearing, with the net, Raggabrash laughed and heaved himself up.

"Oho, youse thought dis was over, diddin' youse?" Raggabrash sneered, approaching the struggling hare. Tearing the net off of his opponent and throwing it away, he swung his fist downward into Kentigern's face. "Youse dunno?" Again, his fist collided with Kentigern's jaw. "Wut over?" Again, his fist crashed into bone. "Even means, mucker." Again, his fist pulled away from bloodied fur. He pulled Kentigern up to look him dead in the eye and gave him a gap-toothed grin. "Oh, I'ma have a liddle fun wi' youse afore I get ta choppin' off yore head."

Raggabrash tossed the hare into the dust and turned to the wildly cheering crowd. He punched the air with a roar, and the crowd responded with unrestrained adulation. Chants of "Raggabrash! Raggabrash!" and "The Beheader!"  broke out across the stadium. Raising his arms triumphantly, he turned back to Kentigern, who lay groaning on the sandy floor.

"Alrigh'. Let's teach youse a liddle somefing 'bout pain, aye?" he said, and swung his fist downward.