Chapter 1, Part 1

The Otterwake was destroyed.

Every otter was slaughtered.

Except one.

Javelin groaned as he lifted his head off the sandy beach. His eyes were filled with black smoke, his stomach throbbed with and overwhelming pain, and his ears rang with the sound of explosions. He rubbed his eyes and looked around.

Palm trees lined the beach, and faint glimpses of fir trees could be seen behind them. The ocean, stained red and black, lapped his feet, turning them an odd shade of grey. Off in the didtance, the charred, halfway exploded form of the Otterwake could be seen, bobbing uselessly in the water. Still equipped on Javelin were his swords, shield, javelin, and sling, which weighted weak body down.

It wasn't until much later that the otter got up. His strength was partially regained, and his ached cleared up. He knew that he was alone and that he needed to know how to fight to survive. He got onto his feet and drew a sword from his back-scabbard. With a grunt of exertion, he heaved the heavy blade over his head and into a hunk of wood lying on the beach.

Shliiing! Klunk!

The wood was cleaved in half and rolled down the shore into the water.

Javelin stared at the sword. How could such a small blade have such tremendous power?

The otter never saw the rat that clubbed him unconcious from behind his back.

Garrath sat on his throne in a structure he called his temple. Two female rats tended to his battle wounds, and two others gave the weasel grapes to eat. Still another was holding up a parchment displaying the after-battle status.

"Hmmm..." Garrath said, "threescore troops gone, Dentail and Razorfan, my better warriors, killed, two outposts raided, but all otters slaughtered. Well well, not a problem. We have enough troops on this island to keep us all right until we can get more."

Scurv opened the huge wooden door to Garrath's throneroom. He stumbled in, licking a huge sword wound on his shoulder. "Me lord," he said, "we have found a surviving otter that was on the shore."

Garrath looked at Scurv. "Where is he now?"

"He's locked up in a dungeon as of now, me lord."

"Excellent," Garrath grinned. "I will deal with him soon."

Inky blackness filled the small dungeon Javelin was just thrown into. His unconscious body flopped into a small shaft of sunlight coming from a wall grating by the ceiling. His weapons, that the rat guards had carelessly left on him, clattered off next to him into the blackness, except for his javelin, one of his swords, and his shield.

A short while later, Javelin regained his consciousness. He found himself on a damp, grungy stone floor covered in wet fur and straw. His own body was wet, with stray straw strands plastered to his arms and tail. He was bruised up pretty bad, and his once-strong body looked weak and helpless.

It was then that Javelin realized that he had broken his promise with his father - the vermin had gotten the better of him. He knew he had to get out and reaffirm the promise. The otter got to his feet and hobbled over to the huge, wooden cell door. He leaned up against it, but to his dismay it was locked from the other side. He slouched down the side of the door, too tired to do anything else. Within the next few minutes, he was fast asleep.

In his dream, Javelin was on his beloved ship, Otterwake, sailing toward the island once again. The sun eminated a red tint of light, causing the ocean to look like an ocean of blood. Lining the island's shore were hordes of giant weasels with incredibly large battleswords jabbing, swinging, and parrying at an imaginary otter, Lance. Swirling around in the wind were Rudder's words, "The answer's on the shield!" and his father's words, "Remember our promise!" mixing and meshing together and ringing in his ears. Dozens of paws were pushing him overboard, and flames burst forth from the Otterwake's hull and from the crimson water. Whirling planks of wood spun about Javelin's head, batting him mercilessly in the stomach, flinging him into the air onto the shore, and all over again. Javelin saw his father on the shore, once again, but this time not battling a weasel, but repeating a strange verse over and over:

Javelin woke with a start. He was still in the dark, wet dungeon. But at least he was out of his dream. From the door he was slouched against, he saw the bright shaft of light from the grating gleam on his weapons and shield on the floor.

His shield and sword.

The first two lines of the verse flashed through his head.

The weary otter got up and crawled into the light. It was nice, warm, and refreshing. The heat. He looked down at his feet. His shield, sword, and javelin were right by them. He grinned. He had half of the riddle solved. He recited the last two lines.

The otter remembered Rudder's words: "The answer's on the shield." Then it all came to him.

"Aha! Th' 'ancient plate' is this 'ere ol' shield!" He picked up the blue plate of metal. "Harr, an' th' 'write' is this 'ere writin' on th' back o' it!" Sure enough, the back of the shield was partly filled with writing, engraved into the fine metal. Javelin smiled. He felt his long-lost strength coming back to him. He wanted to just lay back and enjoy the feeling of the warm sunlight on a body going strong, but he knew he still had to get out of there. He picked up the shield and read the whispy writing.