User blog:Astar Goldenwing/For Freedom

This is a fan fiction story by User:Astar Goldenwing. It is not considered canon, nor is it a policy or guideline.

Spoiler Warning! This story contains spoilers for “Triss” and “Mariel of Redwall”. If you have not read those books, do not read this story yet. Thanks!

NOTE: I began to write this story after I read Russian edition of “Triss”, where Freedom’s gender was changed into female. I learnt that Freedom originally is male only when I came to this Wiki, but to that moment, I just couldn’t imagine my character being male. So that’s why Freedom is female in this fan fiction.

In this story, one season equals one year.

Feel free to comment at the end and correct my mistakes if you want.

Prologue

An old but still strong and firm hedgehog stood near Redwall Abbey’s door enjoying the morning. Oh, it was a great morning! All the Abbeydwellers were preparing to the big feast. Otters were fishing in the Pond, squirrels and moles were harvesting fruits and vegetables, mice were setting the tables for food. Everybeast was busy. Well, almost everybeast.

“There he is! Father Phredd, Father Phredd!”

A bunch of small baby otters, mice, squirrels, moles and other creatures rushed toward Abbot, a small squirrelmaid and an otterbabe at the head of them.

“Heehee caught you!”

Phredd had been taking care of Dibbuns, as the babes were called, when he was just an Abbey Brother, and he hadsn’t given up his habits when he became an Abbot. He allowed himself to be laid flat on his back and begged with mock terror. “Oh, mercy, mercy! I’m captured by savage bandits!”

The otterbabe shook a paw under the Abbot’s nose. “We are not bandits; we’re warriors, like Martin!”

“Sure you are warriors, Bragoon the Mighty! Now let me up, great Sarobando the Victorious, my bones are too old for lying on wet grass.”

Dibbuns immediately help Phredd to rise on his feet. “Tell us!” they demanded.

Phredd was puzzled. “What should I tell you about?”

“This!” Saro pointed her paw at the tables. “It looks like there’s going to be a feast, but nobeast wants to tell us what’s it about!”

“Well, there’s going to be a feast”, Father Abbot smiled. “A friend is visiting us soon”. He paused. “When he’s been younger, he’s been visiting us every season, but now he’s too old for such a long journey, so he’s coming here once in a five seasons. He usually comes in the fourth week of summer, so we’re preparing to meet him beforehand.”

There were many questions.

“What friend?”

“Where is he from?”

“When will he come?”

Little Toran, Brag’s younger brother, cried aloud “Tell us about him!”

“Well, it’s going to be a long story, not only about our friend, but about lots of others. It’ll take a few days to tell it!”

“Tell us!” Now all Dibbuns were crying all together. Father Abbot sat on the footsteps making himself comfortable, Abbeybabes around him.

“You’ve heard about war with Princess Kurda and Riftgard’s liberation, haven’t you? This story happened about fifteen seasons later. It’s a story of warriors and peaceful woodlanders and sailors and farmers and slaves, a story of brave and honest creatures fighting for freedom…”

Chapter 1

One-ear was a scaring creature. He’d always seemed to be the most scaring creature to all the new slaves. He was a huge searat with ragged black fur, dark sparkling eyes and thunder-like voice, covered with scars and tattoos from whiskers to tail. A half of his left ear was missing, giving him his name. He was a slave-driver. He’s always been shouting and swinging his whip over slaves’ heads as if he was going to kill somebeast.

“Idle scum! Work harder, or I’ll skin you alive, you shaggy scrub!”

Freedom wasn’t afraid of him. He wasn’t half as dangerous as he seemed to be. One-ear almost never hit a slave, and if he did, it was just a soft slap that gives you a few bruises, not a hard whipping that can skin you alive. Of course, the searat behaved like that not because he was kind – One-ear had been a corsair himself and knew how hard it’s to find a new slave. Houk, the Slave-drivers Captain, or the Slavemaster as he was called, was the one you should beware. This ferret enjoyed sneaking to the slaves and lashing them furiously when he saw even a shot break in the work.

Freedom still remembered the day she was captured, though almost seven seasons past since that. That day she and her best friend Tarro managed to persuade her foster parents, Kroova and Sleeve, to let them go for a picnic. Tarro was about three seasons older then her, so the otters could rely on him.

“Freedom is your responsibility”, they said while the mousemaid and the squirrel were preparing a boat.

“Don’t worry, we’ll return safe and sound”, Tarro said.

The duo sailed south and soon found a nice place to set fire and roast some fish and toasts. They were enjoying themselves when they heard a rude voice.

“Hey, look what’s here!” A band of evil-looking vermin was approaching from the north.

Tarro was the first to react. “Quick, Freedom! To the boat! I’ll slow them down!” The brave squirrel grabbed a burning branch and run into the vermin, trying to fight them. A huge fox with dark red fur disarmed Tarro with one sweep of his pike. Another sweep threw the squirrel on the ground.

“Tarro!” Freedom rushed to her friend’s lifeless body, but was knocked down by the same fox. He’s already raised his pike for the next blow…

“Krugg! Lord Darm needs slaves, not deadbeasts, you fool! And you’ve already killed a strong creature!”

Krugg the fox looked at a tall stoat. “But the squirrel attacked me! And this one’s too young and weak to be a good oarslave!”

“You’re here to obey orders, brainless! And it’s me giving orders here!”

Krugg seemed to be displeased, but he bowed without hesitation. “As you command, Cap’n Drooptail. Should I take this one on the ship?”

“Not before I’ll question her. Now, missy, where did you come from?”

Shocked Freedom could hardly understand anything. “W-what?”

Drooptail kicked the helpless mousemaid. “I said – where do you live, mouse?”

They want to raid my home, Freedom realized. No! I won’t let them!

“I-it’s a small village… On the south!” She mumbled.

The stoat Captain suddenly gave her a wink “Not far from a rock that looks like a seagull’s beak?”

Freedom didn’t know what he meant, but nodded. All the corsairs laughed. “Don’t worry; we’ve already visited your home, so you’ll meet all your friends and relatives on our ship, whoohahaha!”

As Krugg has already mentioned, Freedom was too young to be an oarslave, and she was sent to Terramort Island to work in the fields.

She was a property of Darm Deathtrap, Lord of the Seas. This weasel wasn’t the biggest of his kind, but he was strong and sly enough to unite all the vermin corsairs under his paw. Those who didn’t want to join him were sent to the Dark Forest. Terramort Isle had become his headquarters many seasons ago. Deathtrap rebuilt the ruined Fort Bladegirt with its walls and courtyard and built some new barracks for his soldiers and his slaves. About a dozen of ships anchored in Terramort Bay.

Lord of the Seas conquered almost all the islands in the Western Ocean – Sampetra and Volcano Island, Wood Isle and Daggerrocks, Stonehall and Northern Isles… As far as Freedom knew, the only island free of Darm’s rule was Green Isle, but that’s because wildcats ruled there. The mousemaid heard that Darm made a deal with wildcat’s leader about slave-trading – at least, some of Green Isle otterslaves said so… Other rumors had been spreading among slave-drivers recently, rumors about Deathtrap preparing to a new quest – quest to conquer Mossflower. However, Freedom kept hoping that rumors were what they were – just idle silly gossips that simply not true. However, Freedom also had never heard any of the vermin and slaves mention Riftgard or Peace Island, and it meant her friends most probably were free…

A whip flicked a fraction from Freedom’s ear.

“Are you asleep, mouse? Want to lose your ears?”

Freedom bowed down over vegetable beds, weeding them. One-ear cracked his whip again, raising his voice. “Thank your Lord Darm for ending working so early, he’s come to the barracks tonight!”

A small hedgehog about Freedom’s age pulled the mousemaid by her sleeve. It was Chestnut, her best friend. “Do you know what’s going on? Deathtrap isn’t doing anything with no reason!”

Freedom shrugged her shoulders. “How could I know? Wavehound said they need more slaves to serve in Fort, but who can know for sure?”

Wavehound Streamdiver was an otterslave from Green Isle who had been serving corsair officers since he was brought from his homeland, and he was first in the slave-barracks, called the Barn, to know all the news.

Chestnut forced himself to a smile. “At least we’re lucky to end the work early, Dom.”

Dom. Everybeast on Terramort was calling the young mousemaid by that name, as even talking about freedom was forbidden. Yet every of the slaves dreamed of nothing but freedom.

Both slaves hurried where their friends huddled and slave-drivers fussed around trying to count them. “Forty, back in line you mouse, forty-two, forty-three… There should be one more! Where’s one more?”

One-ear was already shouting orders. “Jah, Zhmura, Thinfur, check around the field! He couldn’t be far away!”

“What’s going on? A slave missing?” A burly ferret carrying not only a whip, but also a saber on his belt came closer.

One-ear saluted his Captain. “No trouble, Cap’n, we’ll find an escaper soon”

“Yes, you’d better find him, or I won’t envy you”, Houk the Slavemaster grinned.

Meanwhile Freedom was looking round herself. “Who’s an escaper? Everybeast I know is here”

A volemaid named Elsie whispered in Dom’s ear. “It’s a newcomer arrived in Terramort this morning, I’ve seen him!”

“There he is, Cap’n Houk!” Two slave-drivers dragged a young squirrel between them. “Was asleep among vegetable beds!”

Asleep? What kind of fool he is, Freedom wondered.

Houk eyed the squirrel angrily. “An escape!”

“No!” the unfortunate slave cried. “I’m sorry, very sorry, but I wasn’t going to escape!”

“Liar!”

“No! I just don’t used to such a long work, but this won’t happen again, I promise!”

“So, the work is too hard for you? Think you’re special?” growled Houk.

“No, I just say…”

“Shut up, squirrel!”

“Perhaps you’d better stop shouting and listen to me?” burst out the squirrel.

For a moment, Houk just stood jaw-dropped. No slave had ever dared to talk to the Slavemaster like this!

“Mutiny!” Houk’s paw strayed to his sword, but before he could reach it, One-ear leaped forward.

Whack! Smack! Crack!

The searat lashed out at the ill-fated slave furiously, so the squirrel fell on the ground - he could only cover his head with both paws. “That’s our punishment for escapes! And for lying! And for mutiny!”

Dom’s eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. That’s it! One-ear was holding his whip too high, so there was more cracking and swinging then real beating.

After all, One-ear gave the squirrel a final blow. “In line, and don’t waste Cap’n’s time any more!”

Houk looked pleased. “Double work and no food for this one tomorrow!”

Dom and Chestnut helped the squirrel to get up and half-dragged, half-carried him as vermin drove them to the barracks. “Hurry up, don’t slow everybeast down!”

The squirrel was shivering from whiskers to tail; he looked bruised and ragged, but not wounded. “Thanks. I’m Maple.”

“I’m Dom, and this is Chestnut.”

Maple flinched when One-ear cracked his whip once more. “Is this black one always so cruel?”

“Cruel?” Freedom couldn’t help laughing. “He’s not cruel at all. Actually, you should thank him.”

“Thank? What for – skinning the hide from my ribs?”

“If One-ear hadn’t whipped you, Houk would have killed you for mutiny. The Slavemaster doesn’t think twice before using his saber.”

“Oooh…” It seemed like Maple only now realized how close to death he was.

Dom felt sorry for the little squirrel. He was scared, confused, and unknowing what was awaiting him – just as she was seven seasons ago. The mousemaid started giving Maple some advice on their way to Fort Bladegirt. “Here on Terramort slaves work from dawn to dusk - today we’re lucky to end work early. You may work slowly, but you should do it without breaks. And never – remember, never! – argue with slave-drivers. A rebellious slave is a dead slave.”

“I see…” Squirrel nodded.

“Where are you from, Maple?” asked Chestnut.

“Pineforest Isle!” Maple curled his tail soulfully, it seemed like the very name of his home makes him feel better. “Here I’m living in Pinesquirrels Tribe… well, was living… before those vermin arrived. They burned our village and killed many… my mother among them. Those who survive were taken prisoners.”

“But you are the only new slave here,” Chestnut pointed out carefully. “And all the rest of your tribe…”

“That wicked fox that raided our Isle, Captain Krugg Bloodpike,” Dom clenched her teeth when Maple mentioned a name of Tarro’s murderer, but said nothing. “That fox,” continued Maple, “took them all as new oarslaves for his ship. He said I’m too young and weak and wouldn’t last a moon on the high seas, and he sent me here.”

By the way, slaves entered Fort Bladegirt through the big oaken gates and headed toward the Barn they were staying for nights. Here they were lined up awaiting their Lord.

Chapter 2

Soon five beasts approached to the small yard before the Barn.

The first one was middle-sized weasel wearing ordinary clay-colored vest and kilt, with only a red cloak to show his title; a long rapier thrust through his snakeskin belt. His fur was unusual light sandy color, bright yellow on his throat. The vest was covering weasel’s chest and stomach, but Freedom knew they were yellow too. She’s heard lots of slave-drivers’ talk about their master. One of them said that the Warlord’s mother called him Yellowbelly because of his uncommon fur, but the young weasel came to hate this name immediately and renamed himself Darm Deathtrap as soon as he had became a Captain. Since that, calling him by his old name was the fastest way to get to the Dark Forest.

The second one was Drooptail – a few seasons ago the stoat Captain was promoted. Now he was on Terramort almost constantly. The third one was short dark-furred rat. Freedom saw this one a few times before, but knew nothing about him. But for sure he was high-ranked enough to accompany Lord. The other two were black-clothed Darm’s bodyguards who always were following him at a distance enough to protect him.

Houk saluted with his saber “Hail to Darm Deathtrap, Lord of the Seas!”

Darm nodded approvingly. “Stand easy. I’m here not to revise your work, but to choose slaves for my heirs.”

Heirs? Yes, Freedom remembered now that Darm had two children about eighteen seasons each, a male and a female. The mousemaid hadn’t seen any of them – fields or the Barn is not a place for Lord’s heirs. But she’s heard enough rumors. Shamra, the female one, was notorious for her bad temper and beating she was giving not only slaves, but vermin soldiers too. Her brother Nabon was said to be calmer, but he still was a weasel. Freedom felt sorry for those who were to be the heirs’ slaves.

The mousemaid was so surprised that she misheard what did Houk say, but she heard Darm’s reply. “I don’t need your advice, Houk. I’ll choose creatures to serve my heirs myself.” Deathtrap walked up and down the line of slaves, them stopped right before Dom and waved his paw. “These two. A squirrel and a mouse.”

“B-but Lord,” the ferret Captain tried to object, “This squirrel is a rebellious one, and he’d already tried to escape!”

“Then Shamra will teach him obedience.” Darm turned away showing that the order is not to be discussed. He addressed the short rat. “Marduk, get these two dressed properly and send them to me.”

They are talking about Maple! Freedom realized. What an unlucky creature he is, going to be that awful weasel’s personal slave! Only when a slave-driver poked her with a whiphandle she did understand “a mouse” Lord mentioned was her.

Marduk knocked the door of Darm’s Working Chamber. “Sir?” Then he waved his paw at slaves following him. “Come in.”

The first thing caught Dom’s eye was a big map of the Western Ocean and the Western Coast pinned to the wall with lots of small color marks. Terramort, Sampetra and many other islands were marked blue, and Salamandastron, Redwall, Mossflower Woods and almost all the coast were marked red. Freedom guessed the map showed Darm’s lands and the other ones. The other wall had different things that looked like trophies hang on it. There was a giant eagle’s skull and it’s crossed claws, an unusually scary helmet, a piece of lizard’s skin, a stone plate with some signs carved on it…

By the same wall stood a table covered with scrolls and papers and books. Not far from the table, Darm Deathtrap lounged in a chair. Freedom was so interested in room’s decorations that she noticed him quite late. Darm continued to talk “You have my spirit, but it’s nothing without discipline.”

A tall sinewy weaselmaid with tawny fur only snorted. “That’s mean following orders, yeah? That’s exactly what I’m not going to do, especially if it’s your orders!”

Another young weasel interrupted her. He was as tall as the maid but slimmer, his fur sandy as Darm’s but without yellow throat. “But he’s right, Shamra. You can’t continue bulling everybeast in Fort!”

Shamra gave him a disparaging look. “You’ve always been a fool, Nabon. Not everybeast, but everybeast who deserves it. And who are those ones?” She pointed her claw at the visitors.

“They are personal slaves to serve you.” Darm said.

For a moment, silence fell in the room. Then Shamra shrieked. “Decided to get spies upon me? I won’t let these mangycoats to eavesdrop on me talking!”

“We don’t need slaves, father,” Nabon added.

“Silence!” Darm roared. “You’re my heirs, and you should have somebeast serving you!”

“Don’t say you do it because you take care of us,” Shamra snapped.

“I do it because you should learn how to give orders,” Deathtrap parried.

Nabon looked embarrassed. “Well, if you say so…”

But his sister was far not so respectful. “I’m already able to give orders!”

“This is not to be discussed!” Darm raised his voice. “Shamra, your slave is the squirrel, and your, Nabon, is the mousemaid.”

“Okay,” the weaselmaid gave Maple a murderous glance. “But don’t be surprised if any fatal accident happened to the squirrel…”

The warlord smiled, but his smile was as cold as northern wind. “Then you will replace him in the chainline.”

Shamra looked astonished. “It’s just a slave!”

“And you are my heir, and you mustn’t behave like a wildbeast!”

It seemed impossible to Shamra to admit her defeat, and she just said nothing.

“So everything is set,” Darm concluded.

“What my father ordered you to do - spying on me?” It was the first thing Nabon said to Freedom when they entered young weasel’s room.

Dom shook her head. “No, sir. He ordered me nothing.”

“I’m not going to punish you, just say the truth.”

“I am speaking the truth, sir. Your father hadn’t even spoken to me, sir.”

Nabon hemmed. “You came to the chamber with Marduk.”

The mousemaid was puzzled. “Sir? What do you mean, sir?”

“Don’t play the fool with me.”

“I may be the fool, but I’m not playing, sir. I don’t know what you are talking about.”

The heir explained. “Marduk is in charge of all the spies in Fort. Those among soldiers and slave-drivers who have their eyes and ears open report everything to Marduk, and he reports everything to my father.”

Freedom shook her head. Of course, she heard servants like Wavehound or Tosna the squirrelwife complaining about lots of spies in Fort, but she’s never known about Marduk.

“Today’s the first time I saw him close.”

However, Nabon doesn’t seem to believe. “Listen, let’s make a deal. I’m treating you properly without beating or abusing, and you aren’t spying or eavesdropping or squealing on me, agree?”

Freedom almost said yes, but held her tongue. If she agrees, she would admit she was sent here to spy. If she does not agree, she still would admit she was going to spy. So she just said, “I’m not going to spy on you anyway, sir.”

“So it’s agreed,” Nabon concluded. “And what’s your name?”

“Dom, sir.”

“One ‘sir’ is enough, don’t say it after every two words. And bring me something to eat.”

“As you say.” Dom turned to the door, but whipped round halfway. “Um… Where is a kitchen?”

There were little work for Freedom. To bring or cook Nabon food, to clean his room, to hand him weapon when he was training – that’s all the mousemaid has to do. It took little time for her to find out she can move throughout Fort freely. She was even allowed to go to the courtyard but not to the Barn. Besides this, all the slave-servants in Fort always were followed by vermin, so she had no chance even to talk to her old friends. Freedom felt very lonely, though Nabon was keeping his word and treated her decently enough.

Dom met Maple again on her third day as a personal slave. Nabon was called to his father’s Chamber, and he ordered Freedom to wait him outside.

Maple already was here, his eyes shone with joy. “Dom! You can’t imagine how glad I am to see you!”

“Bet I can!” She laughed and hugged the little squirrel. He twitched as with pain, and Dom stepped back. “Are you all right?”

Obviously he wasn’t. Maple’s right ear was puffy, and when he took a step aside, he limped a bit. However, he just shrugged. “I’m okay, thanks.”

Freedom lowered her voice. “Did that weasel beat you?”

“Well, it’s not actually a beating, after all… just a few cuffs. She loses her temper easily.”

“I hope you have wits enough not to argue with her.”

“I think that’s annoying her most – me responding all her insults and blames with ‘yes, marm’ or ‘no, marm’, surely.”

Dom wondered how Maple was able to joke after all – to her it seemed like Hellgates.

“Shh!” Maple whispered, looking around. “Let’s listen now!”

He leaned against the doorpost. Freedom followed his example. At first she all heard was just muted mumbling, but when she strained her ears words began to be distinguished.

First, it was Darm’s voice. “Element of surprise is vital in the war. A fleet sailing across the sea or an army marching through the plain attracts attention. That’s why I’m sending my troops to Mossflower ship by ship. They wait there staying in the cover and divided into crews, so if any woodlander sees them, they’ll be thought to be ordinal vermin gangs.”

Then it was Nabon’s one. “What a brilliant idea, father.”

Shamra interrupted him. “Stop wheedling, you mealy-mouthed toady.”

Darm growled. “Perhaps you have something to say?”

“Actually, I have. Where is a point in conquering Redwall? There is still the Western Coast between us and Mossflower!”

Deathtrap explained. “If we had Mossflower Woods, we’re able to attack Salamandastron from the west and from the east at once. And then I’ll be ruling not only all the Seas, but all the Lands as well!”

His daughter snorted, her voice mocking. “Of course, how could I forget about ruling all the Lands?”

Freedom heard enough.

They are going to conquer Redwall! So, all the rumors were true. The only thought about it was terrible. The little mousemaid has heard many stories about the famous Abbey from her father Kroova and her grandfather Mokug. The Abbeydwellers were her foster parents’ friends, and she used to think of them as her friends as well. She can’t let Darm kill them all!

“We should do something,” Dom whispered. “We must do something!”

“You see there is not so much we can do.” Maple paused as some guards passed by a next passage. “Even if we escape, we can’t leave the island.”

“So you’re going to give up.”

“To begin with, I’m going to find out more information. It seems to be the only possible thing to do.”

“Then I say what I’m going to do.” Freedom said. “I’m going to find a way to escape!”

Chapter 3

Warlord’s door was opened without knocking.

“Darm?” A huge searat entered the chamber.

Lord of the Seas sighed. He definitely would never teach that bumpkin proper manner. “What do you want, One-ear?”

The rat stated without any subordination. “Krugg said you’re sending his ship to the Southern Coast and then to Mossflower.”

“Yes, I want him to recruit some Juska, and…” Darm cut himself short. Why should he make excuses to that slave-diver, not even a Captain? “But that’s none of your business.”

However, One-ear paid no attention to his words. “So, that means that you still want to war with Redwall.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It’s a wrong thing to do. Very, very wrong.”

Darm clenched his teeth. One-ear too often was just unbearable. Without any doubt, he was a brave and loyal creature, skilled in both fighting and commanding, respected by others and quite smart – for a rat, of course. The corsair’s lack of manner wouldn’t prevent him from becoming a Captain if he wasn’t so stubborn and willful. Unlucky for Darm, One-ear was always willing to meddle in matters that shouldn’t concern him.

“I know every word you’re going to say now,” said Darm, doing his best not to fly into a rage. “You say that it’s too risky and dangerous, that we would lost lots of soldiers, that many warlords tried to conquer Redwall before, but none succeed, that we can’t win war with the entire country against us, and even if we can, almost all the army would be dead by then. I’ve heard that all before. And I say what I’ve said before. I’ve not only fought corsairs and isledwellers, I’ve studied tactics and strategics for seasons. I’ve even visited both Redwall and Salamandastron disguised as peaceful traveler and now I know what to do to get them! And I’ll never do any silly mistakes as those so-called ‘great warlords of the past’, like trusting your enemy’s word or do not looking where to set your footpaw on!”

“You’ve seen woodlanders in the seasons of peace, and I’ve seen them in the seasons of war.”

“Did you become too old and soft to fight?” Darm mocked trying to change the subject.

“I don’t want to see my shipmates dying. And you, Darm! You’ve already killed your wife in a senseless battle; isn’t it enough for you?”

“Shut up, rat!” Deathtrap cried angrily. “It wasn’t me who killed her, and you know that!”

One-ear agreed. “Aye, it wasn’t you who plunged a knife into her. But it was you who put an untrained and inexperienced creature in charge of a crew and sent her to scotch a mutiny. Have you really expected her to cope with it?”

“I’ve expected my wife to be my strong right paw whom I can trust commanding my Fort or my corsairs, not a nursemaid sitting in Fort all the time! And leave that subject alone, I don’t want to talk about it! The point is we would win the war with Redwall!”

“The point is not if it’s possible to win the war or not. The point is why should we start the said war. Redwall is no threat for us.”

“It sounds like cowardice, if not treason,” Darm snapped.

“It sounds like common sense. Your greed and lust for power weakened your mind, and you can’t see even the simplest things.”

Deathtrap nearly choked. “You! Do you remember whom you are talking to?”

“Aye, I remember it pretty well. You are son of my good friend Lazybones. She asked me to look after you, and I do. You’re going to lead your corsairs to their death, and I won’t let you to.”

“And what would you do? Kill me?” Darm paid no attention to the threat, through One-ear was almost twice his size.

“I ask you to think about it once more. It’s never late to stop this madness.”

When the black rat left, Darm kicked a chair angrily. That slave-driver thinks he can command Lord of the Seas just because he was a friend of Darm’s mother! Darm could ignore this importunate corsair before but today he went too far! Lord of the Seas wouldn’t let him to ruin his plans.

And that meant he should get rid of One-ear…

Twilight deepened upon Fort Bladegirt. The castle loomed against grey sky. The place seemed to be completely lifeless. However, it wasn’t.

A sentry guarding the locked Barn’s door gave a jump as a dark figure came from shadow.

“Ah, One, that’s you,” he sighed with relief when a creature came closer.

“Aye, that’s me,” One-ear nodded. “It’s cold tonight. Come and rest in the soldiers’. I’ll guard instead of you for a while.”

The foxguard obviously liked the idea but still hesitated. “Thanks, but… I don’t want Lord to catch me off guard.”

“Don’t worry, Jah. I say, I’ll be on guard.”

“Right then!” Jah hurried to the castle without turning back.

Right after the sentry went away, One-ear took a key from his belt and opened both the Barn’s wooden door and iron bars behind the door.

The slave-driver stepped inside moving so carefully as if he was a ghost, not a creature of flesh and bones. He slowly looked round, his eyes inspecting sleeping slaves curled under old rags. Finally, the rat’s eyes set on small hedgehog lying not far from the entrance.

One-ear took one step more and bent over the hedgehog, his paw stopping the slave’s mouth. The captive immediately opened his eyes and twitched as if about to cry. The corsair’s other paw seized his head and hit it on the floor softly, knocking him out. The hedgehog went limp, stunned into unconsciousness.

All of that happened in a complete silence. Nobeast had even stirred.

One-ear threw the hedgehog over his shoulder and left as silently as he entered.

Chestnut felt salt water splashed in his face. He groaned and reached to touch his head where a big bump had already swollen up.

A low voice echoed in hedgehog’s aching head. “Take this.”

He mechanically gripped a wet rag and pressed it to his head. Only then he noticed that a creature who gave him this rag was One-ear.

“Listen now,” the rat said as Chestnut stared at him at a loss. “Let’s make a deal. I help you to escape Terramort. And you do me a service in return.”

Chestnut suddenly found it difficult even to understand simple words. “D-deal?”

“See that ship?” One-ear pointed his claw somewhere to the right. Chestnut turned his head and saw they were on a jetty in Terramort Bay. Ship the slave-driver pointed at was a big dark-colored vessel, her sails red. “It’s Bloodpike. Krugg leaves on her the morrow to the Southern Coast. I hide you on the ship. She arrives to the Coast close to the Mountain of the Fire Lizard, just a day marching to the south. All you do is to go there and bring this to Captain Longstep from that mountain.” The slave-driver showed him a small scroll of birch bark sealed with wax. “Then you can go wherever you want. Understand?”

Chestnut could only repeat. “T-the M-mountain of the Fire L-lizard?”

“Aye, it has a really long name, a jawbreaker like ‘Sala-mala-thing’, but everybeast understand if you say just ‘the Mountain of the Fire Lizard’, you know.”

He was talking as if Chestnut’d already made this journey. Perhaps it was his calmness and confidence that make Chestnut lose his patience almost for a first time in a few seasons. He may be a slave, but he is not a tool in his masters’ paws!

“I’m not going to help you in your shady dealings!”

“There’s no need to shout, I’m not deaf. And I wouldn’t try to attract attention if I were you, either I’d have to say you tried to escape.”

It wasn’t the answer Chestnut had been waiting for.

“Don’t you understand? You vermin killed all my family either by swords or by hard work here on Terramort! I won’t carry messages for you to kill and enslave even more creatures!”

Next moment the black rat’s claws tightened their grip on Chestnut’s throat.

“Listen now,” One-ear growled. “I’m going to save us all. Darm is preparing to war with Redwall, and it would kill lots of creatures, both corsairs and woodlanders. I am about to stop it. And I need you to carry this warning to Longstep to help. See?”

Chestnut was gasping for breath. Only now he realized how foolish he was to anger this beast.

“Okay, okay! Let me go please!”

“Good. Follow me.” One-ear released the poor hedgehog and headed to the ships without turning away to see if Chestnut was following him or not.

The little hedgehog hurried after him. “One more question, sir?”

“What else?”

“Why me?”

One-ear shrugged. “You’re small enough to hide. And you were the easiest to pick up.”

“No, I mean, why don’t you send your message with a gull?”

Chestnut was talking about a small flock of seagulls living under Bladegirt’s roof. Actually, corsairs and seagulls were sworn enemies as bird meat and eggs were a common vermin dish. However, some gulls turned out to be greedy enough to forget about this death-feud when Darm offered them plenty of food and shelter in exchange for their services as scouts and messengers.

“A gull missing will attract attention, and the other birds have no reason to keep secret about my message.”

Chestnut couldn’t hold his surprise. “And you think nobeast will notice a slave missing?”

One-ear suddenly gave him a wink. “Ha, not with me and Greywhisker saying we killed you trying to escape!”

Marduk sneaked in the shadows near the Bay. Where was that damned slave-driver? Thinfur said he was somewhere here! In a few minutes, Marduk saw One-ear coming down off Bloodpike.

What, of blood'n'fangs, he was doing here? Marduk pulled out a little dagger. Anyway, it doesn’t matter after all.

The spy waited One-ear to turn his back to him, then he leapt, fast and silent, and stuck his dagger right under One-ear’s ribs. The big rat gave a lurch, but still found strengths to swing round, his paw grabbed Marduk’s throat.

“You filthscum!”

For a moment it seemed like Marduk’s neck is about to crack, but suddenly One-ear gave a gurgling sound, his claws unclenched and his body fell to the ground.

Marduk rubbed his aching throat and smirked. One-ear was a strong creature, but not strong enough to survive the poison on his bladetip!

Chapter 4

“Look, it’s our chance,” Dom whispered right in Maple’s ear while helping him to wash dish. “Bloodpike leaves about noon. We can sneak in her and hide…”

“By cone’n’needles, what are you thinking about? How are you going to sneak in the ship swarming with vermin?”

“I have a plan. We can say we’re carrying out Darm’s order and then...”

“And then guards would catch you,” Maple interrupted. He put aside a bowl he was scrubbing and looked right into Freedom’s eyes. “I don’t want you to be killed, really. Listen, I’ve heard Lord Darm and his heirs are sailing in Mossflower in a quarter of month, may be a bit later. Perhaps they would take personal slaves with them, but even if they don’t, it wouldn’t be so dangerous then.”

The mousemaid nodded and shook Maple’s paw. “Thanks, friend. But I have to warn Redwallers before Darm’ll get to them.”

The squirrel sighed as she hurried away. “Good luck.”

Freedom was caught even before she got to the jetty.

Darm was furious. However, his fury was turned not against Freedom, but against Nabon.

“You dumb-head whelp! It was you who let the slave escape!”

“B-but father, the mouse was captured anyway!”

“It was me, not you who captured her!”

None of them paid any attention to Dom huddled up on the floor where a guard pushed her. She looked lost and shocked as if her whole life was shattered. Maple wanted to comfort her, but when he took a step toward the mousemaid Shamra gave him such a murderous glance that poor squirrel didn’t dare to.

“Shut up you both!” the weaselmaid growled. “It’s no use with you becoming hoarse railing at each other.”

Darm sniffed scornfully. “You hardly ever believe, but I still try to teach you at least something. You both are supposed to become my Captains and, later, second-in-commands. And how, by blood’n’fur, can you command corsair crews if you can’t command even your own slave?”

“Speak for yourself!” Shamra snapped. “I can command anybeast, let alone slaves!”

“But father, it wasn’t my fault,” Nabon managed to interrupt. “There is no way I could have known about escape!”

“You should have known! That slyface is your responsibility now!” Darm’s features softened and he added more gently. “However, Shamra is right; it’s pointless just to argue. I just want you to take things more seriously.” His children nodded, and the weasel lord continued pointing to Dom. “Any other slave would have been killed trying to escape, but this one is your personal servant. She will live, but she shall be punished. She shall receive fifteen lashes from Houk.”

Maple shuddered. Fifteen lashes!

“No! Don’t!” He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he should help Freedom somehow. “It is not her fault, it was me… Ouch!”

Shamra twisted the squirrel’s ear violently. “Shut up, bushtail! You aren’t allowed to speak!”

“Can command anybeast, Shamra?” Deathtrap chuckled. “Speak, squirrel!”

“It was me who planned the escape!” Maple blurted out the very first thing that crossed his mind. “Dom didn’t want to escape; it was me who persuaded her! It’s me who should be punished, not her!”

Freedom lifted her head for the first time since her capture, her eyes wide. “He is lying! It was me…”

Darm’s impatient growl interrupted her. “I am not going to waste my time and find out what it's all about! Each of you shall receive fifteen lashes!”

“Hey, you oldfur! You’ve just said the slaves are our responsibility!” Shamra cried in her usual manner and gave Maple a heavy cuff. “This one may be stupid useless furball, but he is mine. It’s my will to decide how to punish him, not yours!”

“Really, father,” Nabon intervened, “such a harsh measure is unnecessary. These slaves have already had their lesson. They won’t escape again, I promise.”

Darm shifted his gaze from Shamra to Nabon, and then smiled. “Good. You’re able to make your own decisions without looking up to somebeast. The slaves are yours, do as you please.”

Maple thought he wouldn’t see Freedom again for a long time, but he was wrong. Shamra had given him the dirtiest work as a punishment. And the same evening, when he was sent to scrub the floor in soldier barracks, she already was here rubbing out dirty spots on all fours. Maple took a floor-cloth and squatted down alongside his friend.

“Hi,” he whispered. “How are you?”

Dom nodded, her face as black as thunder. “Fine.” She paused, and then added. “Thanks for defending me. It was very foolish.”

Maple couldn’t help smiling. “I thought you were about to say ‘brave’”.

“Brave, yes. And foolish. More foolish then brave, actually.” She fell silent again.

“Nabon punished you, didn’t he?”

Dom shook her head. “No, he only said he won't defend me if I try to run away again… Er, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you the same mousemaid who once said I was lucky not to be killed?”

The little mouse forced herself to smile. “Ah, I know what you mean.” She cast a glance at the guard standing by the door, but it seemed like slave talk was the last thing he was interested in. Nevertheless, Freedom lowered her voice. “I’d only hoped to warn Redwallers. You know, they are my parents’ good friends. I’m sorry not for myself being caught, but for them not being alerted. But now I see you were right. We should wait for Deathtrap to depart.”

Bloodpike sailed away from Terramort Isle. The wind was fair, and by sunset, the ship was far at the sea. Her main deck was deserted and silent; the only thing could be heard was a low mumbling of two steersrats.

“What a pity it’s our Bloodpike to deal with that barbarian Juska! Aaarh! I wish I’d never seen that painted snouts of them!”

“Well, you’ll see them anyway, matey. Cap’n is about to recruit them. And listen, Lugear, it’s better to be outside Bladegirt then inside.”

“But why?”

“Wait – didn’t you hear about ole One-ear body found floating near the jetty?”

“Aye, but I’ve heard he had drowned!”

An older steersrat gave his younger companion a stern glance. “Didn’t know One-ear, right? I did. This feller could out-swim a fish!”

“Do you mean that…”

The older rat immediately clamped his paw about Lugear’s mouth. “Shhh! Don’t you know Lord has ears everywhere? I mean that One-ear was a good swimmer, that’s all, see?”

None of the rats noticed a sharp muzzle peeping out from a small cabin near rostrum. It was Chestnut. During all the day he was hiding inside large chest that could be locked from inside. As One-ear explained, corsairs used to sit on it when the ship was overcrowded, but nowadays it was forgotten in a cabin with old sails, half-broken tools, rusty weapon and other needless stuff. A perfect hide-out.

When the night fell, the runaway decided it’s time to act, for he has his own plan to put into practice. And carrying massages for vermin wasn’t a part of it.

After Chestnut made sure steersrats weren’t watching him, he sneaked to a bottom deck. The hedgehog stood there for a moment or two for his eyes to get used to the darkness. Here he saw two rows of long oars and wretched slaves, chained in pairs at each oar, fast asleep with their heads resting on their chests. Most of them were squirrels, though there also were few moles and mice.

Chestnut shook the nearest slave by his shoulder. It was a middle-seasoned strong-looking squirrel, which woke up immediately, a fear shone in his eyes.

“Shhh!” Chestnut whispered. “I’m here to help you!”

The slave nodded, a fear in his eyes was replaced with hope. “Aye, friend. How did you free yourself from the chains? The fox claimed it’s impossible even if the oar is broken.”

“I’m not an oarslave, I’ve escaped Terramort Isle and hidden here. My name is Chestnut.”

The sound of their voices woke the other slaves.

“Urr, wot’s goin’ on?” stirred a molemaid next to the squirrel.

“Hey, who are you?”

“How did you get free?”

The hedgehog waved his paws. “Hist, please! Vermin would hear you!” The slaves immediately calmed down, and he continued. “I’m Chestnut, and I’m here to help you. Take this.” He handled the squirrel and the molemaid two old rusty files he’s found in the cabin.

The squirrel shook one of his paws vigorously while the molemaid grabbed his other paw.

“Thanks, Chestnut! I’m Broom of Pineforest Isle, and I’m your friend to the end!”

“Zurr, Oi’m Myrra of Stonehall, Oi’m yor friend furr shure!”

Murmurings came from all around the bottom deck. A mouseslave spoke for everybeast as he called out, “We'll be with you, to the death!”

Chestnut shook his head, “No, friend. Not to the death. To the freedom, for we’ll escape this ship together!”

Then Broom was speaking. “Listen, mates, I’ve heard vermin are going to trade us for Juska recruits so we should saw the chains before that. Be careful and don’t let corsairs notice anything! I think a night the ship’s arriving to the shore is the best time to escape. Chestnut, can you bring us more tools and something that could serve as weapon?”

“I’ll try to come tomorrow or in a few nights.”

He was going to leave when Broom called him once more “Wait, friend! You’ve escaped Terramort, right? May be you’ve seen… or you’ve heard… a young squirrel named Maple…”

“Yes, I know Maple, he was chosen to be a servant in Fort. Last time I’ve seen him he was safe, though not completely sound.”

Broom sighed with visible relief. “Thanks seasons, he’s alive! My son is alive!”

Chapter 5

Extract from the writings of Churk the otter, Head Scholar and Recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.

Today is the first summer day, the first day of the Summer of the Whispering Trees! It seems like Mother Nature decided to reward us with good weather after that cold late spring. The weather is staying fine these days. The sun shines brightly, and only one or two clouds are soaring in the sky like feathers of some giant bird. However, there is no heat: cool breeze is blowing all the time so trees’ branches keep rustling as if they are trying to tell you something. That’s why our good Mother Abbess named this season the Summer of the Whispering Trees.

‘Our good Mother Abbess’, hmm! I’m pretty sure anyone not familiar with our Abbess will imagine an old stiff lady. In fact, Bikkle is one of the youngest Abbey leaders in Redwall history, and everybeast agree she is the best to be one. Frankly speaking, about six or seven seasons ago I would not believe I can say it – our caring and responsible Mother was such a mischievous Dibbun back then! She made proud our old Abbot Apodemus, who has passed on to the land of sunny slopes and quiet streams seasons ago, together with his friends Malbun Grimp and Crikulus and a few other our dear companions.

Alas, there is no joy without sorrow. The Nameday Feast set on today was delayed because of terrible event. This morning Skipper Rumbol (he became Skipper five seasons ago, when our old uncle decided to retire) went to Mossflower to invite our neighbors for the feast. There he found woodmice house ruined and devastated and all its inhabitants but one killed. The only survivor is an old woodmouse who is badly wounded and treated by our Herbalists and Infirmary Keepers Sister Vernal and Brother Turfee. Poor creature is too weak to speak, but it’s unnecessary. Tracks left around the house make it all very clear.

Vermin. A small gang of that scum, no more then seven or eight. Right now Rumbol is gathering his crew of about score of otters to track those vermin down and kill them. They are joined by our Abbey Warrior Trisscar Swordmaid and, of course, my nephew Simon.

Simon, son of Rumbol and his wife Rekka, always respected Triss. He was only three when she arrived in Redwall and has almost no memory about that, but he became old enough he learnt everything he could about that cruel season. He decided he wants to be a warrior like Triss and defend all the weak, young and old from evil. Triss accepted him as her apprentice and they’ve been training for a few seasons already. I hope one day he would be able to replace Triss as Abbey Warrior.

Well, Rumbol is waving his paw to me – I think I’d better come and see him off!

Churk put aside her quill and came to the Main Gates where a lot of Redwallers flocked to. Everybeast knew what happened, and everybeast wanted to wish the defenders good luck.

A strong big sturdy otter with his fur turning grey tapped on his younger companion’s shoulder. “Give that butchers a good thrashing, Rumbol!”

“Don’t worry, Old Skip, I’ll give them a thrashing they will never forget!” Skipper was a title given to the leader of the otters in Mossflower. Those who retired usually have to give it up and return to their previous names, but Rumbol and Churk’s uncle was respected by both his crewmates and Redwallers so much that everybeast kept calling him Skipper or Old Skip, and Rumbol was called either Skip Rumbol or just by his name.

A young mole poked the air with his mighty blunt claws. “Hurr, ur otters bee real wurriers, not loike dose vermint, urr! Oh, an’ yu too, Trizz, furr shure”

“Hey! And what about me, Ruggum?” cried a short spiky-furred shrew wearing a bright green headband. “Who do you think I am – a tadpole going for a walk?”

The mole nodded. “Aye, an’ yu too, Fleggen, surry. Oi’m just such a forgotful creetur!”

“Do not forget about me, dirtypaws,” Fleggen snorted.

A small young squirrel with a huge bushy tail interrupted them. “No need to be rude, Fleggen. Foremole Ruggum didn’t want to offend you, and you know it.”

The shrew gave her a frown. “It’s easy to say for you, Abbess, it’s not you staying here when all Guosim are far down the River Moss at the gaudy for all the season, meeting Guosssom and Guoraf and celebrating and feasting and singing and so on!”

“Well, it wasn’t me disobeying Log a Log and leading a bunch of young shrews to battle a pike! And anyway, it’s not Ruggum’s fault, and I wish you to apologize immediately.”

“Sorry,” Fleggen growled, not a shadow of regret in his voice. “Now, will we leave after all?”

However, they still had to wait for Simon to be hugged by his aunt.

“Be careful,” the kind otter asked.

Simon, a tall brown otter, nodded very seriously. “I will.”

“I’ll look after him,” said a middle-seasoned squirrel. There was nothing special in her appearance, but she looked confident and strong. The sword of Martin, a proficient simple double-edged blade, hung over her back from left shoulder to right waist.

“Oh, thanks Triss… You know, this would be his first battle…”

“I’m not a Dibbun any more, auntie,” Simon interrupted. “And I have the best mentors in the whole Mossflower!”

None of the Redwallers noticed a gull circling high above the Abbey.

At the same time far in Mossflower Woods, eight vermin couldn’t raise their heads up to their Captain Tamant Silentblade. If there were a word to describe him perfectly, it was the world ‘ordinary’. This middle-sized brown-furred rat wasn’t the strongest fighter or the smartest commander, but there where a thing he was best in – scouting. No one could beat Tamant in hiding, lurking, camouflaging and spying. They said that a creature standing in an open country with no shelter for an arrow-flying distance would notice Tamant only a second before being killed. The corsair Captain wasn’t called Silentblade for no reason.

His calm voice made the eight corsairs lower their heads even more. “You are a mob of iron-witted marauders. I’ve ordered you to stay in the camp, be meek as a mousebabes and under no – no! – circumstances show your dirty snouts to woodlanders. And you? Ravaged that mousehouse and let everybeast know we are here!”

A sturdy stoat standing next to Tamant gave a growl. “We should have killed that otter as I’d said!”

“And ruin Lord’s plan once and for all? I’ve always known you ain’t very bright, Clyde, but not that far!”

“I’m Captain Clyde,” the stoat straighten out a lap of his blue cloak, a mark of Captain rank in Deathtrap’s army. Tamant also had one, but he preferred plain green-and-brown jerkin.

However, the rat wasn’t looking at Clyde any more. “Arrowfly, did you cover up all the tracks?”

Arrowfly, a slim weaselmaid and a Captain herself, just nodded. “Aye, my crew didn’t leave a single pawprint there.”

Next moment with wings flapping and a fierce shriek, a small gull landed at the clearing where the vermin were.

All the Captains looked at him in waiting. “What’s the news, Ragfeathers?”

The gull prinked his plumage before answering. He didn’t like vermin, but spying was far easier task then fishing all by himself and fighting with the other gulls for food and nests. “Redwallers are leaving the Abbey. A score of them, big and strong warriors are they all.”

Tamant’s calmness vanished in seconds. “Arrowfly, make a fake camp where I’ve shown you. My crew will put fake tracks right into it. Clyde, you keep the rest of crews in the camp.”

“And what about them?” Clyde pointed to the delinquent vermin. “They disobeyed the order. I could execute them while you’re out…”

“No. They’ll be put into our fake camp.”

As they heard this, all the vermin fell facedown on the grass wailing outrageously.

“Wahaah! Mercy, Cap’n!”

“Chain us and make us slaves instead! Whahahaah!”

“Redwallers will kill us!”

Tamant just grinned cynically. “Of course they will. That madbeasts wouldn’t leave us alone until they have their revenge. And if somebeast have to be killed, it’d better be those who are guilty, right?”

Poor corsairs gave a chorus cry of horror, and Clyde pounced on them, wreaking his anger by delivering them heavy blows with his swordblade.

“Stop this!” The rat Captain cried as the first blood was spilt. “I need them alive and unmaimed!” A stoat left his victims with a growl of dissatisfaction, and Tamant gave another order. “Now, hurry up everybeast!”

A few hours later, a score of otters, a squirrel and a shrew sneak up to a small clearing in the Mossflower Woods. A small fire burned in the middle of the clearing, with two sloppy shelters of branches loomed nearly. Two or three vermin were sitting around the fire, their heads bowing drowsily. Loud gruff voices could be heard from the shelters.

Skipper Rumbol and Triss watched the camp lying in the thick bushes. The otter chieftain whispered right into the Warrior’s ear, “I’ll take half of the crew and come at the vermin from the other side. I’ll give a crow cry as the signal to attack.”

The squirrel nodded, and Rumbol turned to his son “Stay near Triss.”

“I will.” Simon didn’t expect himself to be so calm, as if he just had been waiting for another training. As by contrast, his Dibbunhood friend Olva was trembling next to him.

“Are you all right?”

The slim ottermaid shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, I’m just, well, worried. Those rats look dangerous.”

Simon cast a glance over their enemies – a tall rat almost fell into the campfire while trying to take a leather flask away from his companion. “I wouldn’t say so.”

The longer Simon was watching vermin, the stronger was the anger burning inside his heart. That scum just killed innocent creatures and ruined their home just for pleasure, and who knows how many they have murdered, enslaved and robbed before? The only thing they really deserved was death!

When the signal came, Simon was first to rush to the attack.

“Redwaaaall!!!”

He struck and stabbed and sliced and slashed. Then suddenly he realized the javelin in his paws was stained with red. And his paws were stained with red. And then everything turned red. The sky, the trees, and the creatures around him – everything was red. But this change didn’t bothered Simon – all he felt was energy and power. And anger. His mouth was wide open with a battlecry, but the only thing he heard was his own heartbeat. The otter struck and stabbed and sliced and slashed until he spun around and there were nobeast to confront him.

“Simon! Stop! Stop!”

The otter’s javelin stopped in the air. Simon knew that voice! He shook his head, and slowly everything became itself – the sky was blue, the trees were green and Triss Swordmaid was standing right in front of him.

The rest of the crew were standing nearby, watching him with mixed expression of astonishment, anxiety and – well, maybe fear?

Fleggen’s shrill voice broke the silence. “Storm’n’thunder! What’s the matter with you, Simon?”

That was like signal for the other Redwallers. “You fought like a madbeast!”

“We called for you, but you didn’t seem to hear!”

“I’ve never seen anything like that!”

“Nay, I’ve seen – Lord Sagaxus of Salamandastron was fighting against corsairs like that!”

Simon lowered his gaze – his javelin and his paws were still stained with red, and he felt dizzy. His father’s anxious voice reached the otter’s ears. “Simon! Are you all right?”

“I… I don’t think so…”

Triss waved her paws to the ottercrew. “Leave us alone! Don’t you see Simon is just too nervous after his first battle? All he needs is fresh air and cold water.”

“I’ve never seen nervous beasts fighting like that,” snapped Fleggen.

“Lead the crew back to Redwall, Fleggen. We’ll catch up with you later.”

Fleggen wanted to object, but then realized he was put in charge of the crew. His narrow chest puffed out with pride. “Ha, there’s nobeast to do it better!”

Some fast, some slow, but soon all Redwallers left the ruined vermin camp. Except Olva.

“Go away, gel, Simon will be all right,” said Rumbol.

“But I’m worried. And I’ll stay here.”

“No need, really. Though… well, okay, stay here. Simon, there’s a stream not far from here. Come on, sonny.”

Simon felt better after he washed his face and paws in the cold water and drunk it until his teeth began to chatter.

Triss waited him to come out of the stream, then asked “Now Simon, what happened with you?”

The otter youngster shrugged his shoulders “Well, I attacked after I had heard the signal, and then… I was fighting, that’s all. Oh, and did we defeat those vermin?”

“Sure we did. That scum was blind drunk with that rotten seaweed grog of them and hardly ever fought back.” The squirrel paused and exchanged glances with Skipper before asking another question “By the way, Simon, what did you feel?”

“Well, I was angry – I mean, with the vermin. I wanted them to die. And I felt like I could fight forever. And... and perhaps I was just too nervous, but it seemed like everything turned red.” Triss frowned, and Simon began to worry. “Is it bad?”

“I don’t know if it’s bad or good,” Triss said simply “But I do know for sure that you were possessed by Bloodwrath.”

Bloodwrath! Simon knew about it. Bloodwrath was an unstoppable rage, which could give a creature the strength of ten badgers and fury of ten wolves and nothing could prevent such a creature from pursuing his or her goal. However, Bloodwrath was notorious for overcoming its possessors, making them to forget anything and everything but their targets, leaving no place for any other feelings. No wonder Simon has always thought of Bloodwrath as of a curse rather then as of a blessing. But the most important, it was a bad quality for an Abbey Warrior. After all, a Warrior is supposed to be noble and selfless creature, not a madbeast possessed by lust for blood!

His emotion most likely could’ve been read in his face, for Triss hurried up to say “Don’t take it to your heart. You know, I also was possessed by Bloodwrath when I was younger.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I was so overcame with lust for revenge that I cried despairingly when Kurda the Pure Ferret died not from my paw, but killed herself by accident. But later I realized I was wrong; the real warrior should never let his heart rule his mind. So when I’ve sailed back to Riftgard, I did it not to take my revenge, but to free all the slaves suffering there.”

“But that means,” Olva interrupted, “there should be some way to get over that Bloodwrath!”

“Of course there is,” Skipper Rumbol put his paw round Simon’s shoulders. “And you will get over it, me boy, for you’re honest and decent creature. Now let’s go home, before your Mum’s began to worry.”

Later in the evening, Simon left Redwallers dining in the Great Hall and came to the Abbey Pond. Here he was sitting with his heart saddened. Simon had always dreamed of becoming the Abbey Warrior – not for honor or respect of the position, but for he wanted to defend his friends and family and all the weak from evil. Now he was afraid he should say goodbye to this dream. But the otter was much more afraid of himself. What if Bloodwrath will turn him into a murderous monster even worse then vermin?

“Not the best time to fret, Simon,” he heard his mother’s voice a moment before she and Olva came up from the behind and sat down side by side with him. “Why don’t you dine? Friar Furrel and me have cooked your favorite fruitcake.”

Simon shook his head “I’m not hungry.”

“You’re worrying about Bloodwrath, right?” Simon just moved his shoulder saying nothing. “Look, it’s not that bad. There are lots of creatures who have Bloodwrath – almost all Badger Lords, and our Triss herself!”

“But they’re real warriors. I’ll never be anything like them!”

“What a rudderhead you are, Sim,” Olva pointed. “Are you just going to sit here and give up? This ain’t what warriors do! They keep fighting, even if their enemy is Bloodwrath. That’s what you should do – keep training until you get over that curse and become a real warrior yourself!”

“Take this,” Rekka hold him out something round. It was a plain brass locket carved like sun, with short winding ray extending from wide yellow disk. “It belonged to your great ancestor Deyna the Taggerung. This locket was passed from parent to child till it came to Old Skip. He passed it to Rumbol, who passed it to me. And now I’m giving it to you, Simon. Wear it with pride, and always remember who you are, son.”

Simon took the locket and swung it slightly. “I see what you mean. Deyna was raised by vermin, but he’d become fair and true creature. Not like me.”

“What a rubbish!” Rekka cuffed her son’s ears lightly. “Everybeast makes his own fate, that’s what I mean. Deyna became fair and true creature because he had chosen to be one, not because somebeast had decided it instead of him. And you would become a warrior if you choose to be one. Just keep it in mind.”

The young otter smiled and put the locket on, than hugged his mother. “Thank you… thank you for believing in me.”

“You are stronger than you think,” Olva smiled. “If there’s a beast to become our next Abbey Warrior, that’s you!”

Simon squeezed her paw gently “And if there’s a beast who is the best friend ever, that’s you!”

Chapter 6

In a forthight after Bloodpike’s departure, Darm prepared his best ship called Deathtrap to sail to Mossflower. The rest of his army was already there, and Lord of the Seas was ready to start a war. As Maple had predicted, both Shamra and Nabon took their slaves with them, though the weaselmaid didn’t seem to be pleased with it.

Dom could think of nothing but Redwall since she first set her footpaw on the deck. Will she manage to warn Redwallers or she will witness the fall of the Abbey?

Maple tried to reassure her. “Look”, he kept saying, “There’s nothing you could do right now. I’ve heard that we’ll arrive to Mossflower in a half of month if the weather is good. Maybe it’s better to calm down and don’t start worrying till we got here?” But Freedom simply couldn’t stop worrying.

The only good thing about sailing was that Dom didn’t have to see Drooptail and Marduk any more – the stoat had been appointed Fort Commander and the rat was in Bladegirt constantly. However, there were other faces the mousemaid had to see. Like Shamra, whose shot temper hadn’t changed during the journey. Or Zorra the dark-cloaked vixen, Darm’s sly and cunning adviser. Or Captain Greywhisker, an old grizzled pine martin, agile and brisk for his age. Freedom had a good reason to hate this vermin: back on Terramort, she had heard him saying he slew a hogslave trying to escape. Later she finally managed to exchange a few words with Wavehound who told her the said hogslave was Chestnut. The loss of her friend hit Dom badly, and the only appearance of Greywhisker had been giving her pain.

The corsair crew wasn’t any better. At the very first day of sailing, they tried to make Dom and Maple to serve them. The slaves were on the upper deck when a big fox in a company of other vermin called them “Hey you two, bring us a bottle of seaweed grog from caboose!”

“We don’t have to obey your commands,” Freedom said to the fox. “We’re the heirs’ slaves, not yours.”

The fox and his shipmates roared with laughter. “Want to be chained to oars, yeah?” The fox drew a heavy cutlass and stepped closer. “It can be arranged!”

Maple’s voice was nervous. “Lord and the heirs wouldn’t like that, you know.”

Corsairs only grinned, surrounding the slaves. “Who’s said they would know?”

Suddenly a stern voice could be heard. “Stop this! I’m talking to you, Stonetooth!”

The fox turned to a tall lean stoatmaid watching them with her paws crossed on her chest. “That’s none of your business, Amina!”

The next moment Stonetooth bent down, his head to his footpaws, as Amina hit him in stomach with all her might. Then the stoatmaid’s fist smashed Stonetooth’s nose and sent the big fox flying down on the deck. Amina pressed down the neck of her defeated adversary with her footpaw and declared. “First, I’m Lieutenant Amina. Second, it’s forbidden to drink grog while aboard. Third, the slaves ain’t your to command. Fourth, there’s nothing Lord wouldn’t know. Anybeast wants to argue?”

With faint murmurings, corsairs shook their heads and stepped back. “Nay, nay, Amina, er, Lieutenant Amina!”

“It was Stonetooth who started the whole mess!”

“Aye, he’s always been a bully!”

Amina kicked the unfortunate fox lightly and let him go. “Now come and clean your weapons instead of hanging out here!” She turned to the slaves. “And don’t you two have work to do? Go back to your masters!” Then the stoatmaid added a bit softer “Let me or Cap’n Greywhisker know if they trouble you again.”

Since that Freedom and Maple tried to stick as far from the crew as possible; the crew did the same. Nabon still was the only vermin Dom wasn’t afraid of. She wished they could reach Mossflower as soon as possible.

Far away from Deathtrap, another ship sailed across the sea. By that time, Bloodpike had already made her way to the Southern Coast.

Captain Krugg Bloodpike brought his fist down on the table. “Thieves! There are thieves abroad my ship! And it’s your job to catch them, Squinteye!”

His first mate, a stout weasel Squinteye, asked hesitatingly “Maybe it’s not that important, Cap’n? It’s not the end of the world, after all! It’s just a few vittles, a handful of crops here, a pair of scones there, maybe somebeast from the crew was a bit more hungry and we have plenty of vittles.”

Krugg brought his fist down once more, this time on his mate’s head. “Plenty of vittles, aye, but not for thieves to grow fat! I order you to catch them!”

“But how, Cap’n? We’ve searched all the ship from top to bottom, and we’ve found nothing! Each time we’re laying an ambush there’s nobeast to appear, and the next day we’re leaving it there’re vittles missing! What else can we do?”

“How could I know? I’m the Captain, I’m running the whole ship, and it’s your job to keep the crew in order! Lay another ambush if you want, but bring me the thieves!”

In a small cabin next to the Captain’s, Chestnut took his ear away from the thin partition. So, vermin are laying another ambush. Good luck he had left one scone in store. Of course, it’s not enough to feed a hedgehog, even as small as him, but he was afraid to steal more food in case corsairs would guard caboose constantly. Anyway, he would hold out that far, for they will reach the Southern Coast in a day!

Broom clenched his teeth when slave-driver’s lash descended across his back. “Back water and ship oars, lazypaws!” Then Vuten, thin lanky searat, whipped Broom once more, chuckling “Sleep well, tree-hoppers, it’s a long march to your new masters tomorrow!” Still chuckling, he left the bottom deck.

A young female squirrel chained about two rows back growled hushfully, “Can’t wait to choke this scum with his own whip!”

Broom shook his head “I’d liked to, Yew, but we shouldn’t mess in battle with corsairs. Most of oarslaves are exhausted and famished, and those villains are skilled murderers.”

Yew nodded with a deep sigh. “I know. And when it will be time to escape?”

“We should wait till moon is high.”

When moon was high, the slaves easily freed themselves from already notched chains. Most of them armed themselves with the same chains, other took a few weapon Chestnut managed to find – rusted daggers, splintered clubs, spearshaft with no spearhead.

“Wee’s Chesknut?” murmured Myrra. “He shoud ‘ave got ‘ere bye naow!”

Broom looked worried. “Let’s get out of here and see.”

Chestnut had a very good reason for not coming to his friends: when he tried to open the door of his cabin it was locked. He poked the door lightly only to find out it was too solid to break.

“O great seasons,” he whispered. “Why it should have happened tonight? Not the night before or, even better, the night after?”

Picking up a half-broken knife, Chestnut began working on the hinges of the door.

On the other side of the door, Squinteye grinned his teeth. He’d caught the thief at last! He’d noticed scone crumbs in the cabin this morning and just locked it to deprive the thieves of their hide-out. And now, he thought, there’s a thief as well, for who else could be inside? Cap’n will be very glad to know it!

After Squinteye left the upper deck, the oarslaves went up on it. There were only two sentries, and they were looking to the coast, not behind them. Two good strokes with Broom’s spearshaft laid them unconscious.

Broom armed himself with a fallen corsair’s sword. “Yew, Myrra, lead the others away to the shore and further to the dunes. I’ll look for Chestnut.”

The molemaid nodded and waved her paw to the freed slaves, but Yew cut the air with searat’s cutlass. “I’m staying here. Pinesquirrels Tribe doesn’t leave anybeast behind!”

“I don’t want to risk the lives of the others. I’m risking my own, and that’s enough.”

“Broom is right,” a big squirrel put his paw on Yew’s shoulder. “We should take those who can’t defend themselves to the safety.”

The squirrelmaid frowned but eventually nodded to her companion. “Okay, Elm. We will.”

After his friends left the ship, Broom quickly discovered a small cabin near rostrum from which faint scratching noise could have been heard. Holding sword at the ready, the squirrel approached to the cabin. “Who’s inside here?”

He sighed with relief when he heard the familiar voice, “It’s me, Chestnut! Open the door, Broom!”

Then suddenly a pikeshaft was dropped over Broom’s head from behind and was pulled backward, choking him.

“Hahar, decided to run away, squirrel?” growled Krugg Bloodpike. “No slave leaves my ship alive!”

Broom was still holding sword in his paw. He pushed it backward, slicing corsair’s hind paw. The huge fox roared with pain and let his captive go. Broom fell on the deck on all fours, but before he could get up two more vermin lunged at him. Vuten whipped his lash round the slave’s neck while Lugear snatched sword out of his paw and brought his whole weight upon Broom.

Krugg already picked his pike up. “Rotten tree-hopper, you’ll become fishbait before dawn! Arr, what do you want, Squinteye you fool?”

Squinteye was pulling his Captain’s sleeve. “But Cap’n, what ‘bout the one locked in here?” He pointed his claw to the cabin were Chestnut was banging the door furiously and shouting “What’s going on out here? Lemme out, lemme out!”

“Open the door,” ordered Krugg.

Chestnut burst out the cabin into the crew of Bloodpike like spiky lightning. It wasn’t easy to capture him, and those who tried to do this leaped back, yelling in pain at the spikes, embedded in their paws and bodies that they had collected from the hedgehog. Finally Krugg brought him down with a blow of his pikeshaft.

“Now, let’s finish with the- auch!” A big pebble hit corsair Captain’s jaw.

“Freeeedom! Hurray!” With that thunderous cry, even more pebbles came down on the corsairs, hitting them on their heads, paws, sides and backs. Vermin could only whine in pain and cover their heads with paws.

Vuten dropped his lash when a big pebble hit him right between ears. It was the chance! Broom pushed the slave-driver away from him, grabbed a sword from Lugear’s belt and hit him with the flat of his own blade.

Chestnut was already back on his footpaws, making his way through corsair crew, his half-broken knife was replaced with a long dagger. “Broom! Behind you!”

The squirrel ducked, and Vuten’s sword slipped down on the side of Broom’s head instead of chopping him in two. However, Broom was knocked off his footpaws with the blow, and Chestnut rushed to his friend with all speed his short paws had allowed him.

“Noooo!” the hedgehog run Vuten through with dagger before the slave-driver could finish the helpless squirrel off.

“Jump overboard! Quick!” cried a voice somewhere from above.

Chestnut didn’t look up. He grabbed Broom by his waist and shoved him overboard, then jumped off the ship himself.

But corsairs did look up. Three squirrels were hanging on masts ropes.

“One, two, three, go!” All the squirrels cut off the ropes at once, and huge red sail sank down on the vermin crew, capturing almost everybeast beneath the spreading canvas. With furious shouts corsairs tried to cut through the sail, but it wasn’t that easy. Most of them ended up hitting and knocking their own crewmates, and chaos issued.

The squirrels jumped to the shore, where about of dozen freed slaves lead by Myrra were helping Chestnut and Broom out of water. “Ho urr, bee ye hurt?”

Blood was gushing from Broom’s head, and the molemaid couldn’t help shivering while cleaning the wound with salt water, as his whole right ear was sliced clear off with corsair’s sword. Finally, she bandaged her friend’s head with a shred of her tunic. “Burr, dat’ll bee better.”

Broom stirred and opened his eyes. “I’ve told you… to take the others to the safety…”

“And we did, friend. Hid them in the dunes and came back to help you. And just in time, I think!” Elm triumphally waved his self-made sling. “Now lets hurry before that scum will get out of sail!”

“Where we are going?” asked Chestnut while they trotted down the shore.

“Well, north bees nought but dunes, eest bees Juska cump an’ west bees see. So fur we ‘ave unly un way – south!” noted Myrra.

South. The same direction that the Mountain of the Fire Lizard lays. Chestnut automatically touched the bark scroll still hidden in his bosom. He wasn’t going to give it to Longstep whoever he may be. Perhaps, Chestnut thought, he wouldn’t even meet him if they keep away from the mountain.

Chapter 7

Bulot Zig Juskazig met the morning in a good mood. His clan had plenty of forage and weapon, and neither other Juska nor hares from the badger mountain troubled them. But the most important, there were no sight of corsairs for almost two moon-cycles. Sure, sometimes it’s convenient to have an ally whom you can sell the captured slaves or plundered loot. But corsairs were bad allies. They had always been paying less then asked, cheating during trade and threatening with Deathtrap’s fleet destroying them if Juska tried to clamp down on them. No, it was better without any corsairs.

Bulot Zig Juskazig was big and fat rat, but under his clumsy appearance, great strength and cunning mind were hiding. His clan was the only one that dared to live so close to the badger mountain, which other Juska were afraid to approach. Here they could find food, shelter, and no rival Juska clans.

“Chieftain!” a stoat entered Bulot’s tent. Two blue stripes running across his eyes had made him look like a ferret; three yellow circles were laid on his cheeks. The same Juskazig clan tattoos marked everybeast including Bulot himself. “Chieftain, there are beasts approaching our camp. They look like corsairs!”

“Blade’n’thunder on their rotten heads! May they choke with their own grog and fall on their own swords!” Bulot sighed and calmed down a bit. “Let them enter.”

Nevertheless, he’d met corsairs with open paws. “Haha, Krugg me old mate, where you’ve been for so long?”

The fox Captain hugged the big rat. “Hoho, Bulot you pal, sorry I’ve made you wait. You know, I was capturing slaves for you, strong and healthy beasts, just as we’ve agreed. You remember the deal, right?”

“Sure I do! You get me twoscore slaves, and my clan joins your Lord in the war with Redwall and get our share of loot after all.” …as long as we gain more plunder and vittles than we have now, Bulot thought to himself. Then he asked aloud, “But I don’t see any slaves here.”

“Alas, friend.” Krugg shook his head with feigned sorrow. “Who’d thought beasts could be so ungrateful? We’ve spared their lives, and what they did? Escaped our ship. But if my crew and your clan join forces we’ll catch them before noon!”

“Aargh! Don’t you worry, my clan’ll catch them before you sip a cup of nettle beer!”

Marching all morning among dunes with burning sand covering everybeast’s fur and faces and with no food and water was very difficult even for strong creatures, not to mention the freed slaves. Most of them were tired and famished, and even before noon creatures began to fall from exhaustion.

“Urr, we shoud stop fur a rest,” called Myrra when Broom stumbled over the stone.

“Corsairs’ll be on our tails soon,” argued Chestnut. “We’d better keep going!”

“Then lets go,” wheezed Broom. “I’m all right.”

“Nay ye ain’t,” growled the molemaid and glanced back where their other companions were panting heavily. “An’ not unly ye Oi sez.”

“I can see a shadow down here!” cried sharp-eyed Yew. “Looks like some kind of shelter. Better make our way to it and rest here.”

The shadow Yew saw was cast by small group of rocks huddled together. There even was a streamlet running between the rocks where thirsty beasts could drink.

Chestnut was very tired as he hadn’t been used to long walks, and his shoulders ached from the blow of Krugg’s pikeshaft. However, he just took a few gulps of water before taking a look-out behind one of the rocks. “Somebeast should be on guard if… well, just in case!” he said when Myrra joined him.

“Ye sez roight,” the molemaid bowed her velvety head. “Oi’ll gard thee oder slope o’ dere!”

The slaves weren’t resting for a long when Chestnut spotted some vermin coming to the rocks. “It’s corsairs down here!” he cried. “We should leave the rocks, quick!”

“Hurr, we can’t!” cried Myrra. “We bees suraunded, dere’s Juska ‘ere. Oi’ve seen dat painty snauts o’ them beefo! Oh, great rock’n’crag, wot we’ll do?”

Yew was already swinging her sling. “Well, I didn’t come all the way here to be captured again. I’d better die fighting!”

A loud cheer of approval rose among the rocks.

Meanwhile, Bulot stepped out the vermin group. “Hey, in the rocks! We know you are here! It’s useless to fight, just lay down your weapon and surrender. Nobeast will be hurt, I say!”

“Except for the spikehog who slew Vuten and the tree-hopper who wounded me!” cried Krugg with an evil grin.

Bulot gave his ribs a firm thrust. “It’s my slaves now, not yours no more! And I say, nobeast will be hurt! I’m a beast of my word!”

After a short pause, a squirrel appeared from behind a big stone. “Want to get our weapon? Take that!”

The big rat saw the squirrel whirling her sling and dodged with a great swiftness for the creature of his weight. A big pebble zipped a fraction from Bulot’s ear. “It was your choice, pals.” Juskazig Chieftain murmured to himself. “Attack!”

Krugg Bloodpike clenched his deadly weapon. “Now they’ll pay!”

Bulot quickly grabbed the pike away from his paws. “Nay they won’t. I don’t need maimed slaves.” He cried for his clan, “Don’t kill them, stun or wound, hear me?”

The vermin rushed to the rocks slaves were holding, shouting their battlecries.

“Juskaaaaaa!”

“Deathtraaap!”

The slaves responded with rain of pebbles and their own cries. “Hurray! Freeedom!”

Much to surprise of both vermin and slaves, they all had heard a third warcry. “Eulaliaaaa! Death on the wind!”

“Wha-at’s? Blood’n’fur!” Bulot turned round to see four hares charging his clan. The rat’s face blanched with terror. “Retreat! Juskazig, retreat! Retreat, everybeast!”

Krugg seized his ally’s paw. “What’s that? It’s just a bunch of rabbits! Our beasts’ll crush them down!”

“This ain’t ‘just rabbits’, it’s hares from the badger mountain, and they and their badger will blow you to smithereens if you don’t make it off here!”

With those words, Bulot gave an example to his clan, taking to his heels with a great speed for such fat creature. Juska followed him; many of them even threw away their weapon to quicken their running. After a momentary hesitation, corsairs went after them, with Krugg bringing up the rear.

The hares didn’t pursue them. Three of them straggled to fetch dropped weapons, and the fourth one made his way to the rocks. That tall stringy hare with his fur turning gray obviously was a leader. He made a gallant bow to all the creatures in the rocks.

“Ma greetin’ to you, brave goodbeests,” he said with slight accent, drawling words a bit. “Ai hope you wouldn’t mind to share our deener back at jolly old Salamandastron, sah.”

Myrra spoke for everybeast. “Thankee, thankee, koind zurrs, fur yur words an’ fur yur ‘elp. Rock’n’crag, four beests rauted at leest hundred o’ vermint! Oi’ve neve’ seen anythink loike that!”

The hare bowed once more. “We’ve deelt with those Juska before, they’re just bleenkin’ cowards. Think notheen’ about it, sah.”

“Aye, chaps,” said a young light-furred hare coming closer. “Think nothing about it, for you don’t have any jolly vittles for us, wot!”

His pretty haremaid companion twisted his long ear. “Hold your flippin’ tongue, Hopse! Long Patrol doesn’t need any rewards for helpin’ others, wot!”

“That’s a pity,” grumbled the four hare. “All we get is blinkin’ battle wounds and sore paws. Hah, no good deed goes unpunished, wot!”

The hare leader gave him a stern glance, “Ai’m ashamed for you, Corporal Trenton! Hopse is youn’ an’ green, but you should know the preenciples o’ Long Patrol better!” Then he turned to the freed slaves again. “Never mind Trent, hee just likes to complain, wot! Now, you know he’s Corporal Trenton; those two are Hopse an’ Plana, an’ mee is old jolly Captain Longstep.”

“Longstep!” Chestnut breathed out. Longstep is a hare? He’d always thought that he was a vermin, a corsair Captain just like One-ear! “B-but… you’re a hare!”

A smile touched Longstep’s lips. “Veery observantly, chap, for somebeests keep mistaking me for an otter. Now we’d better go to old Salamandastron before our jolly dinner is eeten by some gluttonous mouths!” He led the freed slaves south, accompanied by Broom and Myrra.

Chestnut gave younger hares an inquiring look. “What is Long Patrol?”

Hopse winked and gave him a broad smile, “Long Patrol is us, lad!”

However, Plana explained him, “Long Patrol is a group of fighting hares from Salamandastron. We patrol these shores and keep all the blinkin’ corsairs and Juska and other vermin away from it, to defend simple beasts like you and your friends.”

“Oh, I see. And what is Sala-mana..? Is it the place called the Mountain of the Fire Lizard?”

“Yes, it’s also called the badger mountain, for we’re ruled by the Badger Lord, old jolly Lord Sagaxus. You’ll like him, you see!”

After a time, they saw a huge mountain in the distance. Coming closer, Chestnut could distinguish small windows made in stone and big oaken double door in the bottom. When they drew near, this door was swung open.

“Greetings, my friends!” A young badger stood in the doorway. He wasn’t as big as Chestnut imagined, not even as tall as a hare, and rather narrow-shouldered, wearing simple green tunic and no weapon.

Broom bowed to him. “Lord Sagaxus…”

The badger quickly held him back. “No need for such deference. And, actually, I’m not Lord Sagaxus. My name is Grawn Woodsmith, and I’ve just come visiting. Lord Sagaxus should be in the mess hall, that way.”

“Are you some kind of Lord’s relative, Grawn?” asked Broom while the young badger led them through the wide stone-carved passage.

“Well, actually no, though Lord Sagax is like uncle to me. You see, I’m a carpenter, and my parents were carpenters, and their parents, and so on. We’ve lived in a small pine grove east from here, and then… You know, the winter five seasons ago was especially cruel. My… my parents came down with a fever, and I had to take care of them myself.” Grawn sighed ruefully. “If only I went to seek help! But I was afraid to leave them alone. And then I fell ill myself… Long Patrol hares found our house and nursed me back to life, but… it was too late for my poor parents…”

Myrra patted young badger’s paw with sympathy. “Ho urr, pur creetur, wot a ‘orrible story!”

Grawn gave the kind molemaid a smile. “Thanks. Well, that’s how I met Lord Sagaxus. He was very kind to me, and I was living here for a while, before returning to my old home, though I come visiting fairly often, just like today!”

The mess hall was filled with noise. A lot of hares laughed, joked and sang songs, demanding dinner. For a moment, Chestnut thought he was about to become deaf from that hubbub. "Is there always like this?"

Trenton gave him a scornful glare. “Yes, it is, and you’d better look for another bloomin’ place if you don’t like it, wot wot!” The dark-furred hare twitched his ears and left.

“Ha, my Da says old Trent scoffed a frog when he was a leveret, that’s why he’s so flippin’ sulky, wot,” Hopse patted the hedgehog’s shoulder carefully to avoid spikes. “Let’s find your friends some place to sit. Hey chaps, move your tails, sah, we have guests today! Move aside there, you great fatties, let poorbeasts in!”

By the way, Longstep, Grawn, Broom and Myrra came to an old badger pair.

“Lord Sagaxus…” Broom addressed a huge grizzled male badger.

“I’m afraid I’m not him,” smiled the badger. “My name is Hightor, this is my wife Merola, and Sagax is actually our good son. Ah, here he goes!”

A strong middle-seasoned badger as big as Hightor came into the hall. Broom gave him a light-hearted wink. “Don’t say you ain’t Lord Sagaxus, please!”

The badger was really puzzled. “Why should I? Umm, why everybeast is laughing?” Longstep tried to make his report, but the Badger Lord shook his head. “Later, Cap’n. Our guests are weary and hungry. Let’s have dinner and rest first.”

Chapter 8

Krugg Bloodpike spat at the dry sand. “You an’ your Juska are no more then a bunch of lily-livered cowards! It was just four rabbits, and you let them have your slaves!”

“Then you are no more then half-witted fool,” Bulot snarled in the same tone. “You should be a loony, or a self-murderer, or both, to mess with that fighting hares and their badger leader.”

“So, you are just goin’ to lose your slaves to them?”

“It’s always better to lose slaves then to lose life, fox!”

“Then I will get the slaves,” the corsair Captain snapped back. “My crew’ll drag them out of that mountain, and my crew’ll keep them! Got it, rat?”

Bulot’s pot-belly rocked with laughter. “Wahaha, then your crew’ll become fishbait before down, fox!”

Lord Sagaxus lifted his hefty paw, calling for silence. “Hares of Long Patrol, you can see we have guests today. I want to greet them on behalf of us all and say that they are free to stay as long as they wish.”

Cheerful cries could be heard in response. “Hey, welcome you chaps!”

“Salute to Salamandastron’s guests, wot! Eulalia!”

But one displeased voice shouted them all down. “So, we have to feed that blinkin’ lot of beasts as long as they wish? They’ll eat us out of house and home, sah!”

Bang!

The dignified middle-seasoned hare sitting next to Sagaxus stroke his paw on the table. “Mind your flippin’ manners, Trent!” he cried. “Can’t you hold your blinkin’ tongue if only for a day, wot? If you’re so concerned with our bloomin’ rations, go to the kitchens and help to wash the flippin’ pots as long as our guests are saying here, wot wot wot!”

Sagaxus patted his friends paw peacefully, “Well well, Scarum, calm down. You are too hard on the young fellow.”

“Young fellow? That utter flippin’ rip, blinkin’ rogue’n’bounder? Do you know how many grey hairs he put to my fur, wot wot?”

The big badger couldn’t help smiling. “Hmm, I remember our parents saying the same words about us! Don’t you worry, Scarum. All hares are always a bit wild when they’re young.”

“Well, that un is different, sah,” argued Colonel Bescarum, who preferred the name Scarum. “Trenton is not a jolly leveret any more! I thought he’d become a little wiser when he is somewhat older, but he wouldn’t! I asked him if he wants to leave home for a bloomin’ good adventure or two, do him a bit o’ good – he said no! I made him Corporal to give him more responsibility – he’s the same cheeky blighter, wot wot! And what you think should I do?”

“Just let him be. He’ll outgrow it sooner or later.”

After he finished his dinner, Chestnut found Captain Longstep waiting for him. “Now, lad, what deed you want to say mee?”

Chestnut blinked, baffled. “C-captain?”

“You wanted to say mee sometheen’ back in dunes, sah. You looked like that. And?”

“Well actually, I did.” Chestnut took a deep breath and said, “Captain, do you know somebeast named One-ear?”

Longstep’s reaction surprised the little hog. The hare gave a jump and clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him down. “One-eer! One-eer me old lad! Sure Ai know him, he’s ma best pal! Now, chap, how is he? What do you know o’ him?”

Chestnut took another deep breath and told Longstep everything he knew about One-ear and the task he gave him. He didn’t hold back the news about black rat’s death he overheard on Bloodpike. Longstep stood with his eyes shut, paws clenching One-ear’s bark scroll. Then the hare Captain sighed and turned away from Chestnut, wiping his paw across his eyes.

“Chestnut, pleese, ask Myrra to come to the meetin’ chamber.” He said in flat voice. “You an’ your friends should know aboot it too. Wot.”

The perplexed hedgehog followed the leaving hare with his eyes. He had hoped Longstep would cast some light on the situation, but he’d just tangled it all even more!

Chestnut found Myrra in the sickbay talking with Broom, whose wound had already been treated by healers. When the squirrel had heard about the meeting, he immediately wished to come with them.

“Yu ain’t goin,” Myrra stated. “Yu’re waunded!”

“But I’m alive, right?” Broom got up and set his new bright-red headband on one side, covering his missing ear.

The stern molemaid folded her forepaws. “Weel, dont comploin when yu wull fall somewhee insoide dat mauntoin!”

“Hey, who’s old grumpy beast and who’s young cheerful maid, you or me?”

One of the healers showed them the way to the meeting chamber, where friends found Lord Sagaxus, Hightor, Grawn, Colonel Bescarum, Longstep and another hare officer, unfamiliar to them.

Captain Longstep took the floor. “Weel, everybeest is ‘ere. You all know eech other, right? Ow, sorry. Myrra, Broom, Chestnut – this is Lieutenant Kvalla, sah.” Rather plump middle-seasoned harewife winked to them. “Kvalla, that’s Myrra, Broom and Chestnut. Now, let’s begeen.”

Longstep waved the now-unsealed scroll to them. “Ma ole friend One-eer sent me that jolly message with this young chap. It says Darm Deathtrap – you know, the one callin’ heemself Lord of the Sees, wot, - goin’ to attack jolly well Redwall an’ sendin’ his troops hee. One-eer dunno when or how that flippin’ weesel do it, but he will, for sure. One-eer asks me – sah, I meen you, Lord Sagaxus, - to send a good squad o’ hares to Abbey, about a hundred o’ them, to defend the blooming Redwall. He says, mayhaps Deathtrap’ll leeve when he sees the Abbey ain’t that helpless as he though, wot, but that’s unlikely. If that we’ll war weeth that vermin, sah, sirs’n’marms?”

“Did I get you right,” Kvalla requested, “that One-ear is a vermin? If he is, how could you trust him?”

“One-eer ain’t a vermin, he’s a rat,” the hare Captain stated. “Vermin are scum, murderers, robbers, rascals, knaves who’ll kill theer mothers for a mug o’ grog, wot. A good an’ honest rat ain’t a vermin, wot. One-eer especially. You know what he asked mee in the letter? To be merciful at Darm’s soldiers an’ don’t kill with no reeson. He’s tryin’ to save both bally corsairs an’ jolly woodlanders, see?”

He looked round on his companion. “Righto, Ai’ll tell you from the very beginnin'. You know, Ai’m from far south, Sunlands, if to bee accurate, though Ai’ve come north to live in Southsward, wot. Aye, that was jolly pretty peaceful country – before the War of Thousand Rains came.”

“The great war with reptiles?” Hightor murmured. “Yes, I’ve heard about it. It was twenty – no, twenty-three seasons ago.”

“Righto, Lord. That season was awfully rainy – eet was downpouring for days! Mayhaps that’s why flippin’ reptiles deecided to get Southsward for themselves. Lots of toads, snakes, frogs, lizards, tritons, eels and other slimeskin lot. That was a seeson when woodlander’n’vermin fought side by side, for reptiles didn’t want any ‘furpelts’ – that’s how they called us, sah, - in ‘theer’ lands. An’ Ai know what Ai’m talking aboot, bloomin’ weel know! Many o’ ma good friends are vermin, wot. An’ One-eer is ma bestest pal. Ai’d been ten times dead if not for him, wot wot!” The hare Captain quickly turned away and wiped his paw across his eyes. “A gnat in ma eye,” he explained.

Myrra wasn’t fooled with the excuse. “Ow, we see. Friends bees too precious to devoid dem intu woodlande’s an’ vermint, urr!”

“Longstep, you’ve been living in Salamandastron for many seasons, and I trust you,” Lord Sagax declared. “If you say your friend wants to help us, I trust it. Now, what the others think about it?”

“You’re kiddin’!” Bescarum sniffed. “Sure we’ll help jolly Redwall, wot! Can’t allow some flippin’ vermin ruin all those kitchen’n’cellars full o’ the best vittles I’ve ever eaten!”

“Stop thinking about food, Scarum!” smiled Hightor. “And, actually, I agree with you both. Me and Merola will look after the mountain while you’re out.”

“Pinesquirrels Tribe will come with you,” interrupted Broom. “It’s our war too!”

“Are you speaking on behalf of all the former slaves?” asked Sagaxus.

Broom was confused. “Well, I didn’t talk with them yet, but I will. I think most of them will go, and those who won’t…”

“Those who won’t could stay in Salamandastron,” suggested Kvalla. “We’re always glad to help goodbeasts, sah!”

“Very well,” concluded Lord Sagaxus. “And what you have to say, Grawn?”

The young badger spoke for the first time. “Umm, I dunno. Isn’t it dangerous, leaving Salamandastron defenseless?”

“Salamandastron is never defenseless, lad,” smiled Sagax. “Over then five hundreds o’ hares will stay here!”

“Ow, sorry,” Grawn looked down on his paws confusedly. “I shouldn’t have said such a silly thing.”

“You should say what is on your mind and speak from your heart,” the Badger Lord noted. “That’s how youngbeasts grow into the true warriors.”

“But I’m not going to be a warrior. I’m a carpenter, and I’ve always wanted to be one!”

“Never mind. I’ll announce the news to Long Patrol. On the dawn we march to Redwall!”

“Hey, have you heard the news? We march to jolly old Redwall on the dawn, wot wot!” Plana couldn’t hold her joy and hopped high. “Woohoo!”

Trenton frowned at the cheerful haremaid. “Aye, sah, another crazy badger idea. Why, after all, should we, hah?”

Plana stopped dancing on the spot. “Hey, what do you mean? First, Redwall is in danger. And second, we should obey our Badger Lord!”

“That’s the point! Don’t you find it… strange – we, hares, obeying Badger Lord? Hares should be ruled by hares, like in the bloomin’ Ancient Seasons, when we’d been ruled by Hare King Bucko Bigbones, wot wot!”

“Who then had joined jolly Old Lord Brocktree to fight a flippin’ wildcat warlord,” continued Plana. “I’ve read that story. That’s how our jolly Long Patrol had been created, to defend the shores’n’woods from evil.”

“That’s the point! Why should we always guard an’ defend otherbeasts without getting nothin’? Couldn’t they defend their bloomin’ selves, wot?”

“Trenton!” Plana cried with a terror in her voice. “That’s not how goodbeasts do! What, blood’n’vinegar, do you mean?”

Trent waved his paw. “Oh, nothin’. Just forget about it, sah. I say, nothin’…”

Two dark shadows darted from the dunes to a big boulder where about fifty creatures were hiding. Krugg Bloodpike rose to listen his scouts’ report. “Well?”

“Cap’n, the mountain is well-guarded,” said a lean stoat. “We saw sentries in all unshuttered windows.”

“Did the sentries see you?”

“Nay, Cap’n, we were hidin’ well. And we didn’t see no way to get in.”

“Then we should find the way in!” roared Krugg.

“Umm, Captain,” Squinteye muttered. “Why should we risk and mess with that rabbits? Lord Deathtrap ordered us to recruit Juska, that’s all. Why don’t just leave them?”

“Leave my slaves?” the fox Captain kicked his mate’s tail. “No slave leaves my ship alive! I’ll get them alive or dead, and then kill them myself, even if it takes seasons!”

“Sah, then you grow whiskers to your footpaws waitin', fox!” A creature in dark hooded cloak stepped into the circle of vermin.

Krugg gave Squinteye another kick. “Whom you posted at guard, Squintbrains? They can overlook a whale in their flasks, let alone a stranger!” Then Bloodpike faced the outsider. “Who are you and what you want?”

A faint chuckle came from under the hood. “Hah, it doesn’t matter who is me. What does matter is that I have a proposition for you.”

Chapter 9

Without taking his gaze away from sandy dunes, the sentry hare stretched his paw to a plate on the windowsill, but his paw grabbed only a few sticky crumbs. “Hey Chris Bigeater, you’ve scoffed my share o’ candied chestnuts, wot!”

His companion, a large wide-shouldered hare known as Chris Bigbow quickly licked the plate. “Sah, Bigeater yourself, and Bigtongue as well. It’s you who got almost all bloomin’ nuts ‘efore I could lay my paw on them!”

“Ow, an’ you ‘aven’t eaten at all, Bigmouth?”

Chris shrugged his shoulders. “Is that matter, Meekl? We don’t ‘ave no flippin’ chestnuts no more.”

“Hmm, an’ why don’t go an’ pick some from the kitchens, wot?”

“ ‘cos we’re on duty, stupid.”

“Well, you was on duty two day ago when you swiped a jolly full plate o’ oatscones and gobbled it in a minute, wot wot!”

“Two days ago there weren’t no blightin’ corsairs ‘round.” The big hare gave a heavy sigh. “What a pity. I’d give both my ears for a good big oatscone with meadowcream an’ a mug o’ hot tea!”

“Hah, have somebeast just mentioned tea?” Two sentries turned round and saw Trenton carrying a big tray with plate of oatscones and two steaming mugs of tea. “Here is some, wot!”

Chris finished a big mug in two sups and poured more from copper kettle. “Hmm, raspberry’n’honey! Thanks, Trent!”

“Well, I thought you ain’t on duty tonight, Trent?” requested Meekl after drinking his tea. He was surprised when usually sullen and grouchy Corporal gave him a smile.

“Aye, but, sah, I couldn’t sleep and decided to do somethin’ useful.”

“Good lad!” Chris Bigbow yawned as he took a scone from the tray. “Wish I were you, chap. I’d give both my ears for a good jolly nap…” Another yawn twisted his jaw, the hare’s eyes closed and he slowly slipped down the windowpost on the floor.

Meekl suddenly found it difficult to keep his own eyes open. “That’s your blinkin’ tea!” he pointed an accusing claw to Trenton. “You…” Trent clamped his paw about Meekl’s mouth. The sentry tried to fight back, but his strength left him and he could only jerk weakly. Soon the sleeping potion got him, and he slipped on the floor next to Chris.

Trenton pushed him closer to the stone wall and hurried down the stairs. He opened massive door, and fifty corsairs immediately sneaked in, as if they were waiting outside.

“All the sentries are drunk, and Long Patrollers are locked in their chambers,” Trent reported to the vermin Captain.

Krugg pulled his lips into bare-teeth grin. “Fine. Now, where are my slaves?”

“Hah, not so fast, vermin. Remember the deal? First you kill all the flippin’ badgers here…”

“…and get my slaves and leave you to rule the mountain. I do remember. Aaargh, now, show me the way where that splittin’ stripedogs are… hare.”

Corporal Trenton couldn’t help smiling. He was lucky to find that fox! With all the badgers dead, he would kill the fox, get rid of corsairs and rule Salamandastron as true Hare King.

Captain Krugg Bloodpike couldn’t help grinning. He was lucky to find that hare! With all the stripedogs dead, he would kill the hare traitor and take control of the mountain. May be Darm would even let him rule Salamandastron as Lord's Fortress Commander, if he’s lucky!

Grawn Woodsmith didn’t sleep well that night. He pulled the blanket over his head trying to muffle the tramping in the passages. Why, he thought, that sentries are stamping like badgers!

Bang!

The metal sound of a fall and the following gruff voice made him believe that were not sentries.

“Lugear, you stonebrains! Pick up your sword and back in line, right now!”

Without a second hesitation, Grawn swung the door of his room open – and saw a fewscores of vermin staring at him. “Kill him, hah!” cried somebeast from behind, and Grawn shut the door just as a heavy javelin pierced the wood.

Grawn’s heart sank down into his stomach. Vermin in Salamandastron! The young badger had never fought somebeast before. He wasn’t a warrior, but a simple carpenter. What could he do? Grawn knew what he should do to warn his friends and save their lives.

There was no weapon, so he picked up a wooden stool near his bed and rushed out of his room before corsairs broke into.

“Eulaliaa!”

He twirled the stool round, blocking blows of spears and swords and scattering those vermin who came too close. Few well-aimed blows got his paws, which immediately began to bleed, causing the stool to slip from his grasp. But Grawn couldn’t tighten his grip, afraid to lose his weapon. All he could do was to keep fighting and shouting at the top of his lungs, “Eulaliaa! Vermin! Eulaaliiaaa!”

Krugg clenched Trent by shoulder and pulled the hare to him. “You’ve told all the rabbits are locked in!”

“Does this one look like a rabbit?” Trenton snapped. “It’s a stripedog you ought to kill, wot! Can’t you vermin kill off a weaponless youngster, sah?”

Krugg hardly held himself back from smashing the hare’s head. But he still needed that traitor.

“Squinteye, take fifteen o’ the crew an’ shut the stripeface up! The rest o’ all are comin’ with me! An' you, hare, lead us to that striped Lord o’ yours!”

Corsairs rushed upstairs, a mighty shout following them, “Eulaaliiaaaa!”

Grawn’s cry woke Captain Longstep up from his not-so-sound sleep. The old hare was on his footpaws the next moment he’d heard it. “Alarm! Vermeen!”

The other Long Patrollers had also heard the sounds of battle and they began to spring out of their beds without any loss of time. Except Hopse, who just rolled over his side. “Ow, give poor critter a bit o' sleep, wot.”

With no time for explanations, Longstep kicked Hopse out of his bed. “To Lord Sagax, leveret! Plana, Nella – to the armory! Otheers – with me, to battle!”

“Aye aye, sir!” Hopse dashed to the door – only to crash into it at full speed.

Bam!

Following him, Plana almost tripled over the fallen hare. “Ouch, watch your paws!” The haremaid pulled the door handle, but with no luck. “Fur’n’tails, it’s locked!”

Longstep looked round. Almost all the hares had been stored their weapon in the armory, and now only a few had their personal weapon like daggers and rapiers with them. With no hesitation, the hare veteran hacked into the door with his saber.

“Breek the door, lads! Eulaliaa!”

Lord Sagaxus’ personal living quarters were quite high up in the levels of mountain chambers, and Grawn’s battlecry didn’t reached them. It was loud corsairs’ tramping that had waked Sagax up. He sat upright on cushion-strewn rock ledge that served as a bed. Next moment the thick cedar door creaked open, and Bloodpike’s crew burst into the chamber.

Zzip! Whack!

Four spears pierced the air, and only Sagax’s quick reaction saved him. The Badger Lord dashed right, where his battle-axe hung on the wall. Grabbing his weapon, Sagax turned round and whirled the axe in a circle, deflecting a javelin with it. “Eulaliaa!”

Vermin shrank back. They came here to kill a weaponless badger in his sleep, not to fight a deadly beast in battle rage. Krugg almost shoved them forward. “It’s just one stripedog, kill him!”

Sagaxus’ eyes burned with fierce anger. "Eeulaliaaaaaa!" Three vermin fell under the axe as the badger threw himself at corsairs. They fought him viciously, as now they were fighting for their lives. Lord Sagaxus was a mighty warrior, but the vermin numbers had began to tell when they surrounded him. He wasn’t able to fight them all at once, and his homespun tunic couldn’t defend him from their sharp blades. Soon he would be brought down and slain, Sagax realized as Krugg’s pike stabbed his side.

The Badger Lord grabbed the nearest corsair and hurled him into other vermin, crushing his skull on his companions’ weapon. It gave him some time to escape to the forgeroom through a postern. Sagaxus put a forging hammer under the door handle to prevent corsairs from entering, pulled on a first helmet that fell into his paws and rushed to another door leading back in the passage. Vermin didn’t know about it. If he could attack them from behind…

A voice that definitely belonged to a hare cried from the other side of the door, “Here! This way, sah!”

Corsairs poured into the forge, and Lord Sagaxus was trapped. Now he could only fight. “Eulaaliiaaaa!”

Crack!

A heavy strike of a hatchet almost split Grawn’s stool in two. One more blow – and I’ll be weaponless, thought young badger. He laid a stoat low by thwacking him hard between the ears with the stool, but the force of the blow snapped the weapon in two halves. Still holding a broken piece of wood, Grawn tried to fight with it, with no success. He knew he’d better pick up some other weapon, but he was too afraid to. Three or four vermin already lay down slain, though the rest of them kept pressing Grawn against the wall. Where’s Long Patrol? “Eulaliaaa!”

Suddenly came a reply cry. “Freeedom! Hurray!”

More then a score of squirrels and other beasts appeared from another passage. Trenton had locked the hares’ chambers, but he hadn’t locked the sickbay where most of the freed slaves were. They attacked corsairs like madbeasts, their weapon was few, but their fury and spirit were great. And now they had the corsairs outnumbered.

Squinteye turned round, trying to find a way to escape. “Retreat! Get out of ‘ere!”

Clang! Somebeast struck him a mighty blow at the base of his skull that broke the weasel’s neck immediately. Elm spat at the dead corsair’s body and put a heave wooden tray aside. “Now the fight was fair, coward!”

All the other vermin were already killed, and Chestnut and Myrra were helping Grawn back on his footpaws. The youngster gasped for air, his paws and sides bleeding. “Vermin!” he croaked. “Come that way! Want to kill Lord Sagaxus! Quick!”

Lord Sagaxus managed to overthrow a big oaken table and hide behind it, fending away attacking corsairs.

Soon he heard a hare’s voice once more, but this time he recognized it. “Surrender, stripedog! You’re done with, wot!”

“What?.. Trenton?..”

The hare gave a satisfied chuckle. “Surprised? Now your flippin’ rule is over, tyrant!”

Sagaxus was so staggered that he missed a searat’s blow, and sharp blade slashed his cheek. He hardly restrained his Bloodwrath from overcoming him and battered the rat with his axe. “Why, Trent? I’ve always tried to be a fair and just ruler! What I’ve done wrong?”

“You? You keep usurping the throne o’ hares, just like your blinkin’ Brocktree did, and make us fight your wars! Hah, but now I will rule this mountain as the only rightful Hare King!”

Krugg decided he had enough. “Wrong, rabbit.” With these words, he thrust his pike into the traitor’s throat. “I will rule this mountain!” he said, looking right into Trent’s eyes clouded with death.

“Eulaliaa!”

At the same time as the battlecry cut through the air, Krugg noticed a dark shadow dash from behind with the corner of his eye and rapidly jumped away, turning round. Hightor grabbed the fox’s pike and snapped it with his bare paws like a twig. Near the entrance in the forgeroom, his wife Merola was fighting corsairs with a big javelin. Krugg staggered back from the enraged badger, then grabbed one of his crew and shoved him toward Hightor, who immediately killed the unlucky corsair with the remains of pike. Krugg had never been as scared in whole his life. Three full-grown infuriated badgers were more than he or his crew could handle.

To make things worse, great number of hares, squirrels and other creatures burst into the forgeroom and joined the battle. “Eulaliaaa! Hurrey! Freeedom!”

Krugg restrained the panic that almost seized him. He won’t lose! He never loses! Some small hedgehog attacked him – the fox easily dodged his blow, grabbed him by neck and pressed the hog’s own dagger to his throat. “One more move and he’ll die!”

The battle stopped; Salamandastron’s dwellers circled him watchfully, holding their weapon at ready. Three survived corsairs – all that had left of Bloodpike’s crew – snuggled close to their Captain, uncertain if they should fight or surrender. The hedgehog tried to break free, but Krugg tightened his grip. “Hold still, if don’t want to lose your head!”

Lord Sagaxus stepped forward. His fur and tunic were covered with blood, and he had to lean on his battle-axe to stand upright, but his voice was as firm and unshaken as ever. “What do you want, vermin?”

Krugg grinned his teeth. He was in full control of the situation once more! “I want me and my crew out of here – alive’n’safe, or you’ll be able to play ball with this spikehog’s head!”

“Leave our friend alone and never let me catch sight of you again, for next time you won’t be so lucky, fox.”

“No!” Broom stepped between his friends and corsairs. “You can’t let this murderer go like that! Lord, there were more then threescore squirrels living on Pineforest Isle. There are less then three dozens here, for Krugg killed all too old, young and weak to be slaves!”

Sagax put his heavy paw on the squirrel’s shoulder. “I know how you feel, but a creature’s life is a too high price to pay for revenge.”

“I’m going to pay with my own life for it.” Broom turned to the fox Captain. “You, vermin! I challenge you to a duel to death. Just you’n’me, nobeast would intervene. If you win, you an’ you corsairs leave the mountain safe. And if I win…”

“You ain’t in condition to trade, tree-hopper,” growled Krugg.

“Then you’re a white-livered coward who should have been born a rabbit. No, even a rabbit can fight when cornered, and you were made Captain for killing defenseless!”

Corsair’s eyes shone with anger, his sense suppressed by his arrogance. “Give me weapon, and I’ll shut you up forever!”

Broom willingly pulled out his short twin swords that Kvalla recently gave him, but Sagaxus held him back. “You’ll have a little chance against such a skilled and strong fighter. I’ll fight this battle instead of you.”

“It’s a too big service to ask you. And you’re wounded.”

Badger Lord looked down on his wounds as if he’d just noticed them. “I’ll have them bandaged. Besides, I’m stronger then you and have more experience. It’s my battle too.”

“Don’t make my whiskers laugh, sah!” Bescarum nudged his old friend carefully. “I’ll come’n’battle that bally blinkin’ slysnout, wot!”

“I’m old, but still strong enough to fight one more battle,” Hightor interrupted.

Lord Sagaxus shook his head. “I’m the Badger Lord of Salamandastron. It’s my duty to defend otherbeasts. I’ll fight this duel.”

“But I won’t!” Krugg raised his voice, still holding Chestnut hostage. “I ain’t fighting that madbeast!”

“Afraid to lose over a half-dead stripedog?” Sagaxus suggested with a scornful smile.

The big fox snorted, his fear gone. “Give me weapon, and I’ll finish what my crew has begun!”

Chapter 10

In a quarter of hour, Sagaxus stepped in the main hall, his wounds bandaged. Kvalla approached the fox Captain, handing him a big spear. “Here, firm’n’solid. No cheating!”

But Krugg Bloodpike hesitated to take the weapon. The look of Lord Sagaxus reminded him how dangerous that beast could be. “An’ what’s a guarantee you ain’t skewer me with arrows as soon as I let the hedgepig go?”

“I give you my word of Badger Lord, word of honest creature,” Sagax replied. “I promise, nobeast will touch you but me.”

Krugg tilted his head, as if thinking, and, throwing off Chestnut, grabbed the spear and lunged himself into attack.

Clang! The axe-blade and the spearhead met. Both beasts bore down, trying to force each other’s weapon to the floor. Sagax gritted his teeth and held, the muscles in his aching paws screaming. Feeling his strength slowly leaving him, the badger broke away, causing Krugg to lose his balance. Without losing a second, Badger Lord darted forward, and the tip of his axe sank deep into Krugg’s right side.

With a yell of fury, the fox rained down a whole hail of blows, his eyes wide and crazy. Sagaxus whirled his axe, parrying the blows. Most of them were disordered and impetuous, thus easy to fend off, but some of them got him in his shoulder and chest. Finally, Sagax struck the spear away and slid his own weapon straight toward Krugg’s heart. Corsair stepped back hurriedly, and Sagaxus lunged back before he went off-balance.

Two enemies circled each other, watching for an opening they could use. They exchanged few more blows, but none of them was winning… till Lord Sagaxus slipped on blood dripped onto the floor from their wounds. In his haste to restore the balance, the badger stumbled, falling flat on his back.

Krugg was over him less then in a moment. Crash! Sagaxus tried to shield himself with his axe as corsair dealt a mighty blow that shattered the axe-shaft and notched the spearhead. With the second blow, Krugg thrust the spear into the badger’s throat.

“SAGAX!!!” Bescarum darted to his life-long friend; fury and fear could be read on his face.

Hightor barely managed to held him back, grabbing the struggling and kicking hare by paws. “My son gave his word, and we should hold it,” he said, his rough voice trembling. Then he turned to Krugg, “You’ve won the battle, vermin. Go away.”

Instead, the fox Captain stepped closer to his defeated adversary and raised his spear, snarling with evil grin. “Hah, you’ve said ‘duel to death’, so…”

All the swords, sabers, javelins and spears were aimed at him in a moment, and the air was fill with angry shouts, Scarum’s voice overwhelmed them all, “Let me go, stinky stripedog, I’ll rip that scum into pieces with my bare paws, I didn’t gave any flippin’ promises, wot wot!!”

Grawn and Broom had to help Hightor to struggle the enraged hare down, while Merola stepped out of the crowd. “Leave my son alone and disappear, fox, or you’ll regret my son hadn’t killed you!”

Krugg backed away hastily, for the badgerwife’s unbridled and at the same time ice-cold fury was greater then he had ever seen.

“Lord Sagaxus said you can leave the mountain unharmed, but he didn’t say all your crimes would remain unpunished”, Merola continued. “We give you time before dawn. That’s fair. But as soon as the first sunbeam touch the sky, Long Patrol would be on your tracks.”

Her last words hung in the air, for the fox and his subordinates left Salamandastron with all speed they could master.

“Sagax!!!” Scarum finally break loose from Hightor's grip and fell on his knees before his friend. “Sagax!!!”

The big badger’s eyes were wide open, but his chest barely moved. The blood trickled from his lips, and the blood run from his throat, forming a pool on the stone floor.

“Sagaxus, Sagax, my dear boy!” Merola seized her son’s paw. The iron Badger Lady had gone; there were just old badgermum weeping over her son.

“We need healers, quick!” cried Hightor, one of the few creatures remaining calm and collected, though his voice was about to crack, and his cheeks were damp.

Myrra, Kvalla and some others bent over Sagaxus, trying to stop bleeding with cotton and bandage his throat, but the wound was too severe. Everybeast felt it, and yet everybeast was afraid to admit it: Lord Sagaxus had one paw in the Dark Forest.

The world reeled before Sagaxus’ eyes, covering with white shiny haze. He saw his best friend Scarum, his parents, his old and new friends, and couldn’t help smiling. He had a good life. He defended the weak, protected both young and old and always was ready to guard the right. On his life path, he had lost many, but he had found more then he lost. He hadn’t any more time to do deeds he could have done, but he still did a great of things. He knew very well that he would die soon, very soon. And he wasn’t afraid of it. After all, dying that young not so bad if you had a good life.

Sagaxus looked over his friends gathering around him, and saw tears running down everybeast’s cheeks. Why were they crying? Didn’t they know he would be waiting for them to join him as long as it would take? Sagax didn’t want his friends to be unhappy. With the last strain, Badger Lord whispered, “Don’t cry…”

Sagaxus from Salamandastron, fond son and true friend, passed away smiling.

Out of Salamandastron, four corsairs were making their way through the dunes.

“Why-why, ain’t it brave Cap’n Krugg and his glorious crew? What’ve you done so great to keep those four lives of yours?”

Krugg raised his head and looked at Bulot Zig and his Juska that surrounded them. “I’ve killed the great stripedog Lord!”

All Juska gasped with terror, and even Bulot looked surprised before he pulled himself together and continued in a derisive tone, “Ah, I made a mistake. You didn’t keep those four lives of yours, for now that fighting hares will get you at the other end of the world.”

“You’re right,” much to everybeast’s surprise, agreed Krugg. “We shouldn’t have attacked that mountain. Now those hares won’t stop till they have our dead bodies. It’s impossible to stay here any longer, but we can survive if we join our forces. Bulot, you have more then fifty strong warriors, and I have a ship and only I can steer it. You will still have your share of loot if you join Lord Deathtrap, and when Redwall fall, he’ll conquer the badger mountain!”

“Hmm. It’s very convincing,” nodded the rat chieftain. “But you made a slip in your great speech. It’s your dead body hares want, not ours.”

Bulot’s paw rose so fast that nobeast saw a dagger flying. Whirr! The short wide blade thrust Krugg right in his throat. The fox Captain coughed slightly and grabbed the dagger, as if trying to pull it back, then dropped dead on the sand.

“Typical corsair,” snorted Bulot. “Meddles in matters that don't concern him, makes a mess of everything and thinks we would keep helping him. Arrgh, I had enough of this. No more corsairs! Now you,” Bulot turned his face to the remaining corsairs. They stepped back in fear, but other Juska pushed them to their leader. “What about you, hm?”

Lugear was the first to find right answer. “Cap’n… er, sir… er, chieftain, we want to join Juskazig clan.”

“Good!” Bulot smiled – neither grinned nor smirked, but gave a pleased smile. “You’re cleverer then your Cap’n! Come on, we’ll make a proper Juska of you three!”

Grawn let his head fall into his paws. The previous night and the following day seemed like one long nightmare for him. Corsairs attack, the duel, Sagaxus’ death… Grawn tried to occupy himself with routine duties like helping the wounded or standing on guard, but nothing could distract him from the recent events. Even Longstep’s news about the fox’s death didn’t help. Then there was long funeral in the ancient tomb where other long dead Badger Lords were buried…

There was a light knock at the door. “Grawn?” Hightor came in and sat near young badger. “I… I know it’s a stupid question, but still… how are you?”

“Bad,” sighed Grawn without looking at his companion. “I feel like I had lost my parents for a second time. Lord Sagaxus saved me, but I did nothing to save him! I just let him die! I didn’t like the very idea of duel, and yet I hadn’t even tried to talk him out of this!”

“You know, Broom also blames himself for challenging that corsair Captain in the first place. And Chestnut just can’t forgive himself for letting the enemy to capture him. And me…” Hightor’s voice stumbled. He looked like just a one day made him ten seasons older. “It’s me who should have fought that battle! It’s me who should have lain in that stone tomb – me, not Sagax!” The old badger stayed silent for a while, then continued. “Well, I must have a serious talk with you. Both Longstep and Broom agrees that a mixed patrol of hares and Pinesquirrels and other beasts should depart for Redwall tomorrow. We’d better hurry – that weasel scum can already be in Mossflower.”

“And so?..” Grawn looked up at the former Badger Lord. Why he is telling me this?

“Grawn, we want you to lead the Patrol… as the new Badger Lord.”

“Wh-what?! Why – why me?” mumbled Grawn. “I’m not a warrior! I can’t lead Long Patrol in battle, I can't even fight well!”

“Can’t you? I saw you handling bow and arrows at the Spring Archery Competition.”

“Competition, not battle! An’ – an’ there are lots of more experienced warriors – like Colonel Bescarum, say…”

Hightor shook his head. “Scarum… is still in the tomb. He can’t get over Sagax’s death that fast… and I afraid won’t be able to do it at least for a month… like my poor wife… and me. Pains to admit it, but I’m too old to lead the Patrol again. My paws full of aches since I broke that pike last night, and it’s no good… Hares need a Badger Lord, Grawn. The one to lead them, the one to unite them, the one they can rely on… And you are the only one who can help now.”

Grawn swallowed hard. He would come and help to defend Redwall with no hesitation, but to become a Badger Lord… It was too great responsibility for him. And still… he couldn’t just leave his friends without support.

“I… I will lead the hares… if Longstep and other officers will help me…”

Much to his embarrassment, Hightor got up and bowed to him. “Then I greet you, Lord Grawn Woodsmith!”

Freedom tightened her grip on the paw-rails as Deathtrap soared up on a big wave. Her joy of approaching to the land was overshadowed by the fact that the ship headed straight into a large group of enormous rocks rising near the shore.

"Take ‘er in steady! Half-speed ahead!” cried Captain Greywhisker steering the ship.

He’s going to kill us all, thought Dom, feeling sick from the constant sways.

“He is not,” said somebeast behind her back. Realizing that she said her thoughts aloud, the young mousemaid turned round to see Maple. The squirrel was calm and easy – as he always was. “Shamra says Greywhisker is wise and experienced Captain. There’s nothing to worry about while he’s in charge of the ship.”

“I’d never thought I say it, but hope Shamra is right,” sighed Freedom. After all, at least we ain’t chained to oars. One of the few good things on Deathtrap was the absence of any slaves except for Dom and Maple, because Darm took more vermin instead, and now most of the corsair crew sat at the rowlocks.

"Get ready to push 'er off 'n take 'er 'round, mates! Now!"

A big group of vermin hurried to the boards, carrying oars and long poles, ready to fend the rocks off. Amina roughly pushed two slaves aside. “Off my way, lazypaws!”

Dom and Maple stepped closer to the mast and grasped it, for now the swells were high.

“How can we help?” asked Maple politely.

“Just don’t get under my paws, lame-brains!”

The ship slowly turned round, and Freedom saw where they headed – right into a narrow passage between the rocks. As Deathtrap came closer, corsairs fend the rock off by pushing against it with oars and long poles. Dom held her breath for a moment, afraid the ship would crash into high pinnacles, but she passed through into some kind of a bay shielded from wind and waves and hidden from sight with the same stones that nearly killed them. Five more ships were at an anchor here.

“Make ready to tie up, for'ard!”

The moment they were near a flat terrace, some vermin whirled weighted lines. The strong slender ropes snaked out and up, nooses clasped round the carved stone pillars. Deathtrap was secured safely, and bobbed up and down alongside the rocks, with the slack lines allowing her to ride easily on the swells.

“Wish I could steer ship like that,” murmured Maple.

“And I wish I could set my paw on a land once more,” whispered Dom.

“Then we’d better come’n’help our masters down off the ship. Don’t know about Nabon, but Shamra surely dock my tail if I’m late to obey!”

Freedom frowned. She just couldn’t comprehend the relationship between Maple and Shamra. Her friend often showed up with a blackeye or puff ear, and yet he kept insisting that Shamra was neither evil nor cruel, but just ill-tempered, intolerant and unruly. Luckily for Dom, Nabon was different – he just left his slave alone most of the time. He was almost… no, surely not a friend – he was a weasel, after all! – but at least not like his farther and sister.

A small group of vermin was waiting on the terrace. A middle-sized sinewy ferret openly grinned as Greywhisker came down the shore. “Haha, you’re getting old, raggy-pelt. It got you too long to get here!”

The pine martin tried to give the ferret a death glance, but failed because he couldn’t help smiling. “I’m older then you, dirtyface, but I still have strength enough to toss you in the sea!”

“Tut-tut, my granny in her eighty seasons are faster then you, slugpaws!”

“Slugpaws yourself, you slynose!”

Darm Deathtrap coughed down, and two vermin, who were about to give each other a friendly trash, turned to face him.

“Make your report, Captain Catcher,” ordered Lord of the Seas.

“Yes, sir,” bowed the ferret. “The crews stand camp in a dark elm grove, no woodlanders are here. Tamant regularly sends Ragfeathers to spy on Redwall without them noticing, and nothing changed anymore. And Captain Krugg still hadn’t arrived, sir.”

“Strange. He should have been here long ago. But I’ll deal with him later. Now we all march to Redwall – unseen and unheard, everybeast!”

“We know the safe way here,” added Captain Catcher. “Woodlanders don’t know about it, and it takes just a few days.”

One by one, corsairs followed Catcher and Darm, carrying weapon, tents, different tools and utensils and other possessions necessary for making camp. Shamra purposely let herself lag behind to walk near Greywhisker in the middle of column. Her brother, vice versa, hurried to keep pace with Darm. “Farther, will you make me and Shamra Captains when we get to Redwall?”

“And do you want me to?”

“Yes! Well… I don’t want to be an ordinary crewbeast – it isn’t proper for your son, right?”

“Hmm… At least one of my children shows some ambition. You will be a Captain – when you prove you’re worthy to be one. First I should test you strength, courage and loyalty.”

“I am worthy… I mean, I’ll do my beast to pass the test…”

Freedom followed Nabon, a big haversack of his possessions on her back. Every muscle in her body urged her to run – as fast as possible, as far as possible. But she didn’t need Maple’s reasonable advice to know that it wouldn’t do any use. They would get to Mossflower with vermin – and then she and Maple escape, by any cost.

Chapter 11

The second month of summer is not a season for a raging stormgale, but surely, the storm that broke over Mossflower Woods just forgot about it. All the night the wind keened and the rain battered, and next morning Redwall Abbey looked like it got right into the middle of a maelstrom. The orchard turned into a mess of blown twigs, knocked fruits and broken branches, but the biggest damage was done to an extremely old thick ash tree, which was almost split in two, a half of the trunk by some miracle hung over the earth without falling.

Next morning all Abbeydwellers were busy repairing the damage, with the task of bringing the broken tree down being done by a combined crew of moles, otters and squirrels. Dibbuns tried to be as useful as possible and, of course, caused most of the troubles.

“Eric, Winnie, you should be gathering these apples, not eating them!”

“Ripple, dear, leave that branch alone before you got full paws of splinters!”

“Cleve, get down here, ye fiend! Ye’re too small for climbing that bloomin’ tree, wot!”

A little squirrelbabe with fuzzy pelt climbed higher on the broken tree and stick tongue to an old fat harenurse. “Ha ho, try to catch me! Oouch!” Too busy teasing his nanny, Cleve didn’t look behind his back, and two strong paws firmly grabbed him.

“You shouldn’t talk like this to Memm Flackery,” scolded Triss as she put the Dibbun down. “She is worried about you.”

“Sorry,” peeped Cleve and turned to face the Abbey Warrior. “But I want to climb the tree! I’ve never climbed broken trees before!”

“Hohoho, bet you haven’t even seen trees split like that before!” laughed Gurdle Sprink who was sitting on an upturned wheelbarrow under an apple tree. Unlike his friends Skipper and Urrm, the old Cellarhog didn’t want to retire, though his assistant Toobles was doing almost all the work instead of him. “What do you think, Memm?”

The old harenurse shook her completely white head. “I think I won’t cope with these scoundrels alone, wot! Urrm, where are you?”

The former Foremole always was glad to help his friend with Dibbuns, but now he was busy explaining something to Ruggum. “Hurr, surry, Memm”, he said. “But Ruggum ask’d me to ‘elp him with dat tree…”

“Ye, Oi ain’t iks-… iks-perienced enough to brink dat tree dawn with no advice,” nodded Ruggum and touched his nose guiltily. “Surry.”

“I can help, I think,” intervened Abbes Bikkle. She raised her paws to get everybeast’s attention. “Well-well, little sirs’n’marms! I remember I promised to show Brockhall to you, righto? Who wants to come?”

“Yaaohoo-oo!” In a moment, Dibbuns were bouncing and dancing round the Abbey’s elders, waving their paws. But not all of them. Some of the babes began to wail immediately, crying they want to help with the tree, and some were obviously torn between these two opinions.

Memm Flackery closed her long ears. “Oh my, not all at once, ye little rascals! Listen, all of you can come to Brockhall – t’day ot t’morrow, as you want! Now, raise paws those who want to see that jolly Brockhall t’day – no, Ripple, one paw is enough! One, two… eight. And who wants to help here now and come to Brockhall t’morrow? One, two… ten…”

“Are you sure you cope with the rest of them, Memm?”

The harenurse sighed and looked at the Abbess as if she was still a Dibbun. “I handled ye’n’Ruggum, and these youngsters are angels compared to you two – well, may be except Cleve… an’ Winnie… an’…”

“Okey, okey,” Abbess Bikkle waved her paws peacefully. “But I need some help. Churk, will you…”

The otterwife gave one of her bright smiles. “You think I can miss an opportunity to visit Brockhall once more?”

Brockhall, the ancient home of badgers in Mossflower, was discovered by Redwallers fifteen seasons ago and, due to Abbeydwellers work and Churk studies of history, it was restored to the same state as it was during seasons of Martin the Warrior. As everybeast had agreed, the ancient place had been turned into some kind of museum where young and old could learn about the history of their lands.

Hearing his sister’s voice, Skipper Rumbol put down a pile of wood he was carrying. “Well, having one more otter in the group surely will help. And we can bring back some fresh watershrimp and good long watercress. Maybe some hotroot too, if we spot any. Hey, Simon, Olva, will you go?”

Two friends exchanged glances. “Aren’t we needed here?”

“You needed here?” Old Skipper flapped his rudder on the earth. “I need good hotroot soup for supper much more! And besides,” he gave them a wink, “it too cruel to make you young work with us old grumpy beasts! Go now!”

“Wait for a minute!” Triss Swordmaid came up to her apprentice, the Sword of Martin the Warrior in her paws. “Simon, I think you forgot something.”

“No, Triss, I didn’t… Wait, do you mean… No! It’s your sword!”

Triss smiled. “The sword belongs to Martin, not me. And today I trust you with it to defend our little ones.”

Simon shook his head in terror. “No, I can’t…just can’t take it! At least, while I didn’t get rid of Bloodwrath,” he added faintly. All the last month he couldn’t force himself to practice well – he was too afraid to do something wrong and unlash a monster inside of him.

“Simon, I can see very well you aren’t going to let Bloodwrath rule you,” seriously said Triss. “So lets say I appoint you to do my duties today. Who knows – may be Martin will give you some advice?”

Glad to hear his mentor’s approval, Simon saluted with the Sword of Martin. “I won’t let you down!”

We finally made it! thought Freedom as she entered corsair camp with Maple. Though she loathed vermin, she couldn’t help admiring their mastery in making camps. Scores of tents were scattered among the trees, camouflaged with leaves and branches, several small fireplaces put near them, but with no fire. Vermin either were hidden in tents or were sitting outside, cleaning weapons, fixing their possessions or just talking, but all at all they produced far smaller amount of noise then one could expect from so many beasts. Freedom had to admit that one could pass forty steps aside the camp and doesn’t notice it.

“Look, up here,” whispered Maple and nudged her lightly. Dom threw back her head and saw several platforms on the trees, with at least two archers on each. It won’t be easy to make off here, she though with regret. I’d better to come up with something, and soon!

Nabon gave her an opportunity as he ordered to bring some water to cook meal.

Dom slightly bowed her head. “Can I take Maple to help me, sir?”

“If my sister let him go.”

The mousemaid bowed once more, a plan began to form in her head. The only place where they could get water was a broad stream they crossed earlier. Dom was a good swimmer (that’s what usually happens if your parents are otters), but she was dubious if she could say the same about Maple. But the current was swift, so they had a good chance to escape.

Freedom finally spotted Maple in the crowd of vermin when strong claws grabbed her shoulder. “There are you, slave! You come to Lord with me!”

The mousemaid twisted her head and squinted to see her capturer. It was Tanhide, a large female stoat, one of Darm’s bodyguards. “But I didn’t break any rules!” Dom tried to protest. “I was about to…”

Tanhide shut her up with a rough clip. “I don’t care, mouse, you go to Lord! And it’s your luck Lord don’t want you to stain the scene with blood, or I’d teach you arguing with guards!”

The scene?… Carried away by the stoat, Freedom turned back to see Maple being captured just like she was. Minutes later she and Maple were shoved into Darm Deathtrap’s large tent, bound and gagged.

The corsair chieftain was dressing for a battle. He had already changed his vest and kilt for a long chainmail tunic and silver-plated armor, blue cloak draped about him. Darm hadn’t even looked at the slaves as his guards entered. “Leave the slaves here, I’ll deal with them,” he ordered putting on a pointed silver-plated helmet.

Freedom felt sick. Darm was speaking like they weren’t living creatures at all! That was awfully bad. They would be dead soon. But why? pondered the mousemaid. Darm surely couldn’t know I was going to escape! Or could he?..

With a faint tap, an ordinary-looking brown rat entered the tent. “Lord, I have urgent news.”

“Speak, Tamant.”

“The squirrel Abbess and the otter Skipper with three more otters and more then half-dozen of small fry left Redwall and now head south-east, to a place called Brockhall. There is a Warrior’s apprentice among them, the berserker otter I reported you on earlier.”

“All the adult beasts must die,” said Darm as if they were talking about picking flowers, not killing creatures. “The babes would make good hostages. Take fifty soldiers and leave immediately.”

Freedom gulped. Redwallers wouldn’t have a chance against so many corsairs! As if repeating her thoughts, Tanhide whispered to her companion, a female ferret that captured Maple, “Fifty soldiers to kill six creatures? Hmm, that’s a waste of force!”

Darm Deathtrap shifted his gaze on the stoat, and Tanhide lowered her head. “Not every day you have a chance to kill two of Abbeyleaders and a Warrior,” said the weasel Lord. “I want no slipups. That’s why you and Baffla will come with Tamant’s crew.” Two guards saluted him with no words, and Darm finally paid his attention to Dom and Maple. “Now it’s time to set the scene…”

The role of scene was played by a wide clearing away from the camp, with a large elm standing on the edge. Freedom and Maple were tied to that elm tightly, and Dom couldn’t even loosen ropes, no matter how much she twitched and jerked.

Maple hadn’t even tried to do anything, though he was frowning much more then usual. “Look, it’s Amina over here,” he moved his shoulder where the stoat Lieutenant leaned on a bow in a crowd of corsairs, who slowly gathered on the clearing.

Dom felt sorry her paws weren’t free to punch her friend. “We’re about to be… I don’t know what are we about to be, but it’s definitely not a pleasant thing, and you’re bothered with some vermin?”

“Hey, Amina was kinder to us than… Look, they’re coming!”

Vermin gave them way as Darm and his heirs entered the scene, scowling Shamra lagging behind, Nabon hurrying to get ahead of Darm. Then the young weasel stopped as abruptly as if he hit an invisible wall. He obviously hadn’t expected to see what he saw. “E-mm… Father… What’s going on? Why my servant is tied?”

“It’s the test you both should pass,” was the answer followed. “Kill your slave – and you’ll become a Captain.”

Astonished Nabon stood silent for a second, feeling everybeast’s eyes on him. “But... but I thought it’ll be some sort of battle… may be a duel…”

“That would have been too easy,” noted Darm. “It’s easy to kill in the battle, and it’s far easier to kill enemies. But to kill a creature that made you no evil, that served you well, that you got used to… Yes, that needs guts. It’s difficult, but once you’ve done with it, you are able to destroy anything standing between you and your goal.”

Nabon swallowed hard. “May be there is some other way…”

“There is no other way. Kill the slave and be my Captain – or you aren’t worthy being my heir and be an ordinary soldier instead.”

Nabon shifted his gaze from his farther to Dom, slowly drew a long dagger and stepped closer. Now Freedom was trying to tear herself away from ropes with all her strength, but still with no success. At first the mousemaid was more then determined not to let vermin enjoy her cry, but as her master was reluctantly coming up to her, her spirit gave way to her sense. “Nabon, you know very well, I didn’t do anything wrong to be killed just because! You don’t want to do it – then don’t!”

Slowly, but firmly the young weasel shook his head. “Sorry, Dom,” he whispered. “But I want to be a Captain more than I don’t want to kill you.”

“Phh! Don’t make me wait, bratter,” Shamra, who was staying silent all the time earlier, shouldered Nabon aside and tore the dagger out of him. “If you have no backbone to kill a slave, let me do it! Ha, I’ve been dreaming about getting rid of that poor excuse of a bushtail for a month!”

Chapter 12

“Here it is – Brockhall!”

A loud ‘wow’ breathed out of Dibbuns’ mouths. They were sure they had just seen the biggest, the oldest and the most impressive oak ever – and it was close to the truth. The tree heaved its boughs high into the sky, so thick that only half-dozen badgers holding paws could embrace its trunk. There were not a single leaf or bud on its bare gnarled branches, what made the oak look like an ancient creature with its paws risen.

The silence was broken by Cleve’s excited voice, “I wonna climb the tree!”

“Afraid you can’t,” said Abbess Bikkle with a smile. “This oak has been standing here before Redwall was built – imagine how old it is? It’s long dead now, nothing but a tree skeleton here. The branches will break even under such a light Dibbun as you!”

The squirrelbabe nodded with a sigh, and Simon decided to cheer him up. “Try to climb my back instead, little warrior!” he said as he put Cleve on his shoulders. Simon wore the Sword of Martin across his back, and Cleve immediately clutched its red pommel stone, happy again.

Churk opened a small door in the trunk and lit two lanterns that hang inside. “Common, I’ll tell you the history of this place. Simon, Olva, look after Dibbuns, we don’t want anybeast to get lost!” As all Redwallers entered the gloomy passage inside, the Abbey Recorder pointed at the carvings on the walls. “Look, they were made by Lady Sable Brock, one of the first rulers of Brockhall…”

Simon soon found himself occupied with the story, and only some time after noticed there were no more extra-weight on his shoulders. “Cleve?.. Cleve! Where’s Cleve?”

Bikkle raised her lantern higher – there were only seven Dibbuns with them. “He must have gone to climb the oak!”

“I’ll get him!” Simon was closest to the exit, and he rushed away from Brockhall as if he was chased by wolves. When he went out, Cleve had already climbed on the lowest tree branch.

“Look, it ain’t break!” At that very moment, the branch broke, and the squirrelbabe plummeted down with a short ‘eep’.

“Krrreeeeegaaaaah!” A cloud of black feathers dived from the sky, and Cleve cried again as he was caught by a giant hawk.

Dibbun’s cry for help waked something inside Simon, and a fire of rage blazed up in his chest. “Aaaar-rraaagh!” The young otter jumped for the hawk with his teeth and claws bare, the weight of his body hit the bird in mid-flight, and both creatures fell on the earth, Simon atop his enemy, biting and clawing and trying to reach the hawk’s throat.

“Simon, stop! I order it!” The cold liquid sloshed in his face, and Simon backed away, tossing his head to shake off drops of mint tea from his whiskers. Bloodwrath slowly faded away, and he could see the Abbess standing between him and the hawk. The bird was squatting, his tattered feathers bristled, his claws clenching. Bikkle held her paws high as a sign of peace. “You are Truvo Blackhawk, right? I remember you, our Infirmary Keepers treated your dislocated wing two seasons ago. We are peaceful creatures, there’s no need to fight. What happened here?”

“Gaah!” shrieked the hawk. “I was trying to save your nestling from falling when that crazy riverdog attacked me!”

Simon dropped his head in shame, his conscience was giving him more pain then a wound on his shoulder left by the carved beak. Now he recognized the hawk. What he had feared most happened: he let Bloodwrath overcome him and attacked a friend. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “I was confused. I thought you was attacking a Dibbun.”

Truvo ruffled his plumage. “Kraah, I came here not to snatch your useless whining maggot, maddog!”

‘Useless whining maggot’ had already got over with his fear and now was tugging Truvo’s tail. “Mr. Hawk, gimme a ride, pleeease, I wonna fly!”

Truvo stared at the annoying squirrelbabe as hawks alone can stare, and Olva hurried to take Cleve away. “Cleve, it’s impolite to pester our friend like that.”

“Let me add my apologies to Simon’s,” Bikkle bowed her head to the fierce bird. “We should thank you for helping our Dibbun.”

“Hmm. Then my two-season old debt for your help is paid off.” Truvo turned away and flapped his wings, preparing to leave.

“Wait, sir!” cried Olva. “You said you came here not to help Cleve. Then, what did you come for?”

“Kreeh, there’re fifty vermin on your tracks. I’ve heard them say they will kill you and take you nestlings hostages. Krreegaah, dirty cowards! They are brave enough to ravage nests and kill nestlings, but not brave enough to face a warrior like me! Krrreee, white-feathered, stinky-beaked, pale-hearted…”

“Okay, okay, we got the point!” interrupted Rumbol. “I mean, thank you, but we should hurry, mates! We can’t go back the same way, but…”

“…But we can use Brockhall’s secret entrance to escape!” concluded Churk, finishing her brother’s thought. “Me and Abbess know it best, so we’ll show the way. Rumbol, Simon, watch our backs. Olva, try to cover the tracks. And carry all the Dibbuns, everybeast, we can’t lose any more time!”

“Sure, sis!” Rumbol saluted with his rudder.

Simon’s little sister Ripple clutched to her brother’ hind paw. “Bad beasties comin’?”

Simon held her tightly. “Yes, but don’t worry, I won’t let them harm you!”

With the dagger in her paw and a grin on her face, Shamra was coming to the slaves. Freedom was trying to break free with no effect, her teeth clenched. It was no use to ask for mercy, and the mousemaid knew it.

Slash! With quick move of the dagger ropes bound Dom and Maple were cut. But instead of finishing off slaves that slumped to the ground, Shamra turned to her father. “Remember what I’ve said you a month ago, oldfur? It’s my will to decide if my slave lives or not, not yours! And I say – these two live!”

Instead of losing his temper, Darm inquired, “Don’t you want to be a Captain?”

“I do. But I don’t want to be your Captain and obey you for the rest of my life. I’m not going to dance to your piping any more. I’ve got enough of you and your wars and you conquests. I’m leaving!”

While everybeast’s eyes were fixed on warlord’s daughter, Freedom and Maple got to their paws and backed to the forest edge. However, under shadows of elms they both stopped, too curious to leave.

Now Nabon, still shocked, looked at his sister almost pleadingly. “But Shamra! You – you shouldn’t leave! How…”

“Poor fool brother,” sniffed Shamra. “You still think Deathtrap will share his power with you? Even if you become a Captain, you’ll always be nothing but a puppet in his paws! Come with me – you still have a chance to leave that madbeast!”

“No!” cried Nabon. “You – you are lying! No!”

“I was wrong to call you my heir,” growled Darm, and his voice gave Freedom shivers. “I’ve sensed you’ll never be a great warleader like me!”

Shamra laughed madly. “Didn’t you realize, Yellowbelly? I’m happy I’ll never be a monster like you! I’m ashamed I have your blood in my veins! Now, what would you do? Kill me like you’ve killed my mother? If that, why don’t you just order to – FIRE!”

Z-zip! S-shh! Whi-ip!

All Freedom saw next was a blurry movement behind Darm’s back, and then vermin just stumbled down on the earth with arrows in their bodies and cut wounds. Most of the corsairs made the same mistake as Dom did – they were too occupied with the scene before them that they hardly noticed anything suspicious until it was too late. About a dozen of vermin cut through their crewmates’ line and now stood near Shamra, their weapon at ready.

Amina stood next to the weaselmaid, an arrow notched to her bow aimed at Darm. Shamra waved her paw to Lord of the Seas. “Don’t hope your armor will save you, Amina is aiming for eyes, so don’t try to follow me!” she cried while backing away with her supporters, and Dom and Maple also moved back not to get under their paws.

“You won’t get out of this so easy,” promised Darm. “You are already dead. I’ll get you even if the earth would swallow you up.”

Shamra didn’t response. At the very edge of the clearing, the small group of vermin finally turned and ran to the forest, and soon it turned out that Freedom and Maple were running with them. The mousemaid was too busy running to be surprised when Amina didn’t let stumbled Maple fall. “Come on, don’t slow us down!”

After crossing a small spinney, they ran right into a shallow stream and jumped into it with a splash. Even in this summer month, the water was icy cold, and Dom had to hold her breath when they went downstream.

The corsairs headed to an old tree leaning over the water. Shamra was the first to jump on the trunk and, digging her claws deep in the bark, climbed up, disappearing among the branches. One after another, vermin followed her, but at her turn Freedom could only gave a jump and try to grab the branches. “I – I can’t climb trees!” Next moment two strong rats grabbed her under the paws and literally dragged her upward. The mousemaid immediately clutched to the trunk: looking down made her sick.

“Now sh-hh!” The hush was needless. Now they could hear angry shouts of corsairs following them, and everybeast fell silent, some even held their breath. Their pursuers were examining the stream, and Dom rejoiced that they lost the trail. She could only hope none of them noticed scratched treebark and movement among the branches. Finally, corsairs left the stream and disappeared in the forest.

Freedom sighed with relief. They were free at last, free… but only due to Shamra. The last thing she expected from that bad-tempered brat was to save them… and the last thing she expected from Nabon was trying to kill her. Dom glanced at the weaselmaid. She may dislike her, but now she owed her her life.

It wasn’t easy to say these words, but Dom whispered, “Th-thank you, Shamra… you saved me and Maple.”

“Don’t you think I cared about you,” spat Shamra. “I just didn’t want to follow orders of that poor excuse of a weasel, and then you two could be caught and give us away.”

“And what are you going to do now?” asked Maple in low voice. “Wait for Captain Greywhisker?”

Shamra got closer to her former slave and twitched his ear. “So you were eavesdropping, bushtail!”

“Leave him alone!” hissed Freedom. She won’t let anybeast abuse her friend anymore!

“I’m okay,” reassured her Maple, moving aside from the weaselmaid. “And I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was looking and listening carefully. And I saw you, marm Shamra, and you, Lieutenant Amina, and Captain Greywhisker, and some others, talking more often then other crewbeasts. So I thought you are plotting something…”

“Why, he is an observant chap, noticing what we managed to hide from spies!” Amina shook her head. “We need the one like him in our crew!”

Shamra rolled her eyes. “Put up with that stupid furball again? No, thanks!”

“And we are not going to put up with you, to begin with!” argued Dom.

“Fine. Then go wherever you want… but don’t get on my way anymore!” said Shamra.

“P-ss! Shamra?” Like a silent lightning, Greywhisker climbed the tree and was on a branch next to the weaselmaid in a second. “I gathered a score of our followers, they’re waiting over there, but we must hurry!”

“Good. What about those sent after us? And Deathtrap?”

“We’re lucky that Darm sent Tamant and his best trackers after Abbeyleaders. And Darm took his army to Redwall, saying he’ll attack it leaderless and deal with you later. But there is bad news: one of ours was wounded during your escape… and Clyde got him before me.”

“Stinky foul dirty…” Shamra lowered her voice and uttered more curses. “That hangbeast will make poor creature say everything he does and doesn't know!”

“That’s it. So I immediately came here. Hellteeth, I didn’t even have time to talk to my old buddy Catcher! Sure he’d joined us…”

“No time to wait for him! The faster we get to the ships and leave this country…”

“Are we going to Terramort?” interrupted Amina. “Drooptail and Houk are loyal to Darm, but Viro Strongclaw, Captain of soldiers, can support you…”

“That prideful arrogant strutter? ‘Backstabber’, that’s what even a fool can read in his face,” Sharma made a sour muzzle. “We won’t sail to Terramort, at least not before I recruit a good full crew, Amina, no matter how you miss your fiancé.”

Amina frowned and crossed her paws on her chest, miraculously managing not to fall from the branch. “Broknose ain’t my fiancé!”

“Wherever. Now, it’s time to go!” One after another, vermin silently slid down the earth and disappeared in the forest till there were only Freedom and Maple on the tree.

Two friends were silent for a moment, then Dom asked in offended tone, “So, all that time you knew Shamra was plotting something, and said me nothing?”

Maple tried to avoid her gaze. “S-sorry, I just was afraid to. I mean, there were spies, and it was dangerous, and I could give everybeast away, and…”

“Well, I see.” The mousemaid nodded, her offense gone. “Now, when we’re finally in Mossflower and we’re finally free, we must go to that – Brockhall, right? – and help Redwallers!” She began to go down the branches only to feel giddy. “…as soon as I manage to get down.”

Maple didn’t seem to be bothered by the height. “Why to get down? We can travel from tree to tree!”

“Looks like you forgot one little thing, Maple: I’m a mouse, not a squirrel. I can’t climb trees and jump from branch to branch. I just can’t!”

“But it’s faster, and there’re still Darm’s corsairs lurking down in the forest. Look, I’ll show you.” The squirrel went down on all fours and walked over a branch. “Grip the branch with all your paws, use your tail to balance yourself. Don’t be afraid if the branch bent under your weight, it’ll hold. Oh, did I mentioned not looking down?”

At that very moment, Dom looked down. “Can I close my eyes?”

“No. Try to concentrate on something. Think… I know! Think about Redwall! You won’t help the Abbey if you fall to death, right?” Surprisingly, it helped, and Maple went on to the next lesson. “Now grab that upper branch, swing yourself back and forth and let the branch carry you to this bough – it’s firm enough to hold me, see? Try it yourself!”

Freedom clenched her teeth and grabbed the branch. For few terrible moments her footpaws hung in the air unsupported, and then they softly hit the bough. “I did it!”

“Aye, you did it,” agreed Maple. “But remember, vermin left earlier then we did, so let’s hurry!”

Chapter 13

Constantly turning to watch their backs, Redwallers hurried to cross Brockhall’s spacious rooms. Simon kept straining his ears in case their followers catch up with them. Wait, is it a sound of footfalls, or my ears deceiving me? Then why it’s in front of us, not behind?

Abbess Bikkle, having better hearing then small-eared otters, stopped and raised her paw. “Beasts in the next passage,” she whispered. “More then two of them.”

Skipper Rumbol nodded to his son, and they both silently handed Dibbuns they carried to Olva and Churk. Simon unsheathed the Sword of Martin, and Rumbol loaded his sling. Without uttering a word, they came to the next passage.

“Whoo’s dere, Skippa?” cried one of the Dibbuns before the others could stop his mouth.

“Redwaaaall!” Without wasting any more time, otters leaped forward, their weapon at ready. Simon seized the sword’s hilt so tight that his claws ached. He won’t lose his head! He won’t!

The otters landed in front of small group of moles, which backed away in terror. “Whoa! Dun’t kill us, aurr!”

“Yeep! We didn’t knuw it’s yer ‘ouse, zurr!”

When Rumbol saw who stalked his friends, he immediately put down his sling. “Sorry we frightened you, friends, we thought it was vermin. We are from Redwall Abbey.” He quickly introduced himself and his companions, who now joined him.

One of the moles, a short male with glossy black pelt, stepped forward and touched his nose in a traditional mole gesture. “Burr, we’re Claypaws, koind zurrs. Oi’m Roben Claypaw, dese’re moi brother Rupet, moi parents Rolf’n’Marfa, moi wife Deelma an’ our likkle ones, Renee’n’Allie. We came to Mossflauwer from west to settle ‘ere, an’ found dis ‘uose few days ago. Dere wein’t nobeast, so we stayed ‘ere. Is it yer ‘uose?”

Abbess Bikkle shook her head. “No, Brockhall doesn’t belong to anybeast. And it’s not safe here, there are vermin on our trail, and they surely won’t spare your family!”

Rolf Claypaw angrily rapped his walking cane on the stone floor. “Urr, rotten-harted vermint! I’ve dealt with dat scam when I was younger…”

Rupet touched his father’s paw. “Sure, Pa, but we’d better woit through it in our secret hoideout.”

“Which hideout?” asked Churk. “I’ve studied this place, but don’t remember anything like this!”

“Dat’s an empty chamber in nort rooms,” explained Roben. “Dat’s not our ‘ouse, so we stayed in dat chamber. Wery well hid, only moles will foind one. We all can hoide ‘ere.”

“Ah, a sanded-in passage!” remembered the otter Recorder. “Urrm said it’s too old to reconstruct. Is it big enough to hide us all?”

Moles nodded, but Skipper Rumbol shook his head. “Thanks, but we’d better give word to Redwall.”

“Wait. We can’t put our Dibbuns under such a risk,” said Bikkle with commanding notes in her voice. “We can’t run across Mossflower with vermin on our tail and little ones in our paws. Me and Dibbuns will stay with Claypaws.”

“But I ain’t wanna to stay!” cried Cleve. “I fight vermin, like Triss’n’Simon!”

“You are too small for a fight,” noted Skipper and went on arguing with Abbess. “Staying here is risky too! What if you are caught?”

“We’ve hid eivery trace ‘ere, an’ not a crack is between door an’ woll,” reassured them Roben. “Not an eartworm will foind it!”

“Look, Skipper, you’n’others are all otters. You can escape fastest by the water,” said Bikkle in such harsh tone Simon rarely heard from her. “If vermin catch up with you, me and Dibbuns will only slow you down. You should return to Redwall fastest. I’m the Abbess of Redwall, and your duty is to obey me. We’ll be alright.”

Rumbol frowned – he knew it’s useless to argue when the Abbes was that serious. “Right, but… take care of each other.”

When the sun climbed up the sky to its peak and began to go down, the great ash tree was chopped down, some of its branches and boughs already hewn off and a piece of its trunk cleaved. Triss put away her woodcutter axe and looked round with pride. “Good work, everybeast! I won’t be wrong to say we all deserved a big savory lunch!”

“Excellent!” Brandon, a young squirrel that was chopping off branches with Triss, jumped down of the fallen tree. “I’ll come to Friar Furrel and bring some treetop broth with Summer Salad, apple pie'n'meadowcream and strawberry cordial… may be some cheese… and blueberry tart…”

Other Redwallers were quick to add their favorite dishes to the list. “An’ deeper'n'ever pie, ho urr!”

“Hotroot soup, mate!”

“Bilberry pudding!”

Brandon waved his paws in a mock terror. “Right, I’ll just tell Furrel a gang of hungry beasts going to plunder her kitchens!”

“I think mint tea and a few oatscones with honey is enough for me,” said Triss when the laughter died out. “Can you bring them to the eastern walltop, Bran?”

Young squirrel nodded, and Triss asked Old Skipper. “Would you join me, friend?”

The aging otter sat among the molecrew and imitated mole accent, “Ho urr, Oi’d bees a mole t’day, an’ we moles nivver understand ‘ow ye squirrels so lurve heights. No zurr, Oi’ll stay on gud firm soil!”

The Abbey Warrior responded in the same fashion, “Burr, then Oi’ll wait t‘ll ye turn back to h’otter on the wall.”

When she was on the walltop, the squirrel spread the cloth and laid out the food. “Okay, if that riverdog doesn’t want to join me, at least I can enjoy a quiet break here!”

Nice warm weather, good food and rest after hard work had its effect on Triss, and soon she dozed off. She woke up when somebeast touched her paw. Triss opened her eyes and saw Martin the Warrior standing next to her. The celebrated hero of the past pointed his paw somewhere over Triss’ head. “Look, Trisscar Swordmaid, and beware!”

Triss realized she was sitting on the western walltop, not the eastern one, but it didn’t surprise her much. She looked across the western plains and the road and saw a cloud of dust rising over the road. It was rising higher and higher, and finally it blocked up sunlight, casting a dark shadow over the Abbey. “What’s that, Martin?” cried Triss.

Martin’s voice was firm and serious, and yet it gave her hope. “A darkness is coming, Trisscar, a darkness created by cruelty and evil. Redwallers will need all their strength and courage, all the fire burning in their hearts to banish that darkness. Stand firm, my friend.”

Triss opened her eyes – she woke up again, this time for real. She was relieved to see there were no darkness, but just a quiet summer forest lying before the wall. Then she saw a shadow moving in the underbrush. A rat! The squirrel warrior stared at the forest attentively and spotted even more vermin sneaking here.

“Vermin!” shouted Triss jumping on her footpaws. “Alarm! Vermin at the gates!”

Outside the Redwall walls, deep under the cover of thick bushes, Darm Deathtrap knitted his brow. “Kill the squirrel! And tell Catcher to attack!”

S-wishh! Triss’ cry was cut short when an arrow pierced her chest, and squirrel tumbled down the walltop to the ground.

“They killed Triss!” cried somebeast in despair.

Skipper was first to jump to his friend and bow over her. “She’s alive!” shouted he loud enough to outvoice other Abbeydwellers as he checked her pulse. “Call for sister Vernal! Others – arm yourselves, everybeast! We’ll deal with the vermin that wounded our Triss!”

Fleggen ran up the walltop before Old Skipper. “Logalogalog! Where’s that vermin?”

As if responding to his question, a warcry came from the north. “Death! Death! Deathtraaap!”

The shrew rushed to the northern walltop, but Skipper grabbed him by shoulder before he could go. “Wait! Vermin are coming from the north, but Triss was shot at the eastern walltop! It must be some kind of distraction! You stay here and watch over the walls!”

Fleggen tore himself free from the otter’s grip. “What?! I won’t stay aside while you fight vermin, riverdog!”

Skipper grabbed the young Guosim by his throat. “No time for silly squabbles! You stay here, shrew!”

Leaving Fleggen behind, Skipper made his way to the northern walltop and quickly looked over battlements. At least eighty vermin were almost under the Abbey walls. All Skipper had time to pick up with him were a sling and a pebble pouch, but even this simple weapon was deadly in old veteran’s paws. Three or four corsairs were knocked down lifeless with his clear shots before vermin return volley of arrows forced him to hide behind the battlements.

Down on the Abbey lawn Sister Vernal, Infirmary Keeper of Redwall, was treating Triss’ wounds carefully, commenting aloud for other Abbeydwellers, who considered it their duty to check on their Warrior before going to the wall. “She will live, she will… the wound not very deep, they missed the heart, though the lung may be caught in… and her hindpaw is broken by the fall… Wait, Turfee, where are you going?”

Her assistant, a young mouse named Turfee, ran up the wall stairs with healer’s pouch in one paw and an axe in another. “They need either healer or warrior up the walls, and I can be both! Redwaaall!”

Meanwhile, corsairs came close enough to throw metal hooks over the wall, but none of them managed to get high up the ropes, as Redwallers immediately cut them through. Then Ruggum’s molecrew made its way up the walltop, carrying baskets of the rubbish Redwallers cleaned before the lunch - blown twigs, broken branches, mixed earth and mud. Foremole and his crew hurtled the baskets over the parapet wall, knocking vermin down and causing confusion among corsairs. This and the increasing hail of arrows, stones and javelins finally made vermin retreat and disappear in the woods.

“Hurr-hurr-hurrey, we won!” chanted Ruggum happily.

Skipper was fast to bring him down the earth. “They retreated too easily. It cannot that simple, bet it!”

“Vermin! Attack from the south!” cried Fleggen from his post. “Logalogalogaloog!”

Skipper cursed into his whiskers. “To the southern walltop! Ruggum, stay here! Redwaaall!”

Outside the Redwall walls, deep under the cover of thick bushes, Darm Deathtrap smiled. Excellent! His plan finally snapped into action. He had corsairs enough just to succeed by dint of their numbers, but he didn’t want to waste his soldiers. Let Redwallers run from one walltop to the other while two of his crews attack in turn one after another, in charges short enough not to kill too many soldiers. Then, when Redwallers would be too exhausted… Redwall Abbey will become his!

One after another, small groups of corsairs had been coming back and reporting the results of their pursuit to Nabon. Though Darm’s son wasn’t left in charge of the camp, he was acting as if he was, because Captain Arrowfly was wounded during Shamra’s escape and now was treated by healers, and Captain Clyde was busy – judging by the shouts heard from his tent, he was questioning Shamra’s follower captured today. At least, Clyde alone called it ‘questioning’. All the others called it ‘torture’.

The news weren’t good. Shamra escaped, Captain Greywhisker disappeared together with a score of soldiers, and all the tracks of them were lost.

“Shall we stay in the camp, sir?”

Nabon hesitated before answering. His farther would have ordered something useful. Thinking about Darm, Nabon felt a prickle of resentment. Not only Darm didn’t make his son Captain – he left him in camp like a troublesome whelp! “It’s too dangerous, Nabon. You’ll have another chance to prove yourself.” He might have said this, but for Nabon it meant, “You’re too young and inexperienced and would ruin everything.”

Now, with Clyde’s Lieutenant waiting for his command, Nabon felt he had that very chance to prove himself. The young weasel tried to remember his father’s lessons, and it immediately sprang to his mind that Darm was always worried not to let other woodlanders interfere in his plans. If it’s a problem, I’ll remove it.

He looked down on a short wall-eyed ferret. “What’s your name? Badeye? You should know these woods and its inhabitants well, right? Then look what we are going to do…”

“Are you sure we didn’t miss that Brockhall?” asked Freedom as she stopped to catch her breath on a thick birch bough. “We’ve been heading south-east for ages!”

Maple shrugged. “How could I know? I don’t even know how that Brockhall looks like!”

“Yeek! Yahee! Aaaarr!” A loud shriek rose somewhere not far from two friends.

“Here!” Maple flashed among the branches like a red lightning, Dom barely keeping pace with him. Then the young squirrel stopped so abruptly that Dom almost crashed into him.

They were at the very edge of a large clearing with an ancient dead oak in the middle of it. Freedom eagerly looked down and felt giddy again – not because of the height, but because of the sight she saw. Large bunch of vermin was dragging four moles and a squirrelmaid out of entrance hidden in oak trunk, three rats carried a big sack full of tiny writhing crying creatures. Woodlanders tried to struggle despite being bound, but with no success.

Freedom instinctively moved forward, but Maple held her back. “Shh! There’re too many of them!” They ducked back into the cover of leaves, and Dom silently thanked seasons that her green dress and Maple’s dark blue shirt and breeches were unnoticeable among green and brown of tree crowns.

Meanwhile, under the oak Captain Tamant bowed over the squirrelmaid. “Think you can hide from Silentblade? Ha, I’m a better tracker than you think of me. Now, where are the otters, Bikkle? And don’t say you’d rather die then tell me. Your old molefriend had already made this mistake, and you know I won’t hesitate to… honor the request.”

The squirrelmaid kicked out at the rat with her tightly lashed footpaws, but Tamant easily dodged the blow. “Tanhide, Baffla! Take eight crewbeasts, I can’t waste time here! Question these ones, you may kill or maim some, but the babes should be unharmed, it’s the order from Lord! If they don’t tell you where the otters are – kill them. If they do – pass me the word… and kill them anyway.”

The corsairs silently disappeared in the oak dark entrance, and Dom grabbed Maple’s paw. “It’s ten of them now, we can cope with them!”

This time Maple didn’t argue. “I have an idea. I’ll distract vermin and lure them into the woods, and you will free the prisoners!”

Two friends shook paws, and while Freedom went down to the lowest branch, the squirrel boldly jumped on the upper branch where everybeast could see him.

“Take that, you spineless scumbags!” He picked a chestnut from the sprout and hurled it at the vermin; the nut hit Tanhide right between her ears. “In the bull’s eye! Right in the empty pan you call a head!”

Tanhide was more surprised then angry. “It’s a squirrel slave!”

“You made a right guess – strange for a beast with a pumpkin on her shoulders!” Maple mocked, throwing more chestnuts at the corsairs. “I didn’t expect this from such a stinky toad as you!” Some vermin fired a few arrows at him, but Maple easily hid himself in the thick leaves. “Nice try, but you’re too slow-witted and slow-pawed, Tanny!”

This time the stoat guard was literally shaking with rage. “Stonetooth, Brick, you watch over the prisoners! You all – catch this bushtail! I’ll bring his head to Lord myself!”

A laugh was heard from the wood. “Dream more, stoathide!”

Eight vermin disappeared among the trees, and Freedom frowned at two tough-looking foxes that guarded woodlanders. The first part of Maple’s plan worked right; now she had to think how to deal with the rest of it.

Chapter 14

Freedom knew she would never match two corsairs in combat. She didn’t ever have any weapon! She could go down and gather some stones, since she was not bad with sling back in Riftgard, but she was out of practice for many seasons. Besides, stones alone surely were not enough to knock down such big beasts as foxes. No, Dom needed something heavier…

It’ll work if I’m lucky, thought the mousemaid and threw a broken branch into the bushes under the tree. The foxes tensed as they heard the rustling, but didn’t move. Freedom hurled down another branch, this time a bigger one. Finally, one of the foxes – Stonetooth, as Dom had remembered, - gave his crewmate a sign to stay silent and carefully walked in the direction of the noise, his cutlass at ready.

The mousemaid held her breath when the big fox stepped under the tree. She waited till he was under the branch she was sitting on, then jumped down, landing right onto Stonetooth’s shoulders. Her weight and the force of her jump joined, knocking the fox down. The corsair fell onto the earth facedown, Freedom tumbled over his back. Stonetooth was half-stunned, but still tried to get up. Dom was faster. She grabbed the cutlass he dropped and whacked the fox over his head twice. He went limp, fully-stunned now.

“Alarm! Alarm!” Another fox rushed to her crying, though it was unknown whom he tried to alert. Dom jumped aside, and a speartip aimed at her throat sliced her shoulder. She still had cutlass in her paws, but she had neither strength nor skill to defeat Brick in fair fight. But she could outwit him. Dodging thrusts of spear, Freedom ran to the chestnut tree. Here she pretended to stumble and cried out aloud like in pain. Leaning on cutlass, she stood with her back to the tree trunk, as if unable to run.

Brick saw it and paused to take a better aim. “Ha, mouse. Not so fast now, eh?”

Thru-ush! Dom jumped aside, and corsair’s spear sank deep into the trunk. Brick tried to tug it out, but the spearhead was stuck. Freedom made a good use of the moment, and slashed the vermin with cutlass. The blade went deep into his side, and the fox fell on his knees from the blow. The wound was deep, but not fatal, and he turned to the mousemaid and stared at her with shock, as if asking, “Had you really just killed me?”

That look was unbearable, and Dom slashed him again – once, twice. One of the blows reached its goal, and Brick winced in agony and gulped, then sank on the earth, dead. Freedom dropped the cutlass. She hated vermin, and yet that look of a dying corsair made her fur stand on end.

I had to kill him, the mousemaid reminded herself. If I haven’t killed him, he would have killed me. Killed those woodlanders on the clearing. Killed the babies they captured. Killed a lot of creatures who can’t fight back.

That thought made her feel better, and she practically replaced the blood-stained cutlass with a short dagger from Brick’s belt – the cutlass was too heavy for the little mousemaid.

She hurried back to the clearing and freed the woodlanders, then untied the big sack, and a bunch of small babes ran to the adults crying. The squirrelmaid tried to hug them all at once and briefly nodded to Dom. “Thanks, friend. I’m Bikkle, Abbess of Redwall, and the sooner we get to the Abbey the better.”

Freedom silently wondered at such a young beast being an Abbess, but there where no time to wonder. “Are all of you here?”

The elderly molewife named Marfa shook her head, tears running down her cheeks. “Hurr, moi old Rolf stayed insoide dat ‘ouse, buhuhur.”

“Then I’ll bring him here!” Freedom turned to the oak, but Bikkle held her by sleeve.

Making sure Dibbuns can’t hear her, she whispered, “You can’t bring Rolf. He… corsairs killed him when they captured us.”

“Ooh, sorry,” sighed the mousemaid.

“Redwall is that way,” Abbess Bikkle pointed to the north. “Everybeast, try to carry the Dibbuns! Freedom, does your friend knows where to look for us?”

Dom was confused. They hadn’t thought it over. “No…”

“Then I’ll try to see him first,” said Bikkle as she climbed up a tree. Freedom took two small mouselets in her paws and headed north with the moles. They weren’t walking long when she heard rustles and cracks from the above.

“Your friend’s coming!” cried Bikkle. “Hey, we are here!”

Maple almost dropped down the earth, his paws shaking, his breath heavy and his eyes wide. “I- I lured them away! I left them in the woods, but they will head back soon!”

One of the mouselets Dom carried began to cry again, the other one tried to break free. “Lemme go, I kick stinky vermin!”

Bikkle gave them a strict glance. “You won’t fight anybeast, Winnie. Eric, stop crying, dear.” Then she turned back to Maple. “Where are the corsairs?”

He silently pointed north.

“No, anythink but not dere!” cried Deelma. But Freedom, as well as everybeast else, could already hear distant cries of vermin coming to them.

“We’ll take that way!” the Abbess waved her paw to the right. “Go now! Me and Maple will hold them for a while!”

Trying to stop Dibbuns from crying, moles and Dom came the way Bikkle pointed. Vermin were coming closer and closer, but as soon as they saw the runaways, a hail of small green and therefore very hard acorns pattered down their heads. Most of this little projectiles hit corsairs’ paws, making them yelp in pain and drop their weapons. By the time they picked them up, two squirrels had already joined their friends in running.

Soon the thick forest gave way to small bushy trees and patches of open earth covered with tall grass. Then the trees disappeared, and the soil became sloppy and muddy. It slowed the woodlanders down, as everybeast’s paws began to stick in the mud.

“Are you sure we are going the right way?” cried Maple, turning to see the Abbess.

“No! But we don’t have much choice!” The next step Bikkle sank down into the watery mud knee-deep. Maple instinctively jumped to help her, and immediately felt his footpaws sinking through the soil. Judging by scared shouts of the others, they also got into the same situation.

“Burr, no panic!” cried Rupet Claypaw. “Don’t move, it makes ye sink! Try to spread yer paws apat, it ‘elps ye float! Ho urr, we got roight into a swamp!”

The terror that gripped woodlanders had only grew when eight vermin came close, carefully standing off the slough.

“What do you think, Baffla?” grinned Tanhide. “Will we let these ragbags drown… or pull them out and kill as slowly as possible?”

Four otters were making their way through the forest, fast and silent. At first Olva was covering their traces, but soon she stopped doing it: it was taking time, and wasting time was the last thing they could afford.

“It’s Bluestream!” Rumbol pointed to a swift current at the clearing not far away. “It’ll take us almost to Abbey’s walls!”

“Good,” smiled Churk. “The faster- Ouch!” The otter Recorder stumbled over a rock and fell on all fours.

“I’ll help!” Simon immediately bent over her to help his aunt up. B-zzz! An arrow flew over Simon’s back, so close that he could feel the breeze it had raised on his fur.

“Run!” cried Skipper, and otters jumped away as more arrows poured the soil where they had stood seconds ago. Vermin were running to them from the forest, not hiding any more. Rumbol cast a quick glance at his sister, who was limping because of her fall. “Olva, take Churk to the stream! Me’n’Simon hold them back!”

Two otters attacked the corsairs with a fury the latter hadn’t expected. Two rats from the first line of vermin were knocked down with a thick tree bough Rumbol picked up earlier, and two more of them met the blade of Martin’s sword. Vermin stopped firing arrows, afraid to catch their crewmates in a cross-fire, but it didn’t make things easier, since corsairs outnumbered their enemies.

Rumbol was trying to fend off three vermin at once when he heard Olva’s cry. “Here, Rumbol! They are surrounding you!”

The otter chieftain punched a stoat in his face with his improvised club and winced as somebeast’s lance slashed his cheek. He briefly turned back and saw Olva and Churk in the water, trying to stop attacking corsairs with their slings. “Simon! To the water!”

But Simon hadn’t heard him. He was fighting. When the battle had began, he tried to take control over his anger, but with vermin attacking him it was too difficult, so he just fought with all his might. His fierce assault even made the enemies back away – not many vermin wished to die for their warlord.

Then somebeast grabbed his shoulder from behind. Simon automatically turned round, swinging his sword at shoulder height: a perfect move to behead his opponent. Then he heard a cry. A very familiar cry. Bloodwrath left him, and Simon saw his farther trying to close a deep gash in his shoulder with his paw. The sword almost fell from Simon’s paws when he realized what he had almost done.

“Behind you!” Rumbol grabbed his son with his good paw and literally dragged him away from a weasel’s blow. “To the stream, now!”

Simon pounced upon vermin once more, and once more anger gave him strength. But this time, the young otter was angry with himself. How could I?.. How could I?!

In a few seconds, the otters dived in the water of Bluestream. Being otters, all runaways held their breath and began to swim away from a dangerous place. Unfortunately for them, blood from Rumbol and Simon’s wounds painted the water red, and a volley of arrows and slingstones hammered the water. Simon clenched his teeth when an arrow pierced his hind paw.

Then he saw his aunt. Churk wasn’t as lucky as him: a slingstone hit her right in the back of her head, and an otterwife went limp, slowly sinking to the bottom. With two strong strokes of his rudder, Simon was near her. He was still holding the sword of Martin in his right paw, so he grabbed Churk’s shoulder with his left paw. An additional weight began to drag him down at once, and Simon tried to sheathe the sword to free his other paw. But the sword didn’t get into the sheath at once, sliding over it instead; Simon felt its weight on his back as he tried to balance himself and don’t let it go. The weight of Churk’s body in his paw reminded Simon that he had no time, and the otter folded his right paw over his aunt’s shoulder, letting the sword slid down his back and sink to the bottom of the stream.

Simon came up to the surface holding Churk’s head high above water. The otterwife coughed, splitting the water she swallowed, and took a deep breath. Simon gave a sigh of relief. At least she is alive! But the sword! The sword…

“I see them!” cried some vermin from behind, and Simon whispered Churk to hold her breath and dived again. More arrows pierced the water, and Simon put all his strength in rowing, as his aunt hadn’t quite come to her senses. Olva saw it and hurried to help him, silently nodding to a dark hole under the bank.

Yes, Simon remembered, Bluewillow passage. His parents showed it to him before. Many seasons ago, water made its way through the earth and soil and created a hidden passage between two streams, Bluestream and Willowspring. The entrance to the passage was underwater, so only otters could enter it.

There were very little space in the underwater tunnel, but luckily it had a bit of air trapped under the ceiling. Simon and Olva carefully placed Churk’s head on a flat rock, making sure she can breathe.

“Are you badly wounded, Sim?” asked Olva.

“I don’t know,” said Simon, and it was true. He hadn’t even felt pain when he was fighting possessed by Bloodwrath. However, he did feel pain where an arrow pierced his hind paw, and now every bit of his body was aching.

“Well done, you both!” Young otters squeezed together to make room for Rumbol. Simon almost moaned when he saw a lump of river silt on his father’s shoulder. “I showed myself to vermin a bit downstream,” continued Skipper. “Let them look for us there. I doubt they find this place, but we’d better leave now.”

“You go now,” whispered Simon, not brave enough to look his companions in the eyes. “I stay to-”

“No you won’t!” interrupted Olva. “There’s nothing you can do!”

“I must! Must retrieve the sword!” Meeting uncomprehending gazes, he explained. “I… I’ve dropped it. I tried to sheathe it, but it slid, and I had to help Auntie… so I’ve dropped it.”

“I see,” nodded Rumbol. “Now let’s go to Redwall.” Simon opened his mouth to argue, and he continued. “You saved Churk, and that’s the only that matters. The sword is important for us, but not as much as one’s life. Let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” repeated Olva. “And don’t you dare blame yourself. Martin or Triss would have done the same if they had to choose between the sword and a beast’s life.”

“No,” whispered Simon as his father shoved him further into the tunnel. “They would have found a way to save both the sword and a beast’s life.”

That thought rang in his head on the way to Redwall. He’ll never be a warrior like Martin or Triss. Great Salt Seasons, now he can’t even call himself a decent creature! First he attacked a friend, then lost the sword of Martin and, the most terrible, almost killed his own father. The fact that the others didn’t blame him and even tried to show some understanding only made him feel more guilty and shameful. How could I let everybeast down?..

Chapter 15

Redwallers fought bravely, but even their courage couldn’t help them win. Old Skipper tried to divide their forces to fight at both walls, but there were too many vermin and too few Abbey defenders, so they had to run from one walltop to another with every attack. And with every attack Redwallers were wearing themselves out more and more and it was more and more difficult to held corsairs back. Healers were running among walltops, trying to be everywhere and help everybeast at once.

Young Brother Turfee was bounding Skipper’s chest and shoulder, scolding him like a Dibbun. “What was you thinking about, standing on battlement like a perfect target for archers, ah?”

The old otter managed a smile. “But I speared their commander – the ferret in blue cloak! I got him! Ouch, it stings!”

“It should sting; you have four arrowheads in your body! And don’t move!”

But Skipper had already twitched as a big fox climbed the wall right behind Turfee. “Vermin!”

Turfee span round, his herb punch hit the corsair in his face so hard that he fell back and disappeared behind the battlement with a long cry. “I told you not to move!” repeated the young mouse.

“Bo urr, give us a ‘ay!” Panting and puffing, Ruggum’s molecrew climbed the stairs, dragging a heavy piece of cleaved tree trunk with ropes.

“Here you go!” The healer briefly leaned out of the battlement and immediately ducked away. “They’ve put their ladder here!”

The moles dropped the log where Turfee pointed and Ruggum with two more moles began to rock it. “Hurr one, hurr too, hurr three!” Then the log tumbled over the wall, and loud shouts of vermin proved it had found its target.

Outside the Abbey Darm made a sign for his corsairs, and more then half-dozen of vermin rushed to the eastern wall and whirled their ropes. Metal hooks wrapped in rags hit the battlement without a sound.

“After me!” hissed Deathtrap to his crew. It’s always good to show an example to your horde. However, he let two of his bodyguards climb the ropes before him.

Redwallers saw the new treat only when most of the vermin had already got to the walltop. “Zorra, you and half of the crew take the north wall, the rest – south one!” ordered Lord of the Seas. Giving orders was easier then carrying them out: even though the Abbey walltops were quite wide, such a big amount of vermin inevitably created a mess, and it took time to draw them up.

Redwallers used this time to draw themselves up too, ready to fight. Darm found his way blocked by Ruggum who was holding a heavy club. “No step fuver, vermint!”

“Don’t you dare to talk to Lord of the Seas like that!” roared one of the guards and charged, expecting to get the better of slow mole. He was proved wrong when Ruggum’s club crushed both his javelin and his paw. Darm didn’t waste any time. His rapier moved like lighting, slashed Foremole’s forepaw and then both his hind paws, making him drop his weapon and fall flat.

“If you don’t surrender you die,” declared the weasel and raised his rapier for the final blow.

Z-wip! “Aaaaarghhh!” A huge arrow a size of javelin came from nowhere and speared Darm’s right paw through, so he had almost collapsed. Then the warcry came. “Eulaaliiaaaaa!”

Both vermin and woodlanders turned their heads as if on command, right in time to see large army of hares march out of the forest, a badger at the head of them.

“It’s Long Patrol!” cried somebeast on the walltop. “Lord Sagax’d sent us help! Hooray!”

Darm winced and clenched his teeth. He knew he had lost this battle. He couldn’t fight both Redwall and Long Patrol at once. “Retreat! Back into the forest!”

Outside the Abbey, Grawn slackened his pace when he had seen corsairs hastily leave the Abbey walls, and put his longbow and quiver of arrows behind his back. Chris Bigbow couldn’t help clicking his tongue. “You must have hawk’s eyes, shooting that vermin from such a distance, Grawn!”

The young badger silently smiled to himself. He finally managed to persuade hares stop calling him ‘Lord’ or ‘sir’. Even since they had left Salamandastron he tried to behave just nothing changed and, much to Merola’s frustration, refused to wear Sagaxus’ armor, staying in his old green tunic and sharkskin plastron instead.

“Pity you missed an’ didn’t kill that bloomin’ weasel, wot!” continued Chris.

“I didn’t miss, I was aiming at his paw.” Seeing his friend’s disturbed look, Grawn explained. “I don’t really want to kill beasts, even such a villain. Let this weasel just go away.” He took a deep breath and shouted at the top of his lungs - not a mighty roar of grown-up badger, but still pretty impressive. “Leave Redwall alone, Deathtrap! Go away and never return! Do you hear me?!”

To his surprise, Grawn heard a response. “I do hear you, Badgerlord!” cried Darm before disappearing in the forest.

Grawn frowned and went on giving orders. “Broom, take your tribe and go round the Abbey; we should make sure there are no more vermin left. Help wounded if you find any. Kvalla, take hares to help Redwall healers. Captain Longstep, post sentries over the walls.” Young badger bent forward to his Captain and lowered his voice. “I didn’t forget anything, did I?”

“No, lad. You make a good lord, remembee’ ma word.”

Panic had seized Freedom’s heart as she desperately tried to free herself from sticky mud. The mousemaid was being pulled into the slough, and all she could do was to raise her paws high up, so the little ones she was holding wouldn’t drown as well. This movement made her sink chest-deep into the mud. And vermin carelessly discussing their fate was the worst part of the situation.

“Let’s take kids to Lord,” suggested Baffla. “And I’d let that bushtail drown for-“

“Zzlis-ssa!” An eerie hissing came from bushes of reed, and Dom saw its stems swaying. “Zlisssa!” Finally, both vermin and woodlanders saw the source of hissing: a giant snake was moving through the reeds, its brown-and-grey scales forming a hypnotic pattern as the snake slithered, its blunt head slowly turning from one corsair to another as the monster probed the air with forked tongue. But the scariest thing was snake’s unwinking eyes with unmoving pupils, which looked like the eyes of a deadbeast. “Zzlissa!”

No wonder vermin ran as soon as they had seen the snake and basically two seconds later the snake and woodlanders were the only living creatures on the swamp.

“Vermin are gone,” noted Maple in his usual matter-of-fact manner. “That’s good.”

“Fine,” snapped Dom, who was more angry than afraid. “Now we’ll just drown or be eaten by a snake. Just fine!”

The snake crawled closer, but instead of attacking, it, to everybeast’s amusement, extended its tail so it had reached to Abbess Bikkle and Maple. “Hheld my thhail,” it hissed, “I pull ye outhh.”

Freedom could hardly believe her eyes. Of course, she had never seen a snake before, but she had heard stories about snakes from her grandfather Moguk, and judging by them trying to help wasn’t what snakes usually do. However, even she had to admit they have had little choice but to accept the help.

“Let’s go,” Maple gently shoved the Abbess toward the snake’s tail, but Bikkle hadn’t moved an inch. She looked like she had frozen with fear, her paws trembling, her red fur standing on end, her eyes fixed on the reptile. She moved only when Maple grabbed her paw and seized the scaly tail.

The snake strained, pulling out both beasts. Then it was the others’ turn, and soon all grown-up creatures and Dibbuns were standing on firm soil. Mother Abbess didn’t quite come to her senses, so it was Roben who had addressed their strange ally.

“Than’ ye, sir o’ marm,” he said, his voice a bit unsure. “Thankee fur ‘elping us.”

“Alwayss glad to hhelp goodbeassts,” came the answer. “I’m called Zlissa.”

“Zlissa Evileyes!” cried Deelma, and by her frightened voice, Freedom could say she indeed had heard the name before. The molewife clasped both her daughters to her apron, and the frightened babes clenched to their mother. “Terror of the Swamp! Death for woodlanders!”

The snake uttered a shot low sigh. “Alass, alas, rumorss, unfair and ffabulous gosssip! I sswear I’ve never hharmed a creathure! I eat only fishh!”

“Why should we believe you?” asked Bikkle in a harsh tone. The Abbess had finally got over her fear and now was holding a short dagger dropped by one of the vermin. “Me’n’Ruggum had almost been killed by the likes of you when we were Dibbuns, and some other of our friends had never returned after battle with that monsters of a snake!”

Zlissa pressed her head to the ground, turning her gaze away. “I’m ssorry… I’m sso ssorry that ye had ssuffered from thosse of my kind… But it’s not my fault that I wass born a ssnake. Beassts are afraid of me jusst because of my sizze, my sscaled body, my eerie eyes, my poisoned teeth and wicked reputation of ssnakes. That’ss where are those rumorss come from!”

Freedom nodded, a bit surprised to realize that snake’s soft hissing voice wasn’t frightening her anymore. “One shouldn’t judge a creature by its species,” she murmured, remembering Shamra.

“Zlissa had a chance to kill us all,” added Maple. “But she had saved us instead. Why shouldn’t we trust her?”

Roben and Rupet were nodding too, but Deelma still doubted. “But moi cousin’s woife had said…”

“Deelma, Oi’m sure you cousin’s woife has nevve’ actually met Zlissa and was only repeetin’ gossip,” softly interrupted Roben.

“All right then,” Bikkle finally hid the dagger in her wide sleeve. “Sorry for doubting you, Zlissa, and thank you for the help. Now we have to go back to Redwall.”

“Aww, ye’re leavin’? Don’t ye sstay for a while?” hissed Zlissa. “I… I hhoped ye stay. I’m sso old… And I’ve never had a friend before.”

The Abbess was adamant. “We should tell Redwall about the vermin and see if our friends came back.”

Zlissa had raised her head, shifting her gaze from one beast to another, and the piercing yellow eyes looked straight into Dom’s soul. “It’ss dangerouss in the woodss. Vermin can wander around. My lair iss close from hhere. Ye can resst, and then I accompany ye on the way to yer hhome. Nobeasst will harm ye withh me around. Little oness can ride my back.”

Freedom looked up to the sky: it was getting dark already. She had spent almost all the day running, and now she finally realized how tired she was. How good it would be to lie down, even for some five minutes…

Maple must have felt the same. “Maybe we can stay… not for a long…”

Rupet added one more reason. “Urr, likkle ones are hungry an’ exhausted. They need vittles and rest, eve’ a likkle bit.”

“Pleeese!” wailed Dibbuns. The perspective of riding snake’s back had made them forget all their fears.

“Okay,” surrendered Bikkle. “But we won’t stay longer than half of hour!”

Zlissa slithered further into the swamp, showing the way; a bunch of Dibbuns hung on her back, so the snake was moving slowly not to let them fall; adult beasts followed their guide.

“We all must be mad to trust dat snake, ho-urr,” old Marfa shook her head. “Strange, but Oi feel loike she’s our friend, burr.”

“Zlissa had saved us, Ma,” smiled Roben. “Dat snake is our friend, hurr!””

Chapter 16

The storm that had blown in Mossflower was just an echo of the one that raged over Terramort Isle. In that northwest island, storms and tempests were frequent guests. This was one of the strongest corsairs had seen in their lives – they could only thank their luck that they weren’t in the open sea at that night. The storm had brought enough problems for Fort Bladegirt: vegetable and grain fields were damaged, fishing boats were broken, and half of the roof was blown off soldiers’ Barracks.

In the morning, Drooptail lined up all the vermin and declared that all the vermin were ought to work together with slaves. As one could expect, discontented grumbles and sighs could be heard immediately. “You are going to work, like it or not!” snapped the stoat Commander. “The all work must be done in a day!”

New grumbles followed, and soldiers’ Captain Viro Strongclaw had to intervene. He was a grey cat with amber eyes, not big, but muscular and strong. He wasn’t carrying any weapon, since his main weapon had always been with him: his strong forepaws, which could break a creature’s neck and his sharp claws, which could tear out a creature’s flesh. Captain was well-respected by his soldiers, and everybeast fell silent when Viro had talked. “Listen, mates! All the work is for your own good – you’re going to mend the roof, so it’s either workin’ now or sleepin’ in the weather later. So, what would you choose?”

There were shouts of approval, and a dark-brown stoat with long muzzle cried, “Sure we work! We ain’t idlepaws!”

“Good,” smiled Viro. “Then you, Broknose, would be in charge of the work, so take all the soldiers and a half of the slaves. Bigger and Smaller will help you.” Two big identical foxes saluted, one only an inch taller than the other.

“Don’t take new timber from the warehouse unless necessary,” said Drooptail. He was angry with Viro commanding the soldiers without even paying any attention to him, Fort Commander. Then Drooptail quickly divided the responsibilities. There were three groups of vermin on Terramort, thirty beasts each, including soldiers, whose duty was to defend the Fort from possible invaders and who was commanded by Viro Strongclaw, slave-drivers commanded by Houk the Slavemaster and Fort guards, the elite force commanded by Lord himself or, in his absence, by Fort Commander. “Houk will take the rest of the slaves and cleans up the fields, and the guards will repair the boats,” ordered Drooptail.

The stoat cast a sidelong look at Strongclaw. Drooptail would never admit it, but he was wary of this cat. Viro was ambitious, and he had pretensions to the title of Fort Commander as a senior Captain, but Darm had chosen Drooptail because of his loyalty. However, more than fortnight had passed since Lord’s departure, and Viro hadn’t caused any troubles. But Drooptail still couldn’t trust him.

Half of all the slaves were working at the field. Vegetables didn’t suffer much as they were close to the earth, but most of the crops were beaten down by the heavy rain, and barriers surrounding the field needed to be fortified to prevent mudslides from the hills. It was supposed that slave-drivers should work together with slaves, but vermin were doing what they could do best: command. Many of them walked among slaves, urging them to work harder, some bustled around, pretending to be busy, and those high-ranked enough were just doing nothing.

Houk was eating his lunch when a lean otter with tan-colored fur silently came to him and bowed. It was Wavehound Streamdiver. He normally served vermin in Fort, but today even servants were taken to work in the field.

“Speak, riverdog!” ordered Houk.

Wavehound bowed once more and began in low voice. “Captain, sir, it’s more than three hours past noon, sir, and we’ve been working since dawn, with no food or water, sir, and…”

“Oh, I see. You want a little break and some food, right?” Wavehound nodded, and Slavemaster raised his voice, “You won’t get any till sunset, so get back to work, seaweed head!”

“But sir, give us at least some water, for old beasts only,” pleaded the otter.

“There’s enough water for everybeast,” Houk grinned, waving his paw at the muddy pools that didn’t dry out after the storm. “To your work, lazy scum!”

Wavehound could only bow and go away, but that wasn’t enough for Houk. Slavemaster picked up a flask of wine and a loaf of bread and jauntily strolled to the group of slaves Wavehound was working with.

“Yeah, that wine is better than water,” he murmured, taking a sip. “What do you say now, riverdog?” Houk sliced a piece of bread with a pocketknife, intentionally letting a chunk to fall in the mud, next to a thin old squirrelwife. The squirrel tensed; her stomach rumbled, but she knew too well what would happen if she tried to take the bread. “Looks like you ain’t hungry,” smiled Houk and trampled the bread down with his footpaw.

Then the unpredictable happened. Wavehound, who was known as the most obedient and patient servant in Fort, jumped on his footpaws and attacked Houk. The otter’s fists crushed into slave-driver’s face, hammering it with a fierce rage.

“Mutiny!” The nearest vermin sprang to help his Captain, but tumbled down as Elsie the volemaid threw herself across his way. However, all the other slaves were either too scared or too astonished to do anything, and soon Wavehound and Elsie were thrown onto the ground, badly beaten but alive.

“You!.. You two!..” hissed Houk, shaking with hatred. “You know the laws! The punishment for mutiny is death!”

“Should I kill them?” asked one of the guards.

“And let us lose two pairs of working paws?” frowned the ferret Captain. “Zhmura! No food or water for these crazy fools!”

The air swayed as all the slaves sighed in relief. Such a light penalty was just a gift from heaven! A fleshy rat responsible for feeding the slaves asked, also a little surprised. “For how long, Cap’n?”

“For the rest of their lives!” smirked Houk. “It would be a good lesson for every other slave to see how rebels starve to death, begging for a mouthful of water! And if anybeast try to smuggle them food or water…” he hadn’t finished the line, but everything was clear to the slaves who shrank back with terror.

Houk enjoyed the sheer fear for a moment, then ordered, “Now stop wasting time and work, if you don’t want to stay here till dawn!”

Elsie got up with difficulty, and Wavehound had to be helped. Swaying, the otter dragged himself back to the work, but inside he was triumphing. Sure, attacking Houk was risky. But now, with Deathtrap gone and storm clouds closing the sky, it was one of the rare chances to accomplish a first step in his plan. And he, Wavehound, took it and succeeded.

Slaves got back into the Barn only at the sunset. It began to drizzle, and vermin urged them to walk faster. That day, unlike usually, Zhmura and her assistants not only divided scanty rations among slaves, but also stayed while they ate to make sure nobeast would try to hide food. By the time vermin padlocked both iron bars and wooden door the drizzle turned into steady rain, so Zhmura pulled her thick shawl over her head and run to the fortress, the others following her.

During the meal Wavehound and Elsie attracted attention of their fellow-slaves that was fixing the Barrack’s roof and didn’t know what happened on the field. Now they finally had a chance to ask all their questions. “Treetops’n’leaves! What’s with you, Wavehound?”

“You are punished, mates? What for?”

“Looks like you got a good beating. Grr, stinky vermin!”

“What happened, you poor thing?”

“It happened that they two are great fools!” announced a sturdy hedgehog with long spikes. “What were you thinking about, attacking the Slavemaster, you silly riverdog? Thought you can get away with it?’

“Oh, it’s all because of me,” cried out the old squirrelwife that was working with Wavehound. “Houk was teasing me with bread, and then Wavehound… Auh!”

“Don’t worry, Tosna, it’s not your fault,” smiled the otterslave. “I had another reasons for it.”

“What reasons, I’d like to know?” frowned Elsie. “I’ve tried to help you, but now I want to know what I was helping!”

“Sh-hh!” Wavehound swiftly moved to the door and stood here for a moment, listening carefully. Then he nodded, “Nobeast. Sure, no vermin would stay in such a rain all night.”

“Stop babbling and answer!” demanded the hedgehog.

“I’ll answer you, Thornbush. I’ll answer everybeast. That’s what I had attacked Houk for!” Metal glittered in the dark of the Barn as Wavehound took Houk’s pocketknife out of his patched shirt and lifted it up in the air. “I’ve snatched it from ferret’s paw and hid it in my clothes, and all the slave-drivers were too occupied with my attack and didn’t notice it’s gone!”

All kinds of whispers and murmurs spread among the slaves. “You- You are totally mad!” cried out a male squirrel with shabby tail. “If vermin find it out… No, when vermin find it out, they’ll make us all pay for your stupidity!”

“No, Basko, ‘cause when they find out, we’ll be far away from ‘ere. We’ll force locks with this knife and escape!”

Now all the creatures in the Barn were speaking at once. “There’s no way anybeast could escape Bladegirt!”

“But it’s our chance! Maybe the only one!”

“Nobeast has ever left that bloody island alive, that’s for sure!”

“And what of it if so? We’ll be the first!”

“That’s madness, a true madness…”

“Calm down, everybeast! Do you want vermin to hear you?” called Seabird Galedeep, Wavehound’s fellow ottermaid from Green Isle. “Calm down, or I kick tails of those talking!” The slaves lowered their voices: Seabird’s clan, Galedeep, was known for its strength and heavy build, and even seasons of slavery could do nothing to the ottermaid’s wide shoulders and sinewy forepaws.

“Wavehound, you are putting everybeast at risk,” stated Basko and rolled up his sleeves, revealing old scars upon his paws. “Remember my brother? He’d tried to escape, and vermin not only killed him, but also punished me – just because I could have been helping him.”

The otter dipped his head. “I remember your brother, friend. He’d tried to break free during the daywork, but we’ll sneak away in the dark. The rain would wash our tracks away, and Drooptail isn’t as smart as the weasel. Vermin wouldn’t catch us.”

“You’ve forgot about two guards at the Fort’s gates,” said Mlika, Basko’s wife. “They are always on duty, rain or no rain.”

Wavehound had already thought it through. “They are guarding the fortress from an attack from outside, not inside. We’ll just sneak to the wall and stun them!”

“And where you are going to go, sir-know-all?” grumbled Thornbush. “We’re on a bloody isle, seaweed head! Do you expect us to fly away?”

“I know, the hills around Bladegirt are too open, but there are a kind of rocky range to the north shore, and where rock is, there’s caves and crevices – plenty places to hide!”

Now most of the slaves were nodding approvingly, but Thornbush was still angry. “Ha, it’s easy for you to say ‘Let’s escape’, you risk nothing but your own hide! And what about those who has somebeast to care about? I have a wife and a little son, Basko and Mlika have a daughter and old Tosna, Basko’s mother, and… There are too many beasts to list! Why shall we risk our families’ lives just because of your word?”

“Don’t you want your son to be free?” said Elsie.

“First of all, I want my son to be alive!”

“Quite!” Seabird tapped her rudder at the floor. “We won’t get anywhere like that! Let’s vote! What more than a half of beasts decide, the others will agree, so nobeast would be left behind! Agree, Thornbush? Okay, now, raise your paws those who want to escape with Wavehound!”

Before the slaves could vote, a deep husky voice spoke – the voice that had been staying silent for months and that nobeast expected to hear. “I will!”

Everybeast’s eyes fixed on a dark shape in the far corner of the Barn. A big creature stirred, straining its chains. “Help me out of my chains, and I’ll tear every vermin with my bare teeth’n’claws!”

That creature was Betta, a badgerwife from Daggerrocks, and her story was known by every slave. Her home island, despite its warlike name, was a peaceful land, inhabited by mice, hedgehogs and badgers. Those badgers were farmers, not warriors, but Deathtrap, a young Captain at those seasons, knew how fierce and deadly they could be. So he hadn’t conquered Daggerrocks – he had simply burned it to the ground, and those who hadn’t died in the fire were killed by corsairs’ arrows.

Betta, no more than a young maid, was the only one spared. Darm imprisoned her out of his pride and vanity, showing chained badgermaid to rival Captains as a symbol of his might. It’s not that Betta didn’t try to fight – during those seasons, she tore many chains, broke many cages and killed many vermin, but finally the starvation, harsh treatment and seeming hopelessness of all efforts broke her, and badgermaid became no more than a pale shadow of her former self. After Darm become the ruler of all the corsairs, he had no need to demonstrate Betta any more. Since that, she had been chained in the Barn constantly, never going out except for rare occasions when Deathtrap wanted to remind his subjects why he was their ruler.

So as she sat at the darkest corner of the Barn, bone-thin, with her fur gone grey before age, in ragged clothes, Betta looked something like an old hag, and certainly not like a healthy strong middle-seasoned badgerwife she would have been if it wasn’t for Darm. The badgerwife was always silent, deep in her thoughts and memories, and didn’t even seem to hear when the others addressed her.

But tonight the word ‘escape’ woke something in her and Betta’s usually lack-lustre eyes now shone blood red, her long claws gripped the chains in desperate effort to break them and a wheezy growl came out of her chest. “Let… let me out! Let me out, and I’ll kill them!..”

“She’s going to bring here every vermin in Fort,” complained Thornbush. “We can’t take her with us!”

“Of course we can!” rebelled Elsie. “We can’t leave… Wait – have you just said we?”

The hedgehog nodded with a grim look. “Yes, we. If I can’t talk you out of that mad idea, me and my family will go with you.”

“And we too,” added Basko, and soon all the slaves were nodding approvingly.

Meanwhile, Wavehound neared the captive badgerwife. “We’ll help you out of chains, Betta, but you mustn’t attack vermin. You would give us all out!”

“Don’t care!” snarled Betta. “I kill them, kill them all – and the rest doesn’t matter!”

“I know, you want to avenge your compatriots for what the corsairs did to them – but if you do, a lot of other beasts will suffer, elders and babes among them. Do you want them to share the fate of your tribe?”

At first, the otter thought that bloodthirsty badgerwife simply couldn’t hear him, but then Betta’s bloodshot eyes changed to their normal wane gray color. “No. Let me out. I won’t harm anybeast… unless vermin treat me… or you.”

The rusty locks on Betta’s chains weren’t easy to open, but after some effort, Wavehound managed to force them. Betta immediately got to her paws and headed to the doors, but her near-starvation didn’t let her go far, and the big badger collapsed to the floor for want of habit to walk long.

Basko and Mlika jumped to the badgerwife and helped her up. “Common, lean on my shoulder, marm!”

“You’d better take care of the vermin outside, Wavehound,” muttered Mlika, sagging under Betta’s weight. “I doubt me’n’Basko could hold our friend if she sees one!”

“Don’t worry.” The rebellious otter had already forced open the locked iron bars and now was dealing with the door. With a happy smile, he opened it – and a blast of wind immediately threw a flow of showering rain into his face. Wavehound threw his head back and laughed. “That’s how the freedom feels, mateys!”

Chapter 17

Darm Deathtrap wasn’t in his brightest mood when he and his troops returned to the camp. Healers had treated his wounded paw, but the weasel lord couldn’t help brooding about the battle of Redwall Abbey. He had almost won – almost! – and then the cursed stripedog and his rabbits ruined everything. Now it would take much more time and efforts to get Redwall. But he will get it, surely. May be it was even better to finish both Redwallers and the hares of Long Patrol at once…

Clyde was waiting for them, and Darm didn’t even bother to answer his salute. “Make your report, Captain. Has Greywhisker brought Shamra and the traitors back?”

“No, Lord.” The stoat held his eyes down, as if it was his fault. “He and a score of his crew disappeared, and all the other searchers couldn’t find a trace either of him or of your dau- I mean, Shamra. I’ve questioned a traitor captured in the morning, and he confirmed that Greywhisker and some of the minor officers were involved in Shamra’s plot all along. Their plan was to desert your troops, steal one of your ships and drown all the others.”

Darm’s brow knitted further, but he just nodded. “I’ll talk with that traitor after Tamant’s report.”

“Uhmm… Well… Lord… I’m afraid there was a kind of accident, and… well… the captive… how to say it… died…”

After all failures of the day these news didn’t please Deathtrap. Steel flashed in the weasel’s left paw, and he slapped Clyde with flat of his dagger.

“Fool! Brainless crookpawed brute!” he hissed as the stoat staggered back, clasping his paws to his swelling cheek. “You’ve tortured him to death, haven’t you? Do you at least understand you’ve killed the only creature who could tell me everything about the treason? I’ve been shutting my eyes to your little sadistic habits only ‘cause they hadn’t foiled my plans before. But now…”

Darm made a dramatic pause for Clyde to speak out. “Sorry, Lord. It’d never happen again, sir! I… I’ve served you well. I’ve always been loyal to you, Lord. I’ll do my best…”

“Sure. Because if you don’t, I pass your blood-stained cloak to somebeast more suitable for a position of Captain. Now, enough of that. I want to speak to Tamant.”

“I’m here, Lord.” The rat came from nowhere and bowed before his Warlord.

Deathtrap looked over Tamant’s jerkin splashed with mud and soiled footpaws. “So, it hadn’t been long when you returned?”

“No, Lord. Ragfeathers reported about everything happened in the Abbey. He said that the stripedog had sent a dozen of hares to fetch their friends from Brockhall, and I dared to lay an ambush. Beg your pardon for acting without your orders, Lord.”

“I would have ordered the same,” nodded the weasel. “So, I assume those hares are dead now?”

“Not all of them. My archers killed about a half and wounded the rest, but then a black hawk attacked us.” Tamant frowned at the thought. “My crew chased it away, but the hares escaped as well.”

Darm carelessly shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you have killed the Abbeyleaders.”

Silentblade took his gaze away, what he almost never did. “They live. I’ve captured the squirrel and some others, but they managed to break free. Tanhide and Baffla claim they were eaten by a snake, but there’s no proof for these words. And the otters escaped by some streams. That’s my fault, sir. I’ve underestimated those beasts.”

Only Darm’s firm set jaw could give away his discontent. “Now we know what they are capable of. No more splitting the troops. I’ll destroy the Abbey, its inhabitants and Long Patrollers in one blow.” He walked for his tent, giving orders as he went. “Zorra, make sure the soldiers are fed and their wounds treated. Tamant, keep Ragfeathers watching the Abbey. Clyde, send Nabon to my tent.”

“Ahgm… That’s other news I wanted to tell you, Lord. Your son… He… well, gone.”

“Gone!” Darm spun round in instant, his countenance lost. “What do you mean, bloody scumbag, - gone?”

“He ain’t here,” muttered stoat Captain. “I was questioning the captive, and then I saw he ain’t here. And twoscore of my crew gone as well.” He tried to move back as Darm stepped closer, but Tamant blocked his way.

“You are not only a fool, you are a traitor, Clyde,” said Darm, looking down the stoat, even though the latter was taller. “All you had to do was to guard the camp and watch over Nabon. You’ve failed even in this. Where I shall look for my heir now?”

“I’m here, father!” The young weasel stepped into the camp followed by twoscore of corsairs.

Deathtrap felt a load taken off his mind. Nabon didn’t desert him. Then his son’s beaming face boiled his anger again. “So, what do you have to say?”

“Father?” Nabon blinked, clearly not prepared for such a meeting.

“You’ve left your post without order and led other Captain’s crew as well. Explain yourself, soldier.”

Nabon saluted with a halt. “Lord, Lieutenant Badeye reported of twoscore of hedgehogs camped at the north river, big rowdy lot. They could cause us trouble, so I took soldiers and attacked their camp. They’re destroyed now, not a treat any more.”

“Tamant?” Lord of the Seas turned to his chief scout.

“Big rowdy hedgehogs at the north river,” he repeated. “That must’ve been Waterhogs, vagrant tribe sailing river Moss. Noisy lot, yes. Don’t like us vermin, but don’t seek battle either. My scouts reported there were about fourscore of them.”

“No no, only twoscore,” Nabon shook his head. “Twoscore were in the camp I destroyed, that’s for sure!”

The rat officer just shrugged. “My scouts never miscalculate.”

“See what you’ve done?” Darm snapped at his son. “First, by that foolish attack you’ve informed the hogs we are here. If it wasn’t for you, they would’ve just passed their way by the river. Second, you haven’t managed to kill all the hogs, so the survivors will come for revenge and cause trouble.” Nabon was quivering now, his teeth clenched, and Darm thought he was pushing him a bit too far. After all, he didn’t want Nabon to betray him as Shamra did, right? “And third, you’ve put yourself into a great danger. What do you think I thought when I heard you’re gone?”

Nabon’s face finally brightened. “You were worried for me?”

“Sure I was. You are my only heir. Don’t you ever disappear like that again!”

His son bowed with deference. “I won’t do anything without your orders, Lord… I mean, father.”

Darm imitated a smile. “I’m sure you won’t.”

However, Nabon wasn’t intended to finish conversation at that note. “Father? Have I proved myself as a commander now? I mean… can I be a Captain?”

The older weasel nodded after a short calculation. Let him think of himself as an officer if he wants; the only thing that matters is who gives orders. “Take command of those soldiers that followed you today. I know, it’s about half of normal crew size, but it’ll be enough to begin with. And you still must obey me and all the elder Captains.”

“L-lord, this crew is of my ship,” Clyde dared to object.

Deathtrap’s answer cut him short. “You’ve just proved yourself incapable of commanding them. Thank your lucky star you’re still an officer. You’re dismissed. Nabon, you’d better take care of your crew now. Tamant, follow me.”

Darm spoke to Silentblade again only when they were in the warlord’s tent. The weasel made himself comfortable in his big carved chair, wincing as he accidentally brushed his wounded paw against elbow-rest. “Tamant, I need the best spy in all my troops. The one who can watch over a beast constantly, follow him like a shadow for days without being noticed.”

“Then you need Marrowbone. She can hide in a spear’s shadow.”

“She must watch Nabon day and night.” Tamant nodded, and Darm went on. “The rest of Greywhisker’s crew is being divided among the Captains. Watch them as well, there still may be traitors.”

“I think all the traitors deserted with Greywhisker, but I’ll do as you say, Lord.”

“Right, Tamant. You do as I say, regardless what do you think. You should take care of those hedgehogs as well. I’ll send Zorra and her crew to finish them off. You will lead them to the hogs and make sure there wouldn’t be any survivors. Go now.”

The rat bowed his head slightly. “Sir, there is one more thing I have to report. My scouts have found it at the bottom of a stream.” He took out a long object wrapped in soft barkcloth and carefully unwrapped it, revealing double-edged sword with hard black hilt finished with a ruby-red pommel stone and curving scrolled crosspiece.

Consciousness was coming back very slowly. First she heard the voices – unfamiliar and strange. She could hear them well, though she couldn’t catch the words. Then she regained a sense of touch. She could feel something soft under her cheek, feel warm blanket covering her body… Wait – was she lying in a bed? There where no proper beds in their forest camp. But if she wasn’t there, where on the earth she was?

She forced herself to relax instinctively tensed muscles. Life taught her not to rush in decisions. Don’t open your eyes. Let those talking think I’m still senseless. Wherever I am, I’d better think before acting. And of course, I’d better find out where am I in the first place.

She strained her ears – the voices became more distinguishable.

First, there was somebeast young. “The Infirmary is overfull with wounded! Why should we waste our time on this tramp?”

The second voice belonged to an older creature. “I’ve told you before, Turfee. We made a promise to heal all those who need our help, remember?”

“Even those who attacked us first, Sister? Let her vermin friends treat her!”

“Look, I’m also not fond of having to treat vermin, but what can we do? Do you have heart to throw her out to the woods and leave there to die?”

There was a pause before the young one – Turfee, - sighed. “No.” Then he added, “But let’s at least tie her paws! Imagine what this vixen can do when she’s awake and roaming the Abbey?”

The Abbey. She should have known. She was captured by Redwallers! What those terrible woodlanders are going to do with her? Obviously, she was still alive because they thought her to be unconscious. They must be waiting for her to wake in order to torture her and find out all information about Lord. The vixen felt her heart booming against her ribs, and ordered herself to calm down. I’ll find a way out of this.

Meanwhile, the old one chuckled. “With her injuries? With broken leg, cracked ribs, dislocated arm, smashed claws? Right after that piece of tree trunk had fallen on her? Turfee, poor creature is simply in no condition to do us any harm.”

The vixen stirred her paws. They were numb, but could move quite well. Let them think me to be helpless. That’s the best of all.

She heard squeak of a bed and rustling of blanket as a third creature moved somewhere in the room. His voice was a deep bass, “Don’t worry, Vernal. A couple of vermin thorns won’t prevent me from holding a fox down.”

“Skipper, you rogue, I didn’t let you out of bed!”

“Ha, I’m not as badly wounded as you’d like to think, Sister. Besides, Turfee is a fine young warrior himself. I wish you’d seen how he dealt with that big fox on the walltops. That fellow stood right behind Turfee, holding his curved blade, grinning and staring with his mismatched eyes, and then boom! – and he’s over the wall!”

Her heart sank in her chest. Big fox with mismatched eyes and a curved sword?! Kars! They were talking about her husband! About how they killed him!

Last moments of the battle at Redwall Abbey flashed before her eyes. Her husband, Kars, smiled to her and climbed up a ladder to the wall. She followed him with a second delay, but it was enough for them to get separated as number of other corsairs got to the ladder before the vixen. She saw him stand at walltop and sway his sword – and then he reeled backward, lost his footing and fell down, down, down, till he crushed into a group of rats with long pikes. She saw pike blades pierce through Kars’ body, saw his wide open eyes. Dead eyes. She howled in pain and tried to get down, but vermin behind her kept going up. Then something big and heavy crashed her back, knocking the air out of her.

All her plans and thoughts regarding staying low and pretending to be senseless were forgotten. Rage and hunger for revenge overcame the vixen’s natural caution and fear of her captors. All she wanted now was to kill those who murdered her beloved Kars.

“Arrraaw!” She jumped of the bed, her teeth bare, and darted toward Redwallers, who backed away. But before she could reach the creatures she hated so much, sharp pain run through the vixen’s paws to the very marrow of her bones. She collapsed onto the floor, cursing and growling as she writhed, trying to get her enemies. The vixen’s limbs refused to serve her, and pain was throbbing in her body.

It was too late when she saw a big otter approaching. The thwack of a hefty rudder knocked the breath from her, and the otter landed upon her back. A paw cuffed her ears soundly, then seized them and dragged her head backward. “I get her!”

They’ll slit my throat! The vixen panicked, feeling as exposed as never.

Instead, a mousewife pressed strong-smelled piece of cloth to her muzzle. The vixen held her breath as long as she could, but finally she had to inhale. Immediately its scent became overwhelming, and she drifted away.

Chapter 18

The sun had disappeared behind the horizon when Zlissa slithered out of spacious cave that served as her lair. Her scaled face was as emotionless as ever, but a tiny sparkle of light in her eyes could pass for a smile.

It was so easy! Take on a pitiful look, get a sad expression, add some stupid words about friends and other staff, and that silly woodlanders are ready to believe you. However, that squirrelmaid was constantly trying to lead everybeast back to her home, and the old molewife didn’t seem to trust her, but a couple of Zlissa’s persuading stares had solved the problem. Right now, the whole group was sleeping inside the cave. What a fools.

Zlissa Evileyes didn’t need great strength or great size to rule the swamp as she did – her sharp mind and hypnotic gaze was enough. She always could persuade anybeast to do whatever she wanted – always, since the day countless seasons ago when she got rid of her rival Berussca. The swamp wasn’t big enough for two snakes, and normally, they would have fought to death. But Zlissa simply kept ranting how miserable was the swamp and how great was the forest, so once Berusska left to settle in the Mossflower Woods – left as a winner, not knowing that she had actually lost.

The part of the swamp Zlissa entered now was studded with dozens and scores of sloppy dilapidated huts, made of mixed mud and reed. These huts swarmed with sleeping toads clustered inside and nestled outside. The snake set her jaw firm, trying not to be distracted by such amount of meat. Toad flesh is slimy and tasteless. Tonight I’ll have more delicious meal.

The biggest hut was occupied by one dweller only – an old fat toad. Zlissa thrust her head inside and hissed. The toad gave a jump – and immediately froze, caught by the piercing yellow eyes.

“Lissten,” hissed Zlissa, and the toad automatically nodded. “Thhake all yer tribe and go tho my cave. Guard woodlanderss inside ithh. Bound thhem iff ye need, buth not a ssingle one must be injured or killed. Othherwisse yer meath will ssatisfy my hhunger.”

The toad was nodding again like a rush swayed with the wind. Zlissa left the toad, heading back to her lair. There was some business to do - she would leave even before toads arrive. That Deathtrap woodlanders told about must be a cunning beast. He would see benefits of allying with another cunning beast. Tomorrow he’ll get his prisoners as a token of new alliance. Not all of them, of course...

Nothing changed in the snake’s lair when she was absent. Woodlanders still were fast asleep on their rough beds of leaves and moss when Zlissa had returned. The reptile’s forked tongue flitted as she slowly turned her head, looking over the guests – or, better to say, captives. Dibbuns huddled together in the middle of group, but two small molebabes were lying a bit away, closer to four other moles. They immediately became Zlissa’s target.

Freedom dreamed of Riftgard, of the North and of cold sea when something rough touched her tail. The mousemaid stirred, trying to move aside, but her tail was pinned to the ground with something heavy. Dom reluctantly opened her eyes. “Oohh, whaat-”

The rest of the sleep left Dom. Her tail was pressed down with Zlissa’s own tail – but she gasped in shock not because of this. Zlissa wasn’t paying any attention to the little mousemaid. The snake was looming over Renee and Allie, Roben and Deelma’s children. Her jaws wide open, Zlissa lowered her head, like some monster from an elders’ tale said to eat Dibbuns.

“Hey! What- what you’re doing?” Freedom shook her head, struggling to understand if it was still a dream or not. The snake’s head turned round sharply, and Dom found herself staring right into Zlissa’s eerie yellow eyes.

“Lissten. Ssstay ssilent. I thhake thosse I wanth. That’ss how it should be.” Freedom heard nothing but this soft husky voice, and saw nothing but these deep acute eyes, unable to resist their charm. “Come hhere.” Without even thinking what she was doing, the mousemaid stepped forward. Then she made one more step, and one more…

Suddenly Zlissa’s head jerked upwards with a short hiss, breaking eye contact with Freedom. The mousemaid quickly jumped back, and giant reptile curved her body as Renee hung at the snake’s tail trying to bite through solid scales.

“Auurr, leave ‘er alaune, ye big slimmy eartwarm!” The molebabe’s high-pitched cry had probably waked up every living creature in the swamp.

But the snake’s struggle with Dibbun couldn’t last long: with a strong stroke of her tail, Zlissa threw Renee against the wall, snake’s whole body tensed before the thrust. “Ffor thiss ye die!”

“No!” Dom jumped to help the little molemaid, but she was too far away. But Deelma wasn’t. The molewife threw herself between Zlissa and her child, and the snake caught her shoulder in jaws, sinking her teeth into Deelma’s flesh.

“Deelma!!!” In a second, Roben was here. With the angriest roar Freedom had ever heard, he brought his mighty forepaws upon snake’s head, raking his claws across her eyes. Zlissa hissed and turned round, intended to bite Roben as well, but the mole didn’t let go snake’s head, staying out of her reach.

“Riift-gaard!” Freedom lunged herself onto reptile’s back and tried to claw at it, only to discover that snake’s scales were too hard and firm. Zlissa arched her body, and Dom’s paws slipped on her smooth back. With another whack of her tail, Zlissa made the mousemaid crash down the hard ground of cave.

While she was getting back on her footpaws, she saw Abbess Bikkle and Marfa forcing Dibbuns to the corner, away from where the infuriated snake coiled, still locked in a fight with Roben. Now Rupet joined his brother, hanging to the snake’s temple with one paw and punching it with the other. Dom saw Zlissa ramming her head into the cave’s wall, and Roben broke off, gasping for air. Rupet could only tighten his grip as the snake bent her head down, fully intended to repeat the trick. Her right eye that was hit by Roben turned into a bloody mess, and the snake must been going mad with pain.

“Aim for the eye!” gulped Freedom as Maple helped her to get up.

However, the squirrel shook his head. “The neck!” Dom nodded - two beasts jumped forward and simultaneously landed at reptile’s neck. Freedom got Maple’s point now and didn’t try to bite or hit the snake. Instead she followed Maple’s example and grappled the neck with all four paws, pressing it down with all her weight. Zlissa’s stirs slowed down a lot: it was obviously difficult for her to fight while the load on her neck kept it from moving.

“Hold on! I’m comin’!” Bikkle’s muffled voice was heard somewhere from above, and Dom briefly glanced up to see the Abbess climbing the wall with a short dagger in her teeth. Unfortunately, Zlissa had also heard it and doubled the efforts she was putting into fight. Rupet fell down with a cry of pain, and Dom felt her paws growing weak with each second.

“Reedwaaall!” Bikkle jumped down, landing on Zlissa’s head by some luck or miracle. She had almost fallen down as the snake jerked, but the squirrelmaid managed to keep balance and plunged the dagger into the back of her head. Zlissa twitched and coiled her body, as if trying to see what had just happened behind her back. This last outburst of power sent Bikkle, Maple and Freedom flying. When the woodlanders raised their faces from stone floor, Zlissa’s tail lashed one last time, and then the monster was still.

Freedom stared at the snake for a few more seconds, ready to run in case she wasn’t really dead. Then a loud cry reminded her and her friends that they had other things to worry about. “Help! Help, somebest! ‘old on, Deelma!”

The molewife still laid limp where Zlissa had struck her, Roben huddled besides his wife, holding her paw and paying absolutely no attention to his own right paw that hung down his side like a broken branch. Renee and Allie clutched to their mother, crying aloud. Other Dibbuns bunched near, frightened and shocked. Rupet and Marfa also were there. Marfa was trying to bind Deelma’s wound with her shawl, but Deelma was gasping for air with evident difficulty. “Taike care o’ our likkle ones, Roben,” she whispered. “Remembe’ Oi lurve ye.”

“Dun’t zay so! Ye won’t die! Bikkle, ye’re from the Abbay – ye must knau sum ‘erbs!”

The Abbes knelt next to the dying molewife, tears running down her face. “I… I’m no healer, Roben… Sorry, but… I don’t think we can do anything…”

“Then we must find a healer!” Dom jumped to her feet, glad she can do at least something. “We must bring her in the Abbey as soon as possible!”

“Too laite,” uttered Deelma and closed her eyes.

“Hey! Look here! Everybeast!” Maple excited voice sounded as if it came from the other world, and Dom felt an irresistible urge to box his ears. Does he have no tact at all?

“Come on! It’s important!” kept calling Maple.

“Can’t it woit?” growled Rupet, turning to the squirrel. “Deelma is dying!”

“That’s why I’m calling you! She is not dying!”

“What?!” Freedom, Bikkle and Roben breathed out almost in unison.

Maple stood near the head of dead snake. He forced the monstrous jaws open, using a stick as a lever, so everybeast could see forked wormlike tongue and short sharp teeth. Dom frowned. She had never seen a snake’s mouth close, so why she had a feeling something was missing?

“The fangs!” she cried. “She has no fangs!”

“That’s what I mean!” Maple gave a wide smile. “If there are no fangs, then there’s no poison, right?”

“But… but wy Oi feel venom burnin’ in moi veins?” Deelma raised herself from the floor, surprise tingling in her voice. Freedom couldn’t help noticing she looked healthier than just a couple of moments before.

“Maybe you just got frightened too much,” suggested the squirrel Abbess. “And snake bite is a nasty thing, even if there are no fangs. But now I can say for sure – you are not dying!”

“Hurrey!” Renee and Allie cried again, this time for joy. A shadow of worry still could be heard in Allie’s voice when she asked, “Ye wan’t leave us, Mammy? Ye wan’t go away loike Granpa?”

“Oi wan’t let ‘er, likkle one!” Roben hugged his wife with his good paw and unwittingly gasped as he hurt his wounded paw.

“What’s dat?” Deelma pulled back and examined his paw. “Be it brok’n? Oh no, we should taike care o’ it!”

“Dat’s all roight if ye’re well,” sighed Roben as Deelma bound his paw with Marfa’s shawl.

Marfa looked down the dead snake with disgust. “Buorr, I must’ve been too old nawadays. Taike a grass snake fur an adder!”

“This pattern looks like the one of an adder,” agreed Bikkle, pointing on Zlissa’a back.

“But look, the scales are all went gray. Zlissa must’ve been very, very old snake. She could’ve lost her poison fangs with age,” suggested Maple.

“So that’s why she made it seem she was our friend. She couldn’t just kill us, so that monster lured us into her bloody lair!” The Abbess even shuddered at the thought. “I was a fool to believe her after all the evil her kin caused to Redwall!”

“She bewitched us all,” whispered Freedom, remembering that deep trance she fell into when the adder looked in her eyes. She felt tingles down his spine and hurried to shrug it away. “Enough talking of that terrible creature!”

“True.” The Abbess was in command now. “Marfa and I will help the wounded, and you two take care of the Dibbuns. I want to leave this terrible place as soon as possible before some other snake appears!”

The Dibbuns really needed taking care of. Most of them still were struck with fear and worries of the day and the night. However, mischievous Cleve had already begun drawing near Zlissa’a corpse. “Is it dead? Is there blood?”

Maple caught the squirrelbabe, much to his disappointment. “It is dead, but you won’t even go near it, rascal!”

Freedom made her way to other Dibbuns, checking on them and soothing them if necessary. “It’s all right, dear. You are safe now. No more bad beasts, see, Winnie? You’ll be home at the morning, so don’t cry!” Ripple tugged the hem of her dress, and Dom picked the small otterbabe up. “So, riverpup?”

“Why did Zliza attack you? I thought she is our friend!”

Dom frowned, thinking how to give a good answer to such a simple and therefore difficult question. “Well, she only pretended to be our friend. But in fact, she was evil even before we met her.”

“Then ‘ow I know who’s ma friend and who’s just pretendin’?”

Freedom cast a hopeful look at Maple, who always could deal better with such matters. But her squirrel friend was busy with Cleve and a couple of troublesome hogbabes, so Dom had to come out with an answer herself. “Well… I don’t know. But what I do know is that you should judge by one’s deeds, not one’s words. You see, Zlissa said she’s our friend, but attacked us. And Shamra, a weasel I know, had always claimed she doesn’t care for anybeast – and yet she saved me’n’Maple.”

Ripple’s eyes opened wide with curiosity. “Ye’re friends with a weesel? Tell me, tell me!”

“Not this time, you nosey. Look, your Mother Abbess is already gathering everybeast to leave.”

“Be we leave naw?” asked Rupet. He wasn’t as badly injured as his brother, and now the dark-furred mole was pacing the cave. “Mebbe we woite till mornin’? ‘Cause we ‘ave a trauble ‘ere.”

Bikkle frowned. “Do seasons simply mock us? Any more trouble? What’s that, Rupet?”

Rupet Claypaw pointed a digging claw at the entrance. “Them!”

Woodlanders came closer – and struggled for breath. All the visible space outside the cavern was occupied with armed toads.

Chapter 19

Under the bright night stars, a large group of hedgehogs stood at river bank, watching silently at big raft with a hut in its center. Inside that hut laid bodies of more than thirty Waterhogs, ready for their last journey. Big hedgehog called Hart Oakspike untied the rope which bound the raft to the bank and pushed it with long punting pole.

“May wind and waves carry thee to the sunny slopes where may thee find peace.” Hart spoke traditional words of farewell, and tears ran down his cheeks. The body of his father was lying at the raft among other tribebeasts. The old hog wanted to relinquish Chieftainship of the Waterhogs to Hart and spend his last days playing with little hoglets. Who could have known that Hart would have to claim his father’s title like this? Who could have known that a fishing trip half of Tribe took the day before would cost them so many lives?

Hart stood straight. He had to be strong for his tribe. And he had to hurry. Hart had always been down-to-earth type of beast, but now even he could sense danger in the air. That’s why he insisted on performing all the rituals right now and not waiting for dawn as traditions demanded.

“Waterhogs! Nowt, when we took care of our dead, we hast take care of our living. We shall leave this place and head for Redwall Abbey.”

“Shall Waterhogs flee from our kin murderers?” called somehog from crowd.

“Not flee, but find a place where our old and young can stay and goodbeasts to join forces with. I hast a feeling yon vermin were not just bandits.”

“Chief Hart is right!” cried a young hogmaid. She barely survived the massacre, and now her paws, chest and head were bandaged. “I’ve heard yon weasel cry ‘Kill them for Lord Deathtrap!’ They must be a part of bigger horde!”

“Thank thou, Sarosa,” Oakspike dipped his long headspikes. “Then we shall warn Redwall and Mossflower about them. Thaer, I want thy family to go round the woods and send every beast they meet to Redwall. We shall meet the danger together.”

As one can see from its name, Waterhog tribe usually consisted from hedgehogs only. But seasons ago Hart’s father allowed an otter family to join them, and now Thaer, his wife and his daughter were integral part of the tribe. Otters even proudly called themselves Waterdogs.

Thaer, who looks much like a corsair himself wearing a brass earring and red bandana, saluted the big hedgehog. “Sure, Cap. We’ll all go right now.”

“Don’t go thyself, I shall need thou here. Haund, can thou lead our tribe to the Abbey?” Haund, a hedgehog a shade bigger even than Hart, nodded. Hart Oakspike asked in a low voice, “Art thou sure thou don’t want to claim the title of Waterhog Chieftain? Thou art the firstborn.”

Haund smiled and gave his brother a friendly push. “We both know thou shall make a better leader, brother. I could have coped at the times of peace but not nowt… Thou’ve always been the one to resolve troubles, even since we were hoglets.”

Hart gave him a smile in return. “Hmf, I fear I was the one to create troubles as well! Hark nowt. While thou shall lead Waterhogs and those who join us, I and Thaer shall go to Coneslingers’ woods.”

Haund and Thaer exchanged worried looks. “What’s wrong?” wondered Waterhog Chieftan. “Coneslingers art friends of all goodbeasts, and we shall warn them!”

“Things changed after old Whurp’s death two seasons past, brother.”

“But why? Whurp was a fair leader, and I am sure his daughter Burnby is a fair leader too.”

“She is the leader in title, Cap,” explained Thaer, who sometimes left Waterhogs to pay visits to his squirrel friends. “But in fact it’s her husband Flamefur givin’ orders. He arrived from the north three seasons ago with a group of squirrels, fleeing from vermin raids. And he and his followers don’t like otherbeasts interfering in squirrels’ business.”

“I shall go,” Hart repeated stubbornly. “Yon vermin is everybeast’s business nowt. Will thou go with me, Thaer?”

“Asking, Cap? Sure I go! But mebbe… mebbe we go after the dawn? Then it won’t look like we are intruding their territory, say nothing of all their traps!”

Hart was adamant. “At the dawn it may be too late. We shall go nowt. Take care, Haund.”

Hart Oakpike and Thaer Waterdog walked silently to the small forest north to river Moss.

“Do thou know where the Coneslingers art living?” finally said Hart.

The otter scratched his head while thinking. “Yeah, their houses are on the trees right in this forest’s center, but they often change paths to their settlement. I can remember the last one, but I can’t know for sure…”

Hart gripped the handle of his heavy oaken club. “Show the way, I look for the traps.”

When they left Waterhogs, Thaer tried to persuade Hart not to take his weapon in order to avoid troubles with Coneslingers. Hart refused, saying he didn’t want to be unprepared if they met any vermin. Now the otter thought about thanking Chieftain for not listening to him. The large hog walked the path Thaer showed him, swinging the club before he did a step. It already tore through a couple of nooses and broke a well-hidden javelin.

“We’re almost there, Cap!” Thaer threw his head back, looking out for squirrels’ dwelling. “I hardly can see anything in dark, but we must be almost there.”

Hart leaned on his club. “I’d call for them, nowt.” He paused before roaring, “Heeey-aaay! I am Hart Oakspike, the Chieftain of Waterhogs! I need to speak to thy leader Burnby! Heeey-aay!”

“What do you want from Burnby, hog?” Neither Hart nor Thaer heard the squirrel sneak behind them. When they turned round he just stood there – a tall fellow with dark red fur, he was rather brawny but not stout. His sling was hanging from his belt, and Hart noticed a cone put into it.

The hedgehog had never met Flamefur, but the squirrel’s impudence made him believe it was him. “I have urgent news to discuss with thy leader. Can thee call Burnby, please?”

“Speak to me!” declared the squirrel.

Hart shook his head. “Thee don’t look like Burnby.”

The squirrel put his paw on his sling. “Think you can make fan of me, spikehead?”

“Why should you be so rude, Flamefur?” A pretty squirrelwife jumped down the earth, her soft fur bright like fire. “Hart, Thaer, I’m glad to see you. What brought you to our forest at such a late hour?”

Hart saw more squirrels gathering round them – some sat at tree branches, some leaped down, but all of them were eager to hear about the reason of their guests’ visit. So the Chieftain of Waterhogs raised his voice and tried to tell their story in a few words. “Waterhogs art gathering all goodbeasts and going to Redwall,” he concluded. “Will Coneslingers come with us?”

“Why should we?” growled Flamefur. “That’s none of our business!”

“How can you talk like that?” protested Burnby. “We can’t allow vermin play the master in our lands!”

“Mossflower ain’t our lands,” pointed out somebeast from the above. “Our lands are here!”

“Your lands, our lands, - does it matter?” asked Thaer. “Today vermin killed Waterhogs. Who knows whom they’ll kill tomorrow – your friends? Your little ones?”

“That’s right,” nodded Burnby. “My tribe will go to Redwall.”

Flamefur was startled. “What? So, Coneslingers will abandon the forest they lived in for generations and go against a horde of vermin to defend some beasts we barely know… just because a spikehead and a riverdog say so?”

“These beasts are our friends!” croaked some oldbeast. “When our crops died of drought last season, they’ve been giving us food.”

Flamefur sniffed. “And why should Coneslingers give their lives for a handful of vittles?”

Burnby’s voice was cold as ice. “When you came here three seasons ago with nothing but clothes you wore, Coneslingers helped you, Flamefur, and your friends, and accepted you all in our tribe. Is that how you are going to thank us? I’d never thought you are heartless enough to turn you back to those who helped you!”

The red squirrel jerked his head up. “Don’t you understand? Back at the north, I saw my tribe die – all but for a little group of refugees. I don’t want to see any more deaths. No vermin can defeat us here, where we know every path, where we can appear and vanish like shadows, where the earth is full of traps. We will lose our advantage if we leave the forest!”

Burnby opened her mouth to answer, but her voice drowned when the entire tribe began to argue. Everybeast was speaking at once; some of them weren’t even listening to each other. Nobeast paid Hart Oakspike and Thaer Waterdog any attention.

“They can fight like that till the sky falls,” sighed Hart. “We shall not waste out time here. Let’s go to our tribe.”

In the cave among the swamps, four beasts paced the floor, touching the walls, peeping in every hole and crack, digging at the ground.

“It’s useless,” moaned Freedom as she tried to fit herself into a narrow cleft. “It’s a dead end. There is no other way out.”

“Then our only hope is to cut our way through toads.” Bikkle tried to make her voice sound confident, but the mousemaid saw her paws trembling. “I know, it’s too many of them, but we have no other choice but sit and wait them attack.”

“That’s strange,” Maple was thinking of something again. “Why don’t these toads attack? There are dozens, no, scores of them, and they just sit near the cave and don’t go inside.”

“Maybe they are waiting for their leader, or something,” shrugged the Abbess. “Now, what weapons we have here? Plenty of stones, a couple of sticks and two daggers…”

“Unly un dagger, surry,” Rupet showed them a shorn-off handle. “Oi’ve tried to pull it out off dat snake’s head, an’ it’s broke…”

“The snake! We have a dead snake here!” cried Freedom, an idea flashed in her mind. “We can – oh yes, we can scare toads away!”

“By making them believe it’s alive?” Mother Abbess critically poked the dead body with stick. “Look, it’s completely bloodstained – how can it fool somebeast?” She answered her own question immediately. “But we must at least try. Maple, Rupet, go to the snake’s right side, me and Dom take the left. Deelma, Roben, Marfa, watch after the Dibbuns, please.”

Zlissa’s body was heavy, but together four beasts managed to drag it to the cave’s entrance. At Bikkle’s command, they lifted snake’s head and began to move it. The giant blunt muzzle was thrust out of the cave. To complete the resemblance, Marfa scraped two stones against each other, imitating snake’s hissing.

Toads became stockstill for a moment, then they backed away and fell facedown, pressing their bellies into mud. “Evileyes, Evileyes! Youorder – weobey!”

“Oi be Evileyes, shurr-shrr,” Marfa did her best to sound like a snake. “Oi order ye to go ‘way, hur-shurr-shrr!”

Freedom was glad their enemies had no torches with them; otherwise they would have seen Zlissa’s wounds. Now, if they obey ‘snake’s’ orders…

The mousemaid’s footpaw slipped on a pebble, and Dom fell flat on her back. Without her support, her friends could not hold the weight of Zlissa’s body all by themselves. The dead snake plopped down, its head and neck slithered out right into a patch of crescent light. The empty eye socket stared at the toads, who couldn’t be fooled anymore.

A toad in the first line hurled a light reed javelin, and Dom rolled away grabbing the stone she slipped on. But the toad wasn’t aiming at her. The javelin sank into Zlissa’s head. The toad jumped warily to the snake, then pulled the javelin from the body and stabbed it again. “Evileyes dead!” it croaked. “Dead-dead!”

The rest of the toads were upon the dead snake like locust, scores of them, and every one wanted to kick their once deadly enemy, stab it, stone it or trample it down. The swamp came alive with their croaking, just one word repeated again and again, “Dead! Dead-dead! Dead!”

Woodlanders retreated back into the safety of cave. “Looks like those guys aren’t quite fond of Zlissa, ah?” smiled Dom.

“She could’ve been feeding on them,” nodded Maple. “That would explain why toads are so happy to see her dead.”

“Maybe that’s right, and maybe not, I don’t want to find out,” Abbess Bikkle helped Deelma get up. “We are leaving this place before those outside remember about us and turn us into supper!”

Chapter 20

The night over Mossflower Woods was calm and warm, but the night over Terramort Isle brought a heavy shower which hung in the air, forming a thick wall of water. The escaped slaves could barely see their way, so they clutched to each other firmly. Wavehound took the lead – the otter would stop from time to time and put a paw to his head trying to prevent the rain from blinding him, checking direction.

Seabird made it her responsibility to see that nobeast would get lost. “Look after your families and friends! Especially old and little ones! Or hold each other’s paws, that’ll be better!”

Betta and the squirrels helping her were ones in the rearguard: the badgerwife hadn’t been free from her chains for longer than anybeast could remember, and the race for life had already drained her strength. Betta did her best to stay on foot, but her body didn’t want to obey her. Several times she tripped and fell, dragging Basko and Mlika down as well, and each time she got up, muttered apologies, helped the squirrels and went on running.

When Betta and the squirrels fell for seventh or eighth time, Mlika stayed lying in a puddle of muddy water while Betta and Basko got back to their footpaws.

“Dear! Are you all right? Please, get up, dear!” Basko clasped his wife’s shoulders, bringing her upright.

“I… I suddenly felt so dizzy…” Mlika buried her head in her paws, the whole squirrelwife’s body was shivering from cold. “I guess that’s ‘cuz of the rain and the running… Let’s go on, I’ll be fine.”

Basko still looked worried. He clearly didn’t want to let her paw go.

“Look after Mlika, I’ll walk by myself,” encouraged him Betta. “I’m not that old to die from exhaustion.” To show it, the badgerwife quickened her pace to catch up with the rest of runaways. Basko followed her with Mlika leaning against him.

The steady rain surrounded Betta in minutes, and the recent prisoner lost all the sense of direction. She could only follow vague shapes looming in the dark. Tiredness made Betta slow down, and then she fell, and couldn’t remember anything.

The awakening was rude: somebeast kicked Betta in the ribs with a heavy boot. “Dead stripedog! ‘Bout threescore of slaves missin’ and all we find is a dead stripedog!”

Vermin! Blaze of fire flamed up in Betta’s chest. Those who razed her homeland and captured her and starved her and tortured her for most of her life! The rage of the Bloodwrath took over Betta, urging her to maim and kill those who maimed and killed her soul… except that Betta didn’t have strength to do it. The night spent on running left the badger completely worn out, and she couldn’t move a paw, couldn’t even growl at her enemies.

Amazingly, it played into Betta’s paws, since corsairs hadn’t even realized she was alive. “Oh, shuttup, Rags, you can only complain. We ‘ave to catch that scum, or Cap’n Viro would sweep the floor with our tails!”

“How ye think we catch them, Bigger? Damn rain washed ‘way half of isle, bah!”

“Ye’ve always been an idiot, Knifenut. Where would you go if you wanted to hide? You’d go to the mountains, that’s for sure. So we just go there, find slaves and teach them ‘ow to escape from us!”

“Teach them? Why, for them to escape again?”

“That’s just how they say, Nut. Let’s go!”

There was tramping of paws, which stopped after a moment. “I have an idea!” cried out the one called Knifenut.

Bigger growled impatiently. “What, again?”

“Err, this time it’s a good one, really! Let’s cut of stripedog’s head! If we don’t find the runaways, we’ll tell we tracked and killed this one, er?”

Betta tried to brace her sinews. No matter how exhausted, she won’t let some vermin get her head!

However, not all the corsairs craved for it. “Fishbrain! Do ye want to carry some bloody pate till it stinks? We can always fetch it on out way back!” Still complaining about each other’s stupidity, ungrateful slaves and bad weather, the vermin went away.

Betta managed to half-open her eyes. After some concentration, she discerned silhouettes of seven beasts atop a ridge, a lone seagull soaring above them.

Vermin. Murderers. Betta closed her eyes tight, and when she opened them again they were bloody red. She growled and tried to get up, spirit of the Bloodwrath overcoming flesh of her old body. A small part of Betta’s mind told her it would be better to find Wavehound and other slaves rather than going after corsairs. But the bigger part of her mind told her that vermin would be gone if she didn’t hurry. So the badgerwife threw her body forward in a desperate attempt to catch up with her enemies.

After few steps Betta tripped and tumbled downhill. She lay here in a gully for a moment, gathering her strength. Then ancient instinct made her continue her way. She couldn’t get up, so Betta began to climb uphill, using boulders to pull herself up.

But when she grabbed another stone, it sank into the soil like a knife sinks into butter. The earth itself shook and dropped under Betta’s paws, and she fell into gaped hole.

Betta was wakened by muted voices around her. “How is she, Skadi?”

“Worn out and famished and bruised, but nothing serious,” said a soft female voice.

“And… what is she? I’ve never seen such a creature.”

“Neither have I. May be Logi knows.”

“I do.” The new voice was a rasp of an old beast. “That’s a badger, a stripedog.”

“A badger?” the first voice sounded surprised. “Like the one that destroyed Gabool the Wild? She is far less terrifying than I’d imagined.”

“Don’t let her looks fool you, Stonebreaker. Judging by scars upon her wrists, it’s the very stripedog that was imprisoned by Deathtrap, and I’ve seen her breaking a metal cage and killing three guards. You never know what a Bloodwrathed beast can do, believe me old fox!”

Fox. That word triggered Betta’s blind fury. There were vermin, and those vermin had to die. She opened her eyes and lunged forward, barely able to discern three figures before her – two rats and a fox. Then something stopped her jerk, holding her back. Betta realized her paws were bound with leather straps. What a shame, a thought flashed in her mind as she struggled with fetters, once I was able to break chains and now I can’t tear some leather!

Splash! The fox hurled a dipper of cold water into her face. The world spun round Betta before returning to its place. The outburst of rage had passed, and now she could take a better view of the situation.

Betta laid on a straw-and-moss-bed in some closed place. She could clearly see there were no windows, but still there were quite enough light – the badgerwife could swear that walls themselves were luminous if she didn’t know it was impossible.

She shifted her gaze on her captors and growled. One of the rats, a middle-seasoned male with small ears and deep-seated eyes put his paw on a weapon thrust through his belt. It wasn’t a usual sword or dagger – no, this weapon was made completely of metal and reminded her a pickaxe miners sometimes use, with a single thick spike, the other side of it balanced by a broad flat edge of hammer.

However, a female rat slapped her companion’s paw before he could pull out that strange weapon. “Pebble! Can’t you see you’re scaring the poor creature?” She spread her paws, showing that she was weaponless. “Greetings, stranger. I’m called Skadi, this gloomy one is my husband Stonebreaker Skief, and this is Logi,” she gestured to an old fox, his fur ragged and grey from age, “he is the best healer in both Terramorts.”

Betta desperately struggled with her bounds while Skadi spoke. “Let’s stop pretending,” growled the badgerwife. “I don’t know were Wavehound and others are. And even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, vermin!”

“You got everything wrong, striped one,” chuckled Logi. “We are not your enemies. We have nothing to do with corsairs from Bladegirt. In fact, they are our enemies. So I guess we can call you a friend.”

Betta considered it for a moment. Now she could see that the closed place they were in looked more like a cave than a dungeon cell, and roughly-woven tunics vermin wore were nothing like soldiers’ clothes. “Unbind me!” finally demanded she.

“First you must promise not to attack us,” said Stonebreaker – or was his name Skief? “In my turn, I swear by my son’s life that nor I neither my Clan attack you unless you threat us.”

Giving promises to vermin didn’t sound sensible, but even the part of Betta’s mind that longed for the Bloodwrath to come knew that blind obstinacy would get her nowhere. Still, she growled and tugged her cuffs before reluctantly agreeing, “All right. I swear by my mother’s soul that I won’t attack you unless you threat me or my friends.”

Vermin nodded with a look of satisfaction and undid knots of her bounds. Betta immediately drew herself up, though her head wasn’t ready for it, and dizziness got into her skull.

Logi supported the badgerwife under the paw. “Easy, easy, striped one. May I remind you we don’t know your name yet?”

“I’m Betta of Daggerrocks”, she said, pulling away from his paw. “And if you call yourself my friends, then tell me – where am I and who are you?”

Skadi was willing to elucidate. “You are in the caves of Lower Terramort, and we, those who live here, call ourselves Rolt.”

This statement left Betta even more confused. “This actually doesn’t explain anything to me.”

“Have you ever heard of Gabool the Wild and the destruction of his Fort?” asked Logi.

Of course Betta heard of it, but she hadn’t remembered much. “Well… I think I did.”

“Then you have to remember that one of the reasons rebels succeeded was their usage of the tunnel – or, better to say, the network of tunnels that runs under the whole island. You are in one of these tunnels. We call it Lower Terramort, and the overground part of the isle is Upper Terramort.”

“We’ve found you in one of our tunnels,” added Skadi. “How did you manage to discover the entrance? We’ve always thought it was camouflaged well enough, and you can’t move the screen of rock unless you push a hidden lever.”

“And the lever was hidden in a stone?” said Betta. Skadi nodded, and the badgerwife continued, “Then I pushed it by accident. Falling through some kind of a hole is the last thing I remember. Right, let’s move on. Who is Rolt?”

“It’s rather ‘what’ than ‘who’,” corrected Stonebreaker. “It stands for ‘Rats of Lower Terramort’. This story started soon after Gabool’s defeat. After freed slaves had sailed from Terramort, they left behind pirates who survived the battle – mostly those who fled and hid before it was too late. Without ships, those rats were trapped on the island. There were brutal fights for leadership at first, but then they realized they would wipe each other out unless they cooperate. And they cooperated. Terramort had never been a paradise on earth, but the land here was fertile enough to give rise to some crops and vegetables, and the sea was full of fish. That’s how pirates became farmers and fishers. However, there still was one problem – harsh weather. There had never been woods on Terramort, just brakes and bushes, and the rebels destroyed Fort to the ground. Pirates didn’t have any means to build houses of even huts, so they came to live in these tunnels.”

“I see, I see,” interrupted Betta. “Those rats were your ancestors. No need to go into details.”

“I just want you to see the whole picture. But in short, you’re right. With each generation they were less and less pirates and more and more peaceful farmers. That’s how it’s been till Deathtrap arrived at Terramort many seasons ago.”

“Twenty seasons past, to be more exact.” One more rat entered the cave. This rat looked even older than Logi, and Betta thought there was no better word to describe him but ‘ancient’. He had lost all fur on his face and paws, and his face was wrinkled. The rat hobbled closer, and Betta could see a peg leg replacing his right hindpaw. Without a second thought she jumped up and bowed. In her whole life she had never bent her back before a vermin, but she felt such a great wisdom and strength of mind in that beast that she couldn’t do otherwise.

“Here, don’t weary yourself out, grandfather,” Stonebreaker seated the old rat down the bedding.

“Old ones aren’t as helpless as you think, pup,” sniffed the rat. “Thought all the extra-attention does flatter my self-esteem.” Then he paid his attention to Betta. “So, you’re the stripedog that fell from the sky? I’ve never seen a badger before, but I imagined them to be much more ferocious and menacing.”

That last statement surprised Betta. “Hadn’t you seen the Badger Lord who defeated Gabool?” She blurted without thinking.

Luckily, the elder broke into a toothless grin. “Hey, I’m not that old!”

Then Stonebreaker stepped in. “Betta, let me introduce you to Skvold Sharkslayer, also known as Skvold the Retreater and Knowing One.”

“Add Skvold the Lame to the list, windbag,” grumbled the elder without spite. His words were left without notice.

“He was Stonebreaker when my parents were merely pups, and I’m honored to call him a grandfather. Skvold, let me introduce you to Betta of Daggerrocks.”

“Glad to know you, youngster,” Skvold patted the bedding. “Sit down; you still have all time in the world to give yourself stiff joints.” The badgerwife followed his advice. Betta felt much better than in the morning, but she still was glad to give her paws some rest.

“We just were telling Betta about history of our Clan,” said Skadi.

“Ah, I’ve heard. I think I’ll be a better storyteller, you were just small pups at that time.” The young rats nodded to their older companion, and Skvold turned to Betta. “So it’ll be a tales’ day. I tell you my story, and then you tell us yours.”

The badgerwife silently bowed her head. Betta wasn’t completely sure she could trust these strange vermin, but they had already told her so much.

The elder rat cleared his throat. “This happened seasons ago, when I was Stonebreaker of Clan…”

“I don’t quite understand,” said Betta. “I thought Stonebreaker was his name.” She pointed to Skvold’s grandson.

He patted a handle of his strange weapon with a smile. “Stonebreaker is its name. Only Chiefs of Rolt are allowed to carry it, so it’s a title as well. Skief is my birth name, and Stonebreaker is just an official one.”

“Right, let me continue,” murmured Skvold, and everybeast fell silent. “Rolt led a secluded life, landlocked on this Isle. Then three of Deathtrap’s ships arrived. We were glad that corsairs finally broke our forced seclusion, for it meant trade, and opportunity for young ones to leave. The weasel straight away declared he would rebuild Fort Bladegirt there and make the Isle his headquarters, and we didn’t mind. Fine, I said, Terramort is big enough for all of us, we can still be satisfied with the deal. But no, that wasn’t enough for that yellow-paunched rogue, he wanted us Rolt come to him and become his soldiers! Can you believe it? He wanted us to fight his battles for him and die for him!”

The old rat stamped his wooden leg several time.

“Sure I said no – all Rolt said no, I wouldn’t have withheld beasts against their will. Skief told you, it was long long time since our ancestors waged their wars, and none of us wanted to fight for some stranger weasel. Trouble was that Darm hadn’t taken ‘no’ for an answer. “You are with me or against me. You gonna be my slaves if you won’t be my soldiers,” he said. I tried to reason, tried to drum into his head that we’re peaceful creatures, that we’re nor with him neither against him, that we just want to stay aside, but would he listen?”

“Talking with Deathtrap is a waste of breath,” agreed Betta, her burning homeland still before her eyes.

“It is. We didn’t submit to him. There was a battle. It was my mistake.” Skvold’s speech became more abrupt and brusque, his words heavy and edgy. “We were no warriors. I knew it. But this is our land. Our ancestors lived there, we live there. The weasel had no right to set his rules there. I thought it would be enough. I was wrong. Darm’s soldiers were skilled killers. We lost many. We lost the battle. I ordered us to retreat, to run away and save our lives. That’s how I ended up being called ‘the Retreater’.”

“It was a wise decision,” Skief spoke, interrupting the story. “Rats of Lower Terramort do still live because you ordered them to retreat, or Darm would’ve killed us all.”

“I don’t regret giving that order,” snorted Skvold. “I regret starting the whole battle.”

“It’s a right thing,” argued Betta. “You have to fight to defend what you have.”

“No, youngster. You never start a fight unless you’re absolutely sure you win, or you can lose more than you win.”

Betta was puzzled. She got used to feeling herself like the oldest creature in the Barn, but Skvold made her aware of her not-so-old age and inexperience. “Sorry, can you tell us what happened next?”

“We escaped to our tunnels, and Deathtrap had the entrances collapsed. Can you believe that stonebrains thought he killed us? Ha! Can you kill a fish by drowning it? Can you kill a bird by throwing it from height? Ha! We went further into the tunnels, and we’ve been living there since that. The underground river gives us fish, caves give us mushrooms and moss and lichen, and sun grounds give us some crops and plants. We never go above during the day, and sea-robbers from Fort don’t even know of us!”

“Thank you,” Betta slightly dipped her head. “I’ve got one question, if you don’t mind.” She turned to Logi, who was silent during the whole conversation. “You say Rolt are descendants of Gabool’s searats. But you don’t look much like a rat.”

The old fox shook his head. “I wasn’t born in Clan, but I joined it seasons ago. Right now you’re talking to a criminal, because I deserted Fort and betrayed Deathtrap.”

Betta’s hackles slowly rose. The rats may be peaceful creatures, but this fox had just admitted being part of the weasel’s troops. “Why did you?”

“Well, we didn’t see eye to eye ‘bout some things.” The badgerwife’s gaze was still, and Logi explained, “We corsairs may be ruthless to our enemies, but among ourselves we observe the Law of Sea carefully. However, Darm follows only his own rules. Six seasons ago, my son-in-law was slain in battle. Darm refused to give his share of plunder to my daughter as the Law of Sea demanded, he didn’t even cared she had a little pup to feed. I tried to stand for my daughter’s rights, but the weasel didn’t even listen to me, and his rat eavesdropper whispered to me I’d better keep quiet or there be ‘an accident’. You see where it’s coming, don’t you? We all left Bladegirt, me, my daughter and my grandson.”

“So.” Betta pondered at the news, then slowly nodded, her head spinning with the amount of new information. “I hadn’t even thought somebeast could rebel against the weasel.”

“Oh, a rebellion would’ve been hopeless – there were a couple of them, but Deathtrap had them scorched in two days. But creatures jumping ships? Yes. You’ll meet them here in Rolt. Vidar was denied his fair share after he lost a leg, Idunna’s brother was killed by Darm, and Surt just doesn’t like to obey orders.”

“We often go to Upper Terramort at night,” said Skadi, “so we can help beasts who try to leave Fort. We try hard, but not all of them make it.” She sighed. “Deathtrap likes making example of those who breaks his laws.”

“Now, will you tell us how you got there, Betta of Daggerrocks?” said Skief.

The badgerwife took her time to think. But after all, she had no idea of Wavehound’s current location, and vermin in Bladegirt had already learned about the escape…

“By my stripes!!” she roared, springing up to her paws. “The others – they are out there! And corsairs are searching for them since morning! We must help them, quickly!”

Chapter 21

“Hurr, get down! ‘Here ‘re beasts comin’ dis ‘ay!”

At Rupet’s command Freedom and her companions fell flat, dragging Dibbuns with them.

“Who are that beasts?” hissed Dom with irritation. After spending the rest of not-so-quiet night making her way through thickets and bushes, she was too tired to be afraid.

The short mole stamped ground with his footpaw. “Dunno. But Oi feel them tramplin’, feel them wit’ moi diggin’ clauws!”

Dom couldn’t feel the earth like moles, but she could hear muffled rustling of branches – an evidence of some beasts trying to move secretly. Brushwood and false dawn were hiding them from strangers’ eyes, but it also concealed the beasts from them.

Bikkle crawled forward to peep from their hide-out, then let out a laugh of relief and got up. “That’s Waterhogs! Ho! How thee ‘hogs fare away from river?”

The large group of woodlanders, about half of them hedgehogs, flinched at the Abess’s sudden appearance, some of them reached for weapons. But when they saw who greeted them, wary looks immediately were replaced with relaxed smiles. Big wide-shouldered hedgehog raised his forepaw, “Ho! How thee Abbess fares away from thy Abbey?”

Two beasts shook paws. “Jokes aside, what brings you here, Hart?” asked Mother Abbess. “I don’t see your father – is he well?”

Hart’s face was dim. “No. He… I’m Chieftain of Waterhogs nowt. I’d better tell everything as we walk to thy Redwall. We can not afford lose more time.”

The vixen was awake, but she lay without motion, listening as the young mouse was fussing round. She heard clink of a bowl being set on table, then the mouse said, “Wake up.” She didn’t move, and he repeated, “Wake up. I know you are not asleep.” He got no answer. Finally, he gave up. “All right, play your games, vermin. There’s your medicine on the table – drink it yourself. The sooner you heal and get out of here is the better for us both.”

Sound of steps dying out, then silence. The vixen waited for a while to make sure her jailer had gone, then opened her eyes. She was placed in a small room – a cubicle with curtained entrance. There were a window and a small table at the head of it; the bed across the cubicle was empty but unmade – another beast must have left recently.

Bowl on the table was full with thick liquid. Ironically, but the mouse was right – she needed to heal if she wanted to escape. The vixen’s left leg was in splints, her right forepaw and all her chest was bandaged so tight she could hardly move. Indeed, trying to pick up her medicine became some kind of a challenge. Finally, the vixen managed to grip it with her left paw, but as she tried to pull it to herself the bowl fell out. Precious liquid spilled on the floor; the bowl, luckily, just clanked soundly.

In a heartbeat, curtain flew open, and the mouse returned. “Dropping things, yeah? I knew that’ll happen, so I filled the bowl with simple broth, not medicine. It would’ve been easier if you didn’t tried to fool me, you stupid beast.” He picked up the bowl, quickly mixed some potion and neared the vixen. “If you try to attack me again, I’ll throw you out of the window,” he warned, his voice bearing bitter grudge.

I won’t do that mistake again, thought the vixen looking at young mouse with dun brown fur and dark paws – looking at her husband’s murderer. Next time she would succeed. The soul of Kars would never rest in peace till she avenge him, and the vixen had already swore that one day she would kill that mouse.

But all she could do right now was to hold back a growl as the mouse brought the bowl to her lips and held it for her to drink.

“What’s your name?” he asked as she emptied the bowl. “Not that I care, but it will make talking easier. I’m Turfee.”

The vixen considered it, and then decided her name wasn’t worth hiding. “Name’s Foxglove.”

The mouse gave a smile. It angered the vixen. She didn’t like her corsair pals making fun of her name, and sure not a woodlander. “That’s fine name,” she couldn’t hide tension in her voice. “My mother was a healer. She called me after a medicine herb.”

“I know it’s a herb. It’s just… amusing. A fox named Foxglove.”

“It’s no worse than any other names, Dustpaws.”

Turfee waved his paw. “Doesn’t matter. Now, don’t you even try to get out of bed. I’ve got no intention of changing your bandages before time.”

“Who, me?” Foxglove was especially proud of offended notes in her voice. “I feel like a mountain collapsed atop me.” Actually, it was very close to the truth. “You think I can just get up an’ walk away?”

The curtain was drawn off, and two beasts walked in – a small badger in green tunic and big graying otter Foxglove recognized as the one who restrained her earlier.

“Good morning,” the badger’s eyes rested upon the vixen. “I’m glad to see you’re getting better.”

“Foxglove, that’s Lord Grawn Woodsmith, ruler of Salamandastron,” declared Turfee. “You should thank him you’re treated by civilized beasts, not abandoned on the battlefield as your vermin friends usually do. And that’s Skipper of Redwall’s otters, who offered to keep an eye on you in case you try to do anything foolish. You do understand this?”

The vixen gulped. Did they come to question me?

But no, the badger smiled and took a step toward Foxglove’s bed, “Stop frightening your patients, Turfee.”

“Careful,” growled Skipper. “She’s a wild one. Already attempted an attack on our healers.”

“I- I was blinded with pain,” this excuse sounded lame, but she at least got to try and cleanse the memory of her stupid outrage. “I remember only pain… Such a sharp, splitting pain I wanted to bite my paws off…”

The mouse and otter exchanged glances with unconcealed distrust in his eyes; even the badger frowned. They didn’t believe her – but she didn’t believe them either.

“Hope it won’t happen again,” said the badger. “Anyway, I’ve come to check on you and say you are safe here in the Abbey. We aren’t going to torture or starve you. After you’re healed, you are free to go wherever you want to. We don’t carry war on wounded. We are not killers.”

Foxglove couldn’t help giving a broad grin. She cracked them! No, Redwallers wouldn’t torture her; they chose another strategy. They’d be all nice and friendly to her, so she’s supposed to go soft-hearted (though soft-headed is better definition) and spill everything out! Well, let them play this game; it can be played by two.

She bowed her head humbly. “Thankee, Lord.”

“I’ll come and talk to you later,” concluded the badger, then both he and Turfee left the cubicle.

Skipper slowly sat down the second bed in the room – it took Foxglove some time to see bandages under his green shirt and realize he was a patient as well. “Don’t even think about pulling off some foxy tricks. I’m watching you, vermin.”

The vixen wanted to say something scornful, but decided not to anger her roommate. Clenching her teeth, she rolled over, her back to the otter. Thinking. Plotting.

Simon made himself comfortable on a little stool, leaning against the wall as he waited for Turfee. The young otter let his gaze wander over Abbey Infirmary. It was overcrowded with wounded; most of them were Redwallers who suffered during Deathtrap’s attack; seven hares that survived an ambush set by vermin were there as well.

Kvalla couldn’t stop fingering a bundled stump of her left ear. “Wot a woe, sah. Wot’s more miserable than an earless ‘are, wot?”

Sister Vernal gently pulled harewife’s paw away. “Sorry, your ear was too badly damaged to be stitched. I had little choice but to cut it off to avoid infection. How did it happen to get torn in shreds, anyway?”

Kvalla frowned at recollection. “Bloody arrow, wot. Pinned my ear to a tree, an’ vermin didn’t want to wait till I remove it carefully. So I just sprang away before they made a pincushion of me, wot wot!”

Seeing hares reminded Simon of Mother Abbess and Dibbuns. Where are they? Does that ambush mean vermin got them? We shouldn’t have left them at Brockhall!

Simon’s gaze shifted to Myrra, who came to visit the wounded Foremole Ruggum.

“Ye zay ye’re from ovve the see?” asked Ruggum.

“Yeah, from Stonehall. Ho urr, it was a wonderful place, all mauntains an’ ridges. Very liddle o’ real forest, but dere was a grove o’ stones dat stood loike trees. An’ caves with columns o’ quartz. An’ deep lakes, so clear dat ye could see ev’ry pebble at de bottum.” Myrra sighed. “An’ silver mines. We worked in dem an’ traided with passin’ ships. Then the weesel came – an’ we became slaives in ‘ur own mines.”

Foremole gentle squeezed his new friend’s paw. “Oi didna mean to upset ye, burr.”

Myrra sighed. “Oi knaw. Oi just thaught… mebbe one day, one day, when that vermint weesel bes gone, we can sail to Stonehall an’ set it free unce more.”

“We will,” said Ruggum firmly. “Oi knaw we will.”

Meanwhile, young otter stared at the curtain that separated Infirmary from a small nook where a captive vixen was treated. Turfee, Grawn and Old Skip went here quite a time ago. Simon began to tap the floor with his rudder impatiently when somebeast gave him a sharp poke in the side. He flinched from surprise and turned round. It was Fleggen, lying on the nearest bed, his gaze sullen.

Simon slightly bent his head. “Sorry. I don’t let you sleep, do I?” The shrew nodded, and Simon went on, “Sorry again. You should have told me earlier.”

Fleggen cast him another morose glare and made a cutting move across his bandaged throat with his paw. “Throat wound, can’t talk?” translated Simon. Another nod. “That’s a nasty thing. And what do healers say? When will you get better?”

The shrew frowned even more and dug himself under blankets without making a sign. “Did I offend you?” inquired Simon. “But what did I say wrong? Why are you angry?”

“Fleggen is not angry with you in particular,” called Sister Vernal from the next bed where she was changing Brandon’s bandages. “He is just angry. You see, the wound on his throat is too deep. His vocal cords are damaged.” Kind mouse sighed. “I’m sorry, but Fleggen will never be able to talk again.”

“Oh.” Simon shook his head. Fleggen could have been the grumpiest and the most quarrelsome beast he knew, but the otter hadn’t wished him such a wound. He tried to keep pity away from his voice – he knew Fleggen wouldn’t want one. “Well, I guess it could’ve been worse.”

“Simon? You’re still here?”

The young otter turned to see Brother Turfee and Lord Grawn coming into main Infirmary room. “You said I can visit Triss,” he reminded.

Turfee stopped to fill a bowl with a strong-smelling tincture. “Sure. Follow me.”

The Abbey Warrior was staying in a dormitory not far from Infirmary, reclining on pillows and blankets. Simon could see her ears and whiskers were sagging, even if the squirrel smiled and waved her paw to visitors. “Hi Simon, hi Turfee! Umm, what are you carrying? You aren’t going to make me drink that nasty skilly again, are you, Turfee?”

The mouse healer cast Triss a stern glance (sometimes Simon wondered where did he learn it – definitely not from Sister Vernal), “This ‘nasty skilly’ is saving your leg. You have to drink it.”

Triss let out a feigned sigh. “How such a nice Dibbun could turn into such austere beast?”

“Sometimes I think he likes tormenting his patients,” agreed Simon.

“Fine,” sniffed Turfee. “Next time you’ll have a pleasure of stitching your own wounds.”

Simon and Triss chuckled at the thought, but Triss’s laugh quickly grew into cough. Simon hurried to give his mentor a cup of warm mint tea and didn’t take his eyes off her while she sipped. “How do you feel, Triss?”

“Not as good as I’d want to,” admitted the squirrel. “My chest hurts, and I can’t move my leg. But I’m much, much better that yesterday, thanks to Turfee and Vernal.” A small smile showed up on Turfee’s face. “I hope I’d be back on my footpaws in few days,” said Triss.

“A broken bone can’t heal in few days,” softly said Turfee.

Simon felt he couldn’t put off inevitable any more. “Triss, did… did you hear what happened in the woods?”

“Yes. Churk told me when she visited.”

The young otter looked down, unable to raise his eyes. “I’m… I’m sorry, so sorry. I’m not fit for the warrior, I know. I shouldn’t have left the Sword of Martin.”

“Silly riverpup.” Nobeast called Simon ‘riverpup’ since he was a Dibbun, and his face burned with shame. However, there was a note of sorrow in Triss’s voice as she went on, “I’ll make no secret of it, I’m upset with what happened. But Simon, we all do mistakes. All of us. The only thing that matters is whether we can set thing right at the end. In your case, we can.”

Simon understood. “The sword is still in the stream. We can go back and retrieve it.”

“Yes, and that’s what we’ll do after things clear up a bit.” Triss forced a smile, then frowned again. “As you see, you still can set things right. I can’t.”

”What do you mean?” said the Warrior apprentice. “You’ve never did such stupid stuff.”

“May be I haven’t. But I’ll never forget how Shogg died protecting me.”

Simon frowned. He had very vague memories of the otter, but he knew his story well. “Shogg was killed by snakes,” he said softly. “It wasn’t your fault, Triss.”

“May be it wasn’t. But there were times when I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking: if I hadn’t fall down… if I hadn’t dropped the sword… if I had got up faster… Shogg would’ve been alive.” Triss’s head was bowed down now. “It took time to realize snakes were the only ones to blame. But even now, I would sometime think – if only…”

The squirrel warrior patted Simon’s paw, her voice bracing. “What I wanted to say is that you have no reason to fret. We still can set things right.”

Simon stayed with Triss for a while, then left her room, deep in thoughts, his paw touching Deyna’s locket – a gesture that made him feel closer to his famed ancestor. Triss was right. He will set things right.

Freedom, together with Abbess Bikkle and Chieftain Hart, looked at red-stone walls of the Abbey.

“I can see beasts on the walltops,” said Maple. “It’s – yes, it’s hares, I see their long ears.”

“Hares in Redwall?” muttered Bukkle. “The Long Patrol must have come to the Abbey. Anyway, we need to get inside.” The squirrelmaid took a deep breath before shouting, “Redwaaall! It’s Bikkle with friends out here! Open the gates!”

In less than five minutes, mixed group of Waterhogs and woodlanders was inside the Abbey’s walls.

“Christoff Bigbow at your service, mar’m,” bowed the hare that opened small eastern gates for them. “Glad you turned up, sah. We’ve been looking for you yesterday, wot.”

“I’m also glad we turned up,” smiled the Abbess. “Did Lord Sagaxus send you?”

By that time, a large group of Abbeydwellers flocked to welcome them. Dibbuns dashed to their families and friends, Mother Abbess got surrounded by both Redwallers and hares of the Long Patrol, and even Waterhogs and woodlanders turned out to have friends in the Abbey. Freedom, Maple and Claypaw family stood aside, couldn’t help feeling a little aloof.

Then Maple gasped, his eyes set on a group of squirrels. “Dad!” he cried and ran into paws of a squirrel in red headband. His father laughed, hugged Maple, then picked him up and whirled. Dom could hear their voices, “You are here! I knew you’re alive, but you’re here, Maple!”

“Hey, an’ where’s your ear, Dad? Hey, Elm, Yew, Larch, you’re all here!”

Freedom smiled at her friend’s happiness, though she felt a pang of distress: but after all, she couldn’t have expected to see Kroova and Sleeve here.

As she thought of it, Maple ran back to her and grabbed her paw, “Dom, this is Broom, my father. Dad, that’s Freedom, she is my best friend, no, she is like a sister to me. I wouldn’t have made it here without her.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have made here without you to begin with…” Dom tried to argue, but Broom simply hugged her tight, like he hugged his son.

“I guess I can call you my daughter now, Freedom,” he said.

Simon was leaving the main Abbey building when he heard sound of joyful voices and cheers and picked up his pace to greet the Abbess and her companions. However, he had to stop as Ripple ran into him at full speed.

“Saii-mon!” she cheeped. “I missed ye! Where were ye?”

Feeling a sense of relief washing over his fur, Simon picked his sister up and swirled round – Ripple’s favorite amusement.

“Are you fine, lil’ Rippie? Weren’t you hurt?” he asked with concern.

“Bad beasties put me in a sack!” the otterbabe complained. “Dom an’ Maple saved us! Come, you’d meet them!”

Smiling, Simon let Ripple lead him to where Broom and several other squirrels were talking to a couple of young beasts, a squirrel and a mousemaid.

“We owe you so much for helping our Dibbuns,” he said after Ripple proudly gave their names. “I don’t know how to thank you two!’

“Think nothing of it,” shrugged Maple. “Any other goodbeast would’ve done the same.”

“But I could do with a breakfast,” added Dom, giving Maple a friendly push. “Can we?”

“Sure,” said Simon. “It’s the least our Abbey can do for you. What would you like to eat?”

“And what do you have here?” carefully inquired Maple.

Broom patted his shoulder, “When it comes to kitchens of Redwall, you’ll learn they have everything.”

“Hotroot soup, please?” blurted out Freedom. “I haven’t eaten it for ages!”

“Me, too!” Maple supported his friend.

Simon could only shake his head. “And I thought only otters like hotroot soup. The rest of Abbeydwellers say it’s too spicy for them.”

“Wait till you hear of my parents!” smiled Dom and gave him a wink. “I’m part otter myself!”

“And you, Maple?” asked Broom, suppressing a chuckle. “Had you become an otter when I wasn’t near?”

“No,” was an honest reply. “I’m just hungry so much that I can eat anything.”

Simon was about to invite them to the dining hall when he heard a sound of hurried footsteps and an unfamiliar voice, “Hey there, matey!” He turned round to see a strange ottermaid skidding to a halt as she neared him. “Surry to cut in like that, but I’d like to see Skipper of otters!”

Simon glanced over the crowd, but couldn’t find his father here. “I saw Rumbol go to the main building,” said Broom. “Show the way to our guest, Simon; I’ll take care of the breakfast.”

The young otter motioned the maiden to follow him. Now Simon was sure he had never seen this ottermaid before. The stranger was his height and age; she wore blue dress and headscarf that shaded in her dark grey fur. A tailring and two bracelets upon her left wrist gave a faint jingle as she walked.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” he said. “My name’s Simon.”

“Oh!” The maiden’s paw went to her mouth. “I didn’t want you to think I was born in a cave, really! I’m Moska Waterdog, daughter of Thaer and Janis Waterdogs. Our family travels with the tribe of Waterhogs.” Her pawshake was firm and strong.

“And why are you looking for Dad – I mean, Skipper?”

“I just wanted to ask when we’re going to strike back,” admitted Moska. “And volunteer to participate in the attack. Or to enter sentry patrols. You know, to do at least something after… after what those scumbags did to Waterhogs.”

Simon nodded – he knew how it felt to be unable to help the ones dear to you. “Yea, though I’m afraid there won’t be a reply attack till we restore our forces. There are too many wounded in the Infirmary.”

“Hadn’t fresh forces of woodlanders and Waterhogs just arrived here? Besides, vermin surely don’t expect us to recover so soon.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” agreed Simon. “It’s up to Abbeyleaders to decide, but we can suggest…”

Deep into conversation, two young otters entered the Abbey’s main building.

Three corsairs strolled through Mossflower Woods. They were foragers, and two of them bended from weight of sacks with fresh fruits and vegetables. All their attention was on their third companion, who carefully carried a basket full of bird eggs.

“Ye’re a lucky sly-boots, spotting a nest so high on dat tree!”

“Yeah,” the lucky rat in question bit one of the eggs and sucked it dry. “Next time I’ll get a broody hen a’ well!”

“Krrreee-gaaah!” A black lightning struck down, and a hunter turned a prey: the rat hadn’t even uttered a squeak when Truvo Blackhawk sank his claws in his back and dragged him into the skies. Two remaining corsairs staggered back in shock, then grabbed their bows. But it was too late. Truvo tightened his grip, breaking the victim’s neck, dropped now harmless rat and shot upwards to avoid arrows.

One hawk couldn’t battle a whole army of vermin – Truvo knew it. Nevertheless, he had already begun his war. He would strike and disappear, and vermin would pay for sufferings of the all birdkind.

Chapter 22

“Send help for the others, right now!” roared Betta, nearing Skief. “You should, you must do it!” The rats staggered away, concern and bewilderment on their faces. It took Betta a few seconds to realize they were startled by her sudden outburst. Faltering and stammering from nervousness, the badgerwife told them the story of the slaves’ escape. “Vermin are after them! You’ve got to help them!” she urged.

Skief stepped back to have a look at a water-clock – two connected jars standing on a slab of stone, a thin stream of water pouring from the upper jar into the lower one through a tiny holy. Stonebreaker scratched his claw on clay to mark the level. “It’s almost noon at Upper Terramort. Rolt cannot go above during daylight; the risk is too high.”

Betta growled deep in her throat. In a moment, she grabbed Skief by shoulders and shook him. “My friends are in danger! I’ll make you save them, dirty ratbag!”

With a jerky move Skief broke loose from her grip, his weapon at ready in his paws. “Do not treat me, stripedog! I’m sorry about your friends, but I won’t doom my whole Clan by sending beasts above, where they are surely to be seen!”

Red haze began to cloud Betta’s eyes. “I’ll go here myself if all you can do is to rot in these caves like mudworms!”

“How dare you…”

Crack! Both Betta and Skief flinched at jarring sound: Skadi threw down an earthenware dish with all her might. “Go on, idiots! Start a fight, that’s exactly what we need!”

“It was a very fine dish,” muttered Skief, staring at scattered earthenware shards.

“Don’t change the subject, Pebble! Just look at you two! My little son knows better than shouting his throat out like that!”

Stonebreaker let out a small chuckle. “Skadi, shouting louder than everybeast else is Sig’s main argument in any wrangle.”

Skadi gave a scornful sniff. “Now you’re proud of being as smart as a little ratlet? You know you can’t leave other beasts for mercy of those horrible corsairs! Now to you, Betta – you should know that attacking you saviors is the lowest thing a beast can do!”

“That’s very true.” That calm voice belonged to Skvold. Betta turned to see the aged rat still on the bedding, staring at them. Logi, quite the contrary, turned his back on them, going through his storage of dried herbs and roots.

Betta suddenly felt ashamed for Skvold seeing such a quarrel. “Sorry,” she said. “But anyway, I won’t abandon my friends.”

“True,” agreed Skvold. “It’s not right to leave goodbeasts without help.”

“Yes, that’s not right,” slowly said Skief. “But I still cannot send otherbeasts to Upper Terramort.” Before Betta’s angry growl came out of her throat, he continued, “So I’ll go there by my own.”

“But, Pebble,” breathed out Skadi. “If you’re to be seen, you’ll have no chance against corsairs!”

“A group of beasts have no chances against all Bladegirt, too. One rat can hide more easily from their eyes. I’ll go out, find those escaped slaves and lead them down here.”

“That’s a right decision,” nodded Skvold. “You shouldn’t go yourself, though. You’re a brave rat, Skief, but you don’t belong above. You’ll need a beast who’d once been an upperdweller.”

“Stonebreaker? Skadi?” A beast carrying a tray laden with food made way through a curtain of lichen that served as a canopy door. “Gerda thought you’d like to have a bite.”

The beast was a female ferret about several seasons younger than Betta herself. She wore the same roughly-spun tunic of sandy-and-brown colors as the rats did, and she looked attractive in it, even though her ash-grey fur was stiff and her right ear was nicked by a blade.

“Idunna! We’re lucky to have you here!” Skief exclaimed. “We’re in urgent need for an upperdweller who knows mountains of the above as his own claws. You must know such a beast, am I right?”

The ferret blinked; it took her several seconds to answer. “Surt knows Upper Isle best of all, but he’s fishing somewhere at Snake’s Eye, and I gather you’re short of time, so I may do, too. I’ve had my share of wandering in the mountains.”

Stonebreaker explained the situation in few words, and Betta had to admit he did the better work of it than she. Idunna nodded and turned to the badgerwife. “Betta, yeah? Do you know exactly where your friends were going?”

Betta shook her head. “Doubt Wavehound’d ever been to those mountains. Slaves aren’t allowed further than crop fields.”

“But which way were you heading, at least? North-east, straight north, north-west?”

Betta shrugged. All she remembered of the escape was the shocking openness and vastness that left her completely disoriented after seasons in the dark Barn.

Idunna let out a pained sigh. “Don’t think they made it to the northern shoreline,” she mused. “Better start checking from southern foothills… Skief, can I borrow your knife? The armory is too long a way round.”

The rat handed her a short dagger with wide triangular blade – more a tool of a mason than a weapon. “Give me one, too,” barked Betta.

“Oh no, you are not going above!” Logi spun round to face her for the first time since the argument. “That’s the healer’s order!”

Betta was ready to snap at him, but she was saved by Idunna. “Please, Logi! I’ll need help. After all, I’m a ferret, so those woodlanders would likely attack me first and ask questions later!”

“All right,” surrounded the fox. “You’ll get no weapons though, stripedog. Keep out of fighting!”

Betta said nothing, her heart rate picked up at the thought of encounter with vermin. If it came to fighting, her claws and teeth would do as good as any blade.

“We’re not going to let anybeast see us to begin with,” said Idunna. “So let’s go!” Betta followed Idunna out of the cave and into the tunnel about two badger’s heights tall and just as wide. Lots of offshoots and sidepasses were branching of it, but Idunna knew her way and lead Betta without stopping to look at symbols carved at the turnings. There were rats all over the tunnels, and many of them called to Idunna, though the ferret kept waving her paw and crying “Later!” The farther they went, the fewer beasts they met, and finally the badger and the ferret were the only creatures in this part of the tunnels.

Now, with the need to fight and to argue gone, Betta felt the strain of previous night and early morning leave her. They were going to rescue her friends, and this knowledge made her relax her tense muscles, and she calmed down enough to take interest in their surroundings.

Betta noticed the tunnel walls were truly luminous – they were covered with short downy moss that glowed with white light. “What’s this?”

Idunna looked over her shoulder to see what she was pointing at. “Oh, this? Lightmoss. We plant it in all the caves and tunnels except for sun grounds.”

“Sun grounds?”

“Several large caves on higher levels that have wide cracks and holes in the ceiling, so the sunlight reaches all the way down. Those cracks and holes are up in the mountains, among clifftops so high and steep that nobeast can climb them, and we shouldn’t worry about hiding them. We grow moss and lichen and mushrooms in normal caves, ‘cause they don’t need sun. On sun grounds we grow plants that need sunlight – some crops and roots. Not many, though; the sun doesn’t stay there all day.”

Betta ran her paw across the wall. Its surface was flat and smooth beneath the moss. “Had you dug out all these tunnels?”

“Oh no!” Idunna sounded amused. “They were there even before Gabool the Wild first set a footpaw on the Isle. Rolt still had a paw in it, though, by making shortcuts to connect different parts of the tunnels and enlarging narrow caves and passages. And the tunnels are to be watched to prevent cave-ins and soil collapses. Chef makes sure of it.”

“Chef?” asked Betta.

“Chieftain, yeah, I mean Skief.”

“He has an awful lot of names, that leader of yours. Chef, Skief, Stonebreaker, Pebble…”

Idunna laughed, “Hey, you don’t call Stonebreaker Pebble unless you’re his wife! That’s Skadi’s privilege only!”

Betta felt corners of her mouth lifting – she was smiling for the first time in seasons. The sensation was so strange to her now. Chatting with a ferret was no less strange, though.

“Why had you left Bladegirt?” The question came out unexpectedly harsh. “Logi said Darm had your brother killed – is that right?”

Idunna flinched and stopped to a halt, her shoulders tensed. “I don’t wonna talk about it.”

“Why?” A sharp pang of suspense ran through Betta’s pelt. Was it a mistake to trust these vermin? “Are you still loyal to Darm?” she demanded, grabbing Idunna’s collar. “Is it a trap?”

“What a piece of nonsense!” The ferretwife took a step back, looking indignant. “I just don’t want to talk. Something tells me you won’t be happy to throw words round about your isle burning down, either!”

An endless stream of unwanted memories flooded Betta. Fire and smoke, and the smell of scorched fur. Cries of pain and despair all around her. A sickening feeling in her chest where an arrow hit her. The badgerwife shut her eyes tight before the lightmoss had begun to bleed red, but this only made the memories more vivid. They urged her to roar, to move, to fight. No, no. Not now. She buried her face in her paws, groaning as she sank to her knees.

“Betta? What’s it with you?” A low buzzing was filling her ears, so she could barely hear this voice. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said; I hadn’t thought it would affect you so much…”

“Do not… mention it,” Betta sighed, breathing in deeply. Her heartbeat slowed down a little, but she still didn’t trust herself to open her eyes.

“Can I help you somehow?” Idunna touched her shoulder, and the badger shrank back.

“No, no. Just don’t mention it again… please. I barely could hold the Bloodwrath down.”

“Blood-wrath?” There was fear in Idunna’s voice. “Is that how they call it when a creature goes into frenzy and kills everybeast he sees?”

“Kind of.” Betta dared to half-open her right eye. She could see no red haze, so she dropped her paws and got up, staggering slightly. “I’m all right now, don’t worry.”

Idunna, however, was clearly worried. “An’ how often do you have such… fits?”

“Almost every time I see a vermin. I guess I’ll never forget all the seasons I spent in chains.”

“Rats of Lower Terramort are no enemies to you,” Idunna said slowly. “Fort soldiers will kill me if they see me, and they’ll do the same if they see any of Rolt. We’re taking this risk for your friends.”

“I – I understand, with my head. But with my heart… When you refused to talk, I – I just panicked, and… and…” Betta faltered. How could she explain all that turmoil and delirium she herself had never truly understood? “I’m sorry. I – I’ll try to keep myself in paws.”

Idunna nodded, then motioned at the tunnel. “Let’s go. Your friends are waiting.”

Betta was happy to leave the matter behind. They walked only a few steps, though, when the ferretwife said, “He was a member of Fort Guard, you know.”

“Huh?”

“My brother. If that’s what you want to know.” Betta said nothing, and Idunna continued, “He was a promising warrior, one of the best. Almost nine seasons ago he came to me and said he got a very important assignment. He was appointed to guard Deathtrap’s wife and make sure nobeast can harm her. But that was only a part of assignment. Darm ordered my brother to kill his wife if she shows any fear or hesitation or pity – ‘proves to be unworthy’, as he put it. Of course, this second part was supposed to be a great secret, but my brother had trusted me to keep it. In two days, beasts from one of the ships rebelled. There were tension between them and Darm before, and it was no surprise when they declared themselves free of his authority. Deathtrap put his wife in charge of a crew and sent her to stifle a mutiny. I was a part of the punitive crew, so I saw what had happened.” Idunna’s voice became uneven. “That poor creature was a delicate maid, not a warrior. When she saw her soldiers dying, she got scared out of her senses and called a retreat. And my brother executed his orders. He had to. But only the moment later, another of the Guard had killed him. I – I would’ve believed it to be an accident if Deathtrap hadn’t declared my brother a traitor sided with rebels and hanged his body over Fort’s gates to make an example of him. Can you see now? He used my brother as a tool to do dirty work for him – and then he disposed of him because he knew too much. Then he made a good performance, playing disconsolate widower for everybeast to see!”

Idunna fell silent, just as Betta did. After all, what could she say at this? Two beasts walked for a couple of minutes before Betta broke awkward silence. “And then you escaped and joined Rolt?”

“No. And then I attempted to kill Deathtrap and avenge my brother.” The ferretwife caught Betta’s glance and touched her left side just below her ribs. “But his bodyguards know their job well. I got a blade in my ribs and a trip from Bladegirt’s wall to the rocks at the seashore. Luckily for me, Rats of Lower Terramort found me and nursed me back to life.”

Betta nodded: futile attempts to fight were too familiar to her. “And you’d never tried to avenge your brother again?”

Idunna took a sudden interest in the stones under her footpaws. “I’d wanted to, and I still want. But if I do anything, it would expose Rolt’s existence to pirates, and I wouldn’t do such a thing. With more and more seasons passing, I’ve just learned to live with it.”

There’s more common in us than I thought, realized the badgerwife. It seems… it seems the only thing that differs is that I have not learned to live with it… and I probably never would.

Chapter 23

Abbess Bikkle chose Triss’s room as a meetings place for the War Council, so the Swordmaid could take part in it. Skipper Rumbol dumped a pile of maps and other papers on a small table, and Grawn sat himself here, taking a chance to study maps of Mossflower. Mother Abbess, Captain Longstep, Hart Oakspike and Broom settled round. Foremole Ruggum had also come, supported by Brother Turfee; the mole’s paws were covered with bandages. Simon perched a little aside, as if he felt uneasy being here. Freedom could understand him, because she felt the same.

Leaders of the Abbey invited her and Maple because they thought that runaways could give them useful information about Darm’s army. It was true, but Maple was the one talking. It amazed Dom how much he had learned just by ‘watching and listening carefully’, as he called it.

“I didn’t have time to count all the soldiers,” the young squirrel said, “but there were five ships in the hideout harbor – six together with Deathtrap. She carried a crew of seventy beasts, and if we take it as average size of a crew, that makes an army of four hundred and a score… No, a little less,” he corrected himself. “About a score and a half left with Shamra and Greywhisker. It’s about four hundred then.”

“Old Greewhiskers left?” Longstep jumped in his chair. “Haha, that jolly sly-paws knows when to take to hees heels!”

“You know him, too?” asked Grawn.

“Known him since he called heemself Darkwhiskers, wot! Vermeen like changin’ names that no longer fit them, that’s h‘t. Wee fought slimskins together, me, him, One-eer and…”

“Can us save the story for the later?” said Hart crossly. “We hast vermin to worry about! Where art that lair o’ them, I shall like to know!”

“I think I can find it in the map,” Maple bowed over the table, studying papers. “Give me a minute…”

Freedom dropped her head on her paws – and then she saw a blur of white with the very corner of her eye. She turned round, but there was nobeast and nothing behind her except for a window. But I saw it! Freedom thought. The mousemaid had good eyesight, and it had never deceived her. She took a paper from the table, pretending to study it, and carefully cast a sidelong look without turning her head.

There it was – a small white gull sitting on the windowsill, its head close to the glass. But there is no reason for a bird to behave like this, unless… unless it was sent here by somebeast!

“I do remember where the vermin camp is!” Freedom announced, pulling the map out of Maple’s paws. She picked up a charcoal stick and scribbled in the corner, ‘Don’t look at the window. There’s a gull spying on us.’

Rumbol’s brows raised a little, but that was the only sign of surprise he showed. “Are you sure it was near the stream?” he said loudly and made a postscript, ‘The less vermin know is the better. Let them think we know nothing and don’t plan to do anything.’

Skipper put the map across the table for everybeast to see while Dom and Maple continued the play. “I definitely remember walking through the birch grove.”

“But we passed it two days before that. The camp is in the hills.”

“No, near the stream!”

“So, you don’t know where it is,” Triss concluded. The youngsters shook heads, trying to look guiltily. “It’s not your fault; after all, you’re new to these places. What should we do now?”

“I don’t think there’s much we can do, except for keeping sentries on the walls,” Grawn said. “We can’t attack Darm without knowing where his base is, and it’s possible that he had already left these woods.”

“That seems the most reasonable,” Bikkle agreed. “If so, I declare the Council closed. We’d better take our leave and not tire Triss out.”

“You’d better,” Brother Turfee said loudly. “Triss’s wounds are so severe that she needs great amount of time to heal.”

This statement took Freedom by surprise. Hadn’t the mouse brother said Triss was healing just fine when they came in? The she caught a wink passing between Turfee and Bikkle and realized that it, too, was part of the play. Triss looked after departing beasts with longing, though she said nothing.

Nobeast parted at the room’s exit; all eyes were on the Mother Abbess. “Now, would you like to go down into the Cellars and have a sip of refreshing dandelion cordial?” she said. The cheer of agreement was an answer, and the squirrelmaid lead the way, slowing her pace to match Foremole’s limp.

Freedom could see the reasons behind Mother Abbess’ thinking – underground Redwall Cellars, with no windows and thick walls, were safe against eavesdroppers. The mousemaid followed the others, enjoying the coolness of air in the lower floor of the Abbey.

Mother Bikkle paused at the door and put a finger to her lips. “Shh, follow quietly.”

The beasts tiptoed through a small lobby to the door leading further downstairs. Bikkle, however, lingered to throw a coverlet over Gurdle Sprink, who dozed off in a chair.

Other members of the War Council waited for her in the main Cellars room. “Good old Gurdle”, the Abbess smiled, taking her seat at the head a big table. “He loves these Cellars too much to leave them, even though he doesn’t grow younger with seasons. Broom, would you be so kind not to seat on that barrel? That would make the ale go turbid. Now, let’s continue our conference, so to say.”

“I do remember location of the vermin camp, by the way,” Maple put in. Skipper Rumbol sorted through his papers and gave him the right one, and Maple almost immediately put a cross on it. “There it is.”

“Good,” the otter Skipper nodded. “Anything else?”

“It’s camouflaged well, and there’re archers on the trees all round the periphery, and… I’ve already mentioned everything else I know.”

“You was a great help,” Broom put a paw on his son’s shoulder; the pride in his voice was hard to hide. “Now, I don’t think we’ll need you two here anymore. Would you like to go or stay here?”

Freedom and Maple exchanged glances, and the squirrel answered for them both, “We’d rather stay, if you don’t mind.”

Abbess Bikkle took the floor again, “Okay, now let’s move on to the main question: what are we going to do with that bird spy?”

“I can shoot it,” Grawn suggested. “Not mortally, of course, but a nasty wound would keep it off the Abbey.”

“Nay, nay, nay!” Hart sprung up, waving his paw. Everybeast’s eyes turned at the Waterhog: it was so unlike him to become agitated like this. “Why dispel the one who shall help us beguile thy weasel lord?”

“Oi dun’t think the burd’ll ‘elp us unless broibed,” Ruggum burred. “An’ evun then it’ll loikely to betray us.”

“Ai don’t think that’s what Hart meent, wot,” Longstep said, nodding to the hedgehog. “You meent that we can feed the bird false inteelligence, am Ai right?”

“Precisely. It’s like that – we know we’re spied on, but the vermin don’t know that we know, and we know that they don’t know that we know, so we can make them think they know that we don’t know…”

“Yes, that’s fairly clear.” Rumbol shook his head, trying to get rid of all the ‘knows’ ringing in his ears. “Any ideas what can we use this for?”

“May I say something?” Simon looked for approval around the table and went on. “I’ve just remembered a trick that was pulled on Damug Warfang the Greatrat, making him accept battle at a place favorable for Redwallers, not for Rapscallions. We can do the same, give Darm information that will make him fight on our conditions.”

“Do you have any particular place in mind?” the Abbess said.

“I was thinking about cliffs north-west from Redwall,” the young otter pondered aloud. “It would’ve been easy to hold positions atop them. But they’re a day’s march away, and I doubt Darm would go that far.”

“And he won’t start a battle on obviously bad terms, either,” Freedom added. “He’ll easily recognize a trap in these cliffs.”

“I have another suggestion,” Broom called on. “What about swamps Maple had mentioned? Let’s see how vermin would like fighting knee-deep into a quagmire, especially if there’re hostile toads!”

Lord Grawn shook his striped head. “I’m afraid our soldiers will have the same difficulties fighting there.”

“Not if we send squirrels. They can travel among treetops and pour the enemy with arrows and slingstones.”

“The problem ees we have too little jolly squirrels, wot,” Captain Longstep glanced over some writings. “Feefty tree-hoppers, countin’ Pineforesters, woodlanders an’ those from Redwall. Feefty’s too little against four hundreed, Broom. Sah.”

“We’ll take it as a reserve variant,” Bikkle suggested.

Hart Oakspike slammed his big paw on the table. “Tooth Cape – why not?”

Both Rumbol and Simon roused at that name. “A perfect trap!”

“Vermin won’t know what hit them!”

“Aye, I thought the same, thy vermin shall hast no way out.”

Mother Abbess raised her voice, silencing the speakers. “Now maybe you’ll be so kind to explain us what are you talking about?”

“Sure, sure,” Skipper slightly bowed his head. “Tooth Cape is a place at the southern tributary of river Moss, about half-day march from Redwall. It juts out far into the river, a narrow piece of land shaped like a tooth. If we manage to get vermin there and then strike from the shore, they’ll have no way to retreat to except for the Cape itself.”

“Which will restrain their ability to fight in formations,” Grawn continued. “They won’t be able to use their numerical superiority. The narrow space will hamper them, and their numbers will turn into a weakness. I like this plan.”

“Yes, but there’re more advantages to us in this place,” Rumbol smiled. “The Cape’s shape wasn’t the only reason for its name. This area is inhibited by toothfish. These fish are small, not bigger than a mouse’s paw from clawtips to wrist. But they are predators that always swim in shoals and attack every creature that gets in this tributary – beasts, birds, other fish. Several of them can’t inflict serious wounds, but they’re attracted by blood, and when a large shoal gathers...”

A shudder ran down Grawn’s back. “That’s a cruel death. Too cruel, even for vermin.”

Hart got up his footpaws, his voice very low, “Thee want to say that the Waterhogs died a kind death?”

“I don’t mean such a thing; what I mean is that there’re lines we shouldn’t cross, even in war.” Grawn said. “We fight to protect innocent, and don’t compete with vermin in cruelty.”

“You make it sound as if we do it out of pleasure,” Abbess Bikkle noted. “We don’t. Darm’s army outnumbers us, Lord Grawn. Long Patrol, Redwallers, Waterhogs and woodlanders – all together we make it only two hundred and fifty against Darm’s four hundreds.”

“I know. You’re right. I should save lives of woodlanders above all,” Grawn said and added with resolute firmness, “But once the trap is closed, I’ll parley with Darm and offer him to lay down weapons. If the vermin have sense, they’ll see their gains.”

Nobeast objected. Then Captain Longstep said, “One more theeng we should discuss. That bloody Deethtrap laid a siege on Redwall.”

“But we already know about it,” Broom pointed out.

“No, not ‘declare-Ai-want-to-take-over-Redwall’ kind of siege. Ai meen ‘put-archers-round-the-Abbey-and-shoot-at-anybeest-appearing’ kind of siege. Ai tried to do some scouting earlier, wot, and each time Ai opened small gates even for a claw’s breadth, Ai got an arrow next to ma paw!”

“Oh no, not this!” Simon cried out. “If we have to fight out way out, then we can’t – can’t set up an ambush, that’s what I want to say.”

“We should definitely think on it,” Skipper Rumbol frowned.

For about a minute, silence hung in the air. Then Foremole Ruggum said, “Huburr, why kan’t we tunnel ur ‘ay out?” Attention of the whole Council shifted to him, and young mole explained, drawing lines on the table desk with his digging claw. “Start at one o’ de walls, dig under it an’ lead tunnul out at noice forest sheltar loike pile o’ rocks or empty log, hu-orr.”

“Sensible,” Grawn nodded. “Even if our plans regarding Tooth Cape change, it’s always useful to have a way in the enemy's rear.”

“Good, good,” Bikkle patted her friend’s paw. “I know you can’t dig yourself till your wounds are healed, but you can supervise the works. How long would it take?”

“Hum, had to see the eurth first,” Ruggum said. “Strategikul points asoide, ‘here’s soil friability to consider, an’ modulus of rigidity, an’ cavin’ probability. Shure, the danger of facing upheavals an’ carrier offset ‘cause of, say, voids in rock are low, but we ‘ave to remember…”

“How long, Ruggum?”

“Six days. Mebbe seven.”

“Don’t you have you molecrew, moles from Stonehall and those all round Mossflower?” Rumbol asked. “I’m sure you can cope faster!”

The Foremole sternly looked over him. “Do ye need a tunnul that will serve fur seasons or the wan that will cullapse afte’ ye set footpaw in it?”

“We’ll leeve jolly diggin’ for ye moles an’ take care of the rest, wot,” Longstep promised and turned at other Council members. “We’d better hide that bloomy tunnel works from some birdie’s eyes.”

“Well, it’s something to be thought over in its time,” the Abbess said. “And the last thing: talk to nobeast about what you heard there. Not that I don’t trust Redwallers and our guests; I don’t trust the spy outside. If you have to discuss something important, do it only in rooms with no window, and keep the Dibbuns out of this – little rascals repeat everything they hear!”

Everybeast was nodding solemnly, including Freedom and Maple, and Bikkle’s frown changed to a smile, “Now what about some dandelion cordial?”

At the same time, some distance away in Mossflower Woods, another War Council was held. Captains of Deathtrap’s army gathered in a big tent that served as a meeting hall and was adjoined with another one that was Darm’s personal quarters.

Clyde sprawled about on a low seat with pillows tucked at his back; Tamant was sitting aside, his tail lay neatly round his paws. Zorra leaned against canvas wall, twiddling her thin long lance. The stoat kept casting uneasy glances at those two: they had always been strange ones, difficult to comprehend for a beast like Clyde.

Two more Captains walked in the tent. Arrowfly’s slight limp was the only almost gone consequence of her injury in Shamra’s escape, but Catcher leaned heavily on the weasel’s shoulder. He headed to where Clyde was lounging. “Give me that seat, Clyde.”

The sturdy stoat snorted, “Why should I?”

“’cause I was wounded in battle, and you wasn’t.”

“I came here first.”

Catcher opened his dark blue cloak wide, showing a row of bandages going round his chest. “I got an otter’s spear through my ribs when I tried to get my crew on Redstone Abbey walls. Where were you then, Clyde? Sitting your tail off in the camp an’ pulling sinews out of some unfortunate creature?”

The challenge was issued. Clyde rose to his paws. He was taller and heavier than Catcher, whose age was showing in silver streaks lining the ferret’s dark grey fur. But Catcher didn’t stepped back, and he didn’t reach for his cutlass. He just stared at Clyde with resolution of a beast sure of his rights.

Clyde seized his sword, but felt a slight prickle on his paw as he did so. Arrowfly was holding her dagger offhandedly, its point touching Clyde’s wrist. She too did not take eyes off him. Worse, with the back of his skull Clyde could feel Tamant and Zorra staring at him. If a fighting broke he would be in minority.

Clyde stepped aside. “Take yer foul seat.”

Catcher slumped on the seat heavily and moved to make place for Arrowfly. Both Captains seated themselves comfortably where Clyde lounged alone.

They hadn’t been waiting for long when Darm Deathtrap walked in a prompt step, Nabon close behind him. Lord of the Seas had taken off his armor and helmet, but still wore the chainmail tunic. His right paw was in a sling, though his eyes blazed with anger that compensated any wound.

Darm didn’t waste time on greetings. “Does anybeast know what ‘blockade’ means? What I meant while giving orders was: nobeast gets out. Nobeast gets in. Was that clear?” The answer was hastened nods from all the Captains. “If so, how fourscore of hogs and other woodlanders got into Redwall without being stopped? Tamant?”

The scout Captain was already up his paws. “We’d caught sight of them only when they were at the range of the Abbey’s walls. Sentries were too few to strike an attack on their own, and reinforcements had no chance to get there in time. My apologies, Lord.”

“But it was your job to notice them. Didn’t you have a bird on watch?”

“Ragfeathers was watching the Abbey and its dwellers, not Mossflower Woods. He is a good spy, but he can’t watch over everybeast.”

“Then maybe we should recruit more bird spies?” Nabon said.

Darm slightly dipped his head. This was an idea he appreciated. “Silentblade, you’ll do it. Talk to jackdaws and magpies, they would sell their own nestlings for a pawful of shinings. I want to know everything that’s going on in this area.”

Tamant saluted, and Darm continued, “Any news of Greywhisker and the traitors?”

The brown rat was solemn. “Greywhisker knows my ways of tracking, so the old haggler made sure not to leave any traces. But since we’d learned from the prisoner they’re heading for our ships, I will be able to pick up trail at some distance from here, when the traitors give a slack.”

“No, I don’t want to scatter my forces.” Deathtrap raised a corner of his mouth in a dark grin. “I’ll take on Redwall first and deal with that treacherous spawn of mine and her followers later. Have you heard from Krugg Bloodpike?”

“Not a trace of him, his crew or his ship. I dare say he has probably betrayed you too, Lord.”

Darm shook his head. “I’d rather say he’s dead. Krugg wasn’t smart enough to sail off on his own.” Finally Darm paid his attention to other Captains. “Now get down to business – Redwall Abbey. We must seize it till the summer end at the latest.”

“Why, Lord?” said Clyde. “If we got Redwall in the blockade, can’t we just wait and starve them?”

The weasel warlord rolled his eyes. “Tell me again, why had I made you a Captain?”

“’cause cruelty and intrepidity are just as needful as gumption and intelligence,” Clyde replied in a monotone that sounded as something learned by rote.

Darm motioned for his son. “Tell him, Nabon.”

“Redwallers have a pond in there, and orchards where they grow food,” Nabon said proudly. “The full siege wouldn’t be effective unless we destroy their sources of fresh water and provisions.”

“Right, and one more thing to remember – this summer Guosim shrews had left Mossflower to meet their kindred,” Darm said. “When they return, I’m going to greet them from the inside of the Abbey’s walls. Enough talking.” He looked over his Captains to make sure he got all their attention. “Each of you will receive an assignment. Each of these assignments has a part to play in the battle for Redwall, so you all do you job as best as I need. If you don’t, you’d better make sure you die in battle, because it will be less painful than if you are to answer to me.”

Darm made a pause for the information to sink in, then turned to Zorra. “What moon phase is it?”

The vixen wasn’t surprised by sudden change of subject. “The third quarter was at its peak two days ago, Lord.”

Darm Deathtrap walked to the tent’s entrance and stared at the sky. “Hmm. What about the wind?”

Zorra followed him; other Captains discreetly decided it wasn’t their job and stayed where they were. “North-wester, about the same strength as today, and it will hold for four days at the least.”

“Hmm, four days. I need five. Look at that cloud over the western horizon. Will it turn into a rain cloud or get cleared away by the wind?”

“Neither. I suppose it will spread out with the wind.”

“You suppose? I don’t plan battles on guess-work. If you can’t predict weather, find somebeast who can.”

“It’s true that no beast can take weather for granted, Lord,” said Zorra. “But my forecasts are extremely accurate. I can say we shouldn’t expect a rain because the air doesn’t smell of water, and the storm passed just two days ago. And I can see it wouldn’t clear away since even though the cloud has feathery streaks at the top, its underneath has that nacreous coloring…”

“Don’t go into such details,” Darm interrupted. “What I need to know it what the weather will be in five days. Keep watching and report to me if you spot any changes.”

Arrowfly, the youngest of Captains, whispered into Catcher’s ear, “What the weather has to do with that Abbey?”

The ferret awkwardly jerked his right shoulder. That was his way of shrugging, a habit developed many seasons ago, when toad lance speared his other shoulder. “Dunno. It has to do something, I s’ppose. It’s not our job to think about it, though. Our job is to carry out orders and try to keep our crews safe.”

Darm Deathtrap went back to claim his place at the meeting tent. “The attack will be launched in five days. Mind this deadline. Tamant. Have you checked the Abbey’s defenses as I asked you?”

The chief scout dipped his head. “Yes, Lord. The place you had told me about truly proved to be the weakest spot in Redwall defense.”

“We’ll break in there then,” the weasel lord commanded. “Train five of your best beasts for this work. Put them under drills so intense that they would perform their task blindfold. The weapon master will provide you with necessary breaking tools. And check Redwallers’ positions regularly in case they decide to fortify.”

Tamant barked his ‘yessir’, and Darm turned to other Captains. “Catcher. I’ve been told about that device you came up with. I want to discuss it in private later.”

Catcher heaved to stand, but Darm waved him to stay seated. The ferret Captain saluted him anyway. “Glad to be of use, sir. Thought that idea of mine can be helpful.”

“It certainly is. How many crewbeasts do you need to construct it and would you be in form to command them with your state of health?”

Catcher pressed his paw to his chest. “Sir, I’m not fit to lead my crew into battle for a while, but I can command construction works just fine. In five days time I can cope with thirty beasts, though it depends on some structure details.”

Deathtrap seemed content with the answer. “We’ll talk about the details later. Arrowfly, Zorra, you’re going to work together. Arrowfly, you take command of Zorra’s crew to build a battering ram and train to use it. In battle you should ram attack Redwall’s main west gates. Zorra, you take Arrowfly’s archers and cover up ramming crew with valley of arrows. In battle you should take position in the trench across west gates, so train to prepare for such setting.”

Arrowfly exchanged a look with puzzled Catcher, glanced at imperturbable Zorra and dared to ask a question, “Um, Lord, don’t you think we can get better results without swapping crews?”

Darm allowed himself a wry smile, “I know you work best with crews that’s been serving with you all this time. But I need a weasel to command the ramming crew.”

“Ah, so I am to wear your armor during the battle?” this was more statement than question: Darm and Arrowfly had already pulled this trick a couple of times.

“Exactly,” the warlord confirmed. “Your main task will be to draw to the western wall as much of enemy force as possible. Both you and Zorra would use these five days to get a knack of working with unfamiliar crew.” Both Captains dipped their head, and Darm went on, “And one thing. Since you’re to provide distraction, don’t risk your soldiers without need. But don’t hold them back either. There’s always a chance of something going wrong, and then ram attack will be the only means to break into. And even if everything goes as planned, our positions will only improve from getting into the Abbey from two ways. Clyde, your crew together with my personal guard and the rest of Catcher’s crew will be the main striking force of the attack. You must get ready for it. Put your soldiers through as much drills as you think needful.”

Clyde grinned contentedly. He liked drills. They allowed him not to hold back his temper. “Sure, Lord.”

“And what about me, father?” Nabon said. “Shouldn’t my crew get an assignment as well?”

Oh yes, Nabon, Darm thought. “A special assignment for you. You should supervise all the works, report if anything goes wrong and put your crew in work where the help is needed.”

“I won’t fail you, father!” The young weasel saluted twice, full of enthusiasm.

Now tell me about getting paid without robbing, Darm concluded in his thoughts. In such a position his heir wouldn’t be able to do any real harm, for all of the Captains were experienced enough not to obey orders issued not by him. In a dire situation they would report to Darm first. Not to mention Nabon getting educated in war art without harming his pride.

“I believe there is one more question to discuss, Lord,” Tamant said when Darm was about to close the meeting. “A hawk had been attacking our forces all day, the one that interrupted our ambush on Long Patrol. He would drop from the sky, kill one of our soldiers and soar away before weapons can be drawn. We already had three soldiers killed and one maimed.”

“Do I really need to teach you such things?” snapped Lord of the Seas. “You of all beasts should remember that if it looks like you’re losing the game, it’s time to change rules! When you recruit some jackdaws or magpies, ask them about that hawk. They should know where he nests. Creep on him in the night and kill him while he sleeps!”

“Yes, Lord. There is more news Ragfeathers reported to me earlier, the one you might like to hear. He saw one of our soldiers, a vixen from Catcher’s crew, being held captive in Redwall sick bay.”

“So,” a wry smile appeared on Darm’s face. “You say there is one of my soldiers inside the Abbey? Well, I sure can use it…”

Chapter 24

The midday sun had found Wavehound and runaway slaves in rather poor conditions. The managed to take refuge in a narrow rocky crevice, but it was far too cramped to house so many creatures. Rainwater constantly ran down the stone walls, but this also proved to be an inconvenience instead of benefit, for salt and slime on the walls made it undrinkable.

After counting all the refugees, Wavehound realized there was one missing: Betta. The otter felt sick for losing one of his charges so soon, but he simply couldn’t blame it on the squirrels. Rain, cold and strain of escape weren’t kind to them, especially to those old and weak. Seven beasts had already got a bad cold, and Mlika seemed to have it worse than others. Scanty as the runaways were, they could do little but place the ill at the back of the crevice, away from the wind. Here they huddled, shivering from the chill, even though their fur was hot to touch. Wavehound could only pray for the chill not to grow into fever.

Wavehound’s gaze fell upon the one he worried about most – Mlika, her family gathered around her. Basko put some shaggy-looking scrubs under her back. “There is some lichen and moss, not much, but it’s better than sitting on cold stones.”

“That’s better,” the squirrelwife forced the words out. “Funny – my bones ache as if I am some ancient elder. I’ve always thought myself being far under the age when you can predict rain from your back pain.”

Dewberry, a thin hedgehog who was Thornbush’s wife, walked over to Mlika and wrapped an old ragged cape round her. “Here, the heat will take bone ache away.”

“You’ll need it for Bramble,” Mlika coughed.

Dewberry glanced at where her son was playing with pebbles together with the few other little ones, moving stones round according to some rules they thought along with the game. “I still have my scarf to keep him warm. Now, let’s move you further, a little away from these sharp rocks.”

Wavehound heard heavy pawsteps behind his back. “And what’s now?”

He was waiting for this question. And he said to Thornbush, “Me and a couple of other beasts will scout for a better shelter, clean water and vittles, may be some medical herbs. I leave you in charge of those who stay there.”

“You leave me in charge, huh? And who made you a leader to begin with?”

“Thornbush, will you take care of the others while I’m gone?” just asked Wavehound.

“Of course I will,” came the answer. “Go and find something worthy; this hole isn’t good for the ill and old to stay.”

This being said, Wavehound felt relief over leaving his friends in reliable paws. He called for Seabird and Elsie, and all three of them left the crevice.

Outside, the rain had stopped, though the wind was still howling among rocky hills. Seabird raised her voice to be heard, “Where are we heading?”

“North,” said Wavehound. “To put as much distance between us and Bladegirt as we can.”

“Is it worth it?” Elsie argued. “There’s nothing to the north but bare stones.”

The male otter shook his head. “Oh, there is. The hill slopes aren’t too steep, so there must be ledges with soil layers drifted on, and that means plants – grass, berries, even brakes. And there must be some gullies among the cliffs, with even better conditions for plants’ growth. Not to mention that most springs flow down from mountains.”

The young vole looked up at him suspiciously. “How do you know all of this with working in the Fort all the time?”

“Well, being a servant has its benefits. Vermin officers don’t feel the need to watch their tongues with slaves present, and you can take a peek in different maps or papers while cleaning up chambers.”

“Looks like you’ve been planning this for quite a time,” Elsie murmured as the trio set off.

“I’ve been planning this all my life,” Wavehound said honestly. “Even since I lived on Green Isle. Plotting, waiting for the right time, except it wouldn’t come… till now.”

The talk ceased as beasts struggled forward through the slush and slurry dirt. The night rain soaked the earth deep through, making already steep slopes even more greasy and slippery. By the time they reached crest of one of the hills, all three runaways were covered with mud from head to tail.

Seabird noticed something that looked like bushes at the top of high cliff range, and they headed here for the lack of better guiding line. Wavehound managed to find a narrow path winding upwards round the cliff’s base, and the trio followed it, stretching out into a line. The path had almost reached a flat summit when it got blocked by a boulder higher than an otter’s height.

Seabird, being a member of Galedeep Clan and the strongest of the three, boosted Wavehound and Elsie up; when they climbed the summit, her friends got hold of the ottermaid’s paws and dragged her up. Finally, after reaching the clifftop, they all paused to catch their breath. In a sudden silence, the scouts heard clear sounds of talons clicking upon stone and low, rumbling screech.

Wavehound slowly turned round and realized that bushes they had seen from the bottom of the hills were not, in fact, bushes. It was a nest – an enormous aerie made of tangled heap of branches and twigs. And the host of this nest, a giant golden eagle, was approaching them – wings half-spread, neck stretched out, hooked beak open in evident threat.

The tan otter quickly estimated the situation and bowed. “Good day, sir. Sorry to bother you, sir, we didn’t mean to cause you any troubles.”

The eagle snapped his beak once before his screech rose higher. “Vermin, today you die.”

Wavehound took a step back, gently pushing females rearward. “Back off,” he whispered to them. To the bird he said aloud, “No sir, we’re not vermin. We escaped from them and now looking for a place to hide. We’re friends.”

“Lies, lies, lies!”

“They are not!” Despite Wavehound’s command, Seabird stepped from behind his back and took a step toward the eagle. “Look, we are otters and a vole! Our kind had never been enemies!”

The eagle flapped his wings with enough strength for the wind to gust up in the runaways’ faces. “You come steal eggs, you come kill mate, now you come lie. It won’t save you.”

He spread out his wings widely, baring to their view an assembly of scars on his chest and wings. His right wing did not unfold completely: Wavehound could see a nasty wound on it, a piece of arrowshaft still protruding through the feathers. Its end was clipped short; the eagle must have tried to remove it with his beak, but failed.

“Please, let us prove we’re friends!” Seabird cried out. “Let me have a look at your wing…”

“Sea, no!” Wavehound caught his friend’s paw, but the ottermaid shook it free and decisively strode toward the great bird.

The eagle shrieked and took off with mighty beat of wings. The moment he was in the air, the eagle hurled for Seabird with his claws outstretched. Wavehound grabbed Seabird by her shoulders and jerked her backwards, and both otters stumbled and fell from the clifftop, with the eagle sweeping past above them.

Wavehound’s back hit the stones of hill slope, and he felt earth reel under them. Before they could roll over the narrow edge of rocky path, a paw seized each otter by the scruff of their necks. It was Elsie, who got down while the otters talked to the eagle. The volemaid didn’t have enough strength to keep her bigger companions from falling, but she hindered the fall enough for Wavehound to get hold of the path, and both he and Seabird scrambled on their footpaws.

High above them, the eagle screeched as he veered round and dived for another attack.

“Run!” Wavehound shoved the maidens down the slope ahead of him. They hurried downwards, though their progress wasn’t as fast as they wished, since their path was littered with stone debris, and a sheer cliff dropped down to their left. Wavehound was bringing up the rear of their little group, throwing glances over his shoulder every two steps.

“Down!” he shouted when he saw the eagle coming at them again. All three beasts went down on their bellies, paws covering heads. The raptor’s talons scratched stones just above Wavehound as the bird rushed past. The eagle flapped his wings and awkwardly lapsed at one side, dropping far below his victims.

The wounded wing doesn’t let him maneuver properly, Wavehound realized. Then his gaze fell upon deep furrows in the stone cliff where the eagle scraped it. Though he doesn’t need to be over-precise to kill us.

The eagle had to take some time to gain height, and the former slaves used this time to descend further. Elsie rather abruptly stopped on the path to poke her head into a narrow fissure in the rocky wall. “I think there’s space for all of us.”

“Fine!” The eagle had folded his wings and dropped; Wavehound rammed his shoulder into Seabird’s back, driving both her and Elsie into the fissure so all three of them burst into the over-narrow and tapered crevice, Elsie almost crushed by her larger companions. The cleft wasn’t wide enough for the eagle to follow; instead, his clawed hind leg shot inside, reaching for his prey. Wavehound pressed himself further in, and sharp talons only brushed his back, catching some fur and a clawful of dirt that stuck to it. The eagle screeched in frustration, butting his body against solid rock.

“Elsie, you alright?” Wavehound called when he got his breath back.

“Fine, though I wouldn’t mind more space,” came the muffled reply.

The otter cast a wary look at the shadow looming at the narrow entrance. “Sorry, no way for that. Sea, you?” he asked, using his friend’s nickname.

“Not a scratch on me.” Seabird’s voice was sad. “Why he attacked us, Wavehound? We did him no harm.”

“That eagle is dangerous – one needs only a look at him to know that. You should’ve backed off when I told you,” he couldn’t help adding a bit grudgingly.

“But we could’ve helped him! He could’ve helped us! We could’ve been allies!”

“Yeah, but have you seen his scars? Have you heard him say he lost his mate and eggs? Don’t you think he had a good reason to hate vermin?”

“We are not vermin,” Seabird declared.

“And how would he know it?” asked Wavehound. “We’re the first slaves who made it to these hills. That means this eagle had only dealt with corsairs before. To him, all earthcrawlers are vermin.”

“Ah.” Seabird sighed. “I haven’t thought about that. Of course you’re right. But still – auch! Elsie, can you stop elbowing me?”

“I think I’ve found something!” While otters were talking, Elsie dug at the other end of the cleft, scooping back loose earth and scraping at small rocks. “Here it is!” A tiny sliver of sunlight trickled into their cave through a crack Elsie had widened.

The sight of it filled tired runaways with enthusiasm. “Throw the earth underfoot, I’ll trample it from getting in your way. Pass me bigger stones, I’ll give them to Wavehound to toss aside.”

After some work, all three beasts managed to broaden the crack into a hole, large enough for a vole to fit. Further inspection showed that it couldn’t be expended without removing some solid-looking rocks, and they unanimously decided not to risk whole hillside collapsing on them. Elsie slid out of the cleft with no trouble; Seabird had to turn sidelong to squeeze herself into the hole.

“At least there’s something I can thank the vermin for,” she huffed after finally getting to the other side with a push from Wavehound. “I wouldn’t have fit in if they fed us better.” She looked round at the steep slope they ended on. “Seems we are on the other side of that cliff.”

Wavehound threw his head back, examining distant clifftop. “Yeah, I can see that eagle’s nest from there. Come on, mateys.”

“Where to?” Elsie cried out.

The otter swiftly put a claw to his lips, “Hush, you don’t want our feathered friend to hear us. Come on, we need to get to the top. It’s an excellent view point, and we still need to find water, food and shelter.”

That was a worthy argument, and the maids followed Wavehound. That hillside had no convenient trail to follow. Instead, it had plenty of chinks to grip and ledges to step on, helping the trio in their rock-climbing ascent. Wavehound went first, checking their holds for solidity. Elsie followed, and Seabird brought up the rear, ready to give her friends a push.

A strident squawk high above startled Elsie, and she lost her grip on the stone she was pulling herself on. The volemaid’s footpaws slid down the smooth rock – but not too far: one of them had met Seabird’s broad head. The otter braced and held till Elsie found proper foothold.

“Thanks, Sea. And sorry.”

“That’s just a gull.” Seabird glanced at her namesake circling overhead. “Gulls are no danger…” The rest of the phrase couldn’t be heard for another shrilling birdcry.

Wavehound gasped. His eyes widened as if he saw not a gull, but something much more sinister. “Bloody storms and salt seasons! It’s their gull! It marks our position for vermin!” He looked over the surroundings anxiously. “No way to get down on time. Speed up, mateys! They still need some time to get there!”

And the otter threw all his remaining energy into climbing, practically pushing himself upwards. He reached the summit first, rolled over its ledge and immediately turned to offer a paw to Elsie and Seabird. Pulling them up, he commanded, “Now we’d get out of this place before it’s too late!”

Then he turned about and almost ran headfirst into a band of corsairs.

Chapter 25

Foxglove lay in the bed, staring at the wall with empty eyes. All day she had been trying to come up with some kind of escape plan, but one way or another her thoughts would circle back to Kars. She couldn’t close her eyes without seeing him falling from the walltop again and again, his broken body looming before her mind gaze. Finally, the vixen succumbed to a doze, and events of seasons long past marched before her, starting with her young days…

Foxglove was born and grown up in a tiny hamlet on Northern Shores, so small it didn’t even have a proper name. The only point of note there that had kept the place alive was a corsair port. There wasn’t anything of great interest for corsairs as well, but they would dock to replenish their supply of food and fresh water or get their ships repaired. Many young vermin from the hamlet would enlist as crewbeasts for these ships in their search for a better life. Foxglove didn’t blame them – it seemed anywhere life was better than in the hamlet. Those who had stayed still worked for the corsairs one way or another: repair workers fixed the ships’ breakages and fishers pickled and smoked their catches for sale, and nobeast’s earnings could be compared with the ones of Skinflint, the local tavern keeper.

Foxglove had never known her father. Her mother said he had died even before she was born, but the young vixen suspected he just didn’t want to burden himself with a wife and a cub. Her mother was a healer, and she had clients among corsairs as well as among local beasts. When Foxglove was a little cub, they were considerably well-off. Till one day a competition appeared. Several new healers – no, magickers and seers, that was how they called themselves, - moved in the hamlet. They couldn’t mix a simple potion without chanting and replaced poultices with charms and amulets. Foxglove’s mother, who never pretended being something she wasn’t, only laughed at their mumbo-jumbo and magic nonsense. However, it soon turned out that ‘magic nonsense’ was what superstitious vermin preferred, and she lost most of her customers to them. Then came a time for Foxglove and her mother to pull in their belts.

Foxglove’s mother tried teaching her the healing trade as well, but it turned out that Foxglove had no healer’s talent whatever. After several attempts, the old vixen had to acknowledge her defeat when Foxglove accidentally put some hotroot into what had been supposed to be a cooling salve. “Well, I did heal his stiff joints,” Foxglove tried to excuse herself later. “They didn’t seem to bother him at all when he chased me all the way round the village!”

Anyway, her healer career ended there, and she needed to find some other way to earn her living. Foxglove wouldn’t leave with some corsair ship because her mother had lost all her clients by that time and couldn’t even feed herself. Foxglove couldn’t also hope to compete with fishers or repair workers who practiced their trade since very young age. That left only one path open for her: Foxglove had become a servant in Skinflint’s tavern. The job turned out harder than most beasts imagine. Foxglove’s work was not only to attend to the customers with food and drink, but also to wash the dishes, scrub the floor and the tables, clean up all the mess after the customers, - to put it short, all the work that needed to be done in a tavern. In exchange, Skinflint provided Foxglove with a roof over her head and enough vittles to feed herself and her mother.

Foxglove’s life gained a rhythm of tidal waves, going up and down, up and down. When a corsair ship arrived into the port, there would be a swarm of customers and enough work to run her paws off – but then, a servant’s share would always increase at such days. If the corsairs were extremely generous, - or extremely drunk, - a servant could even hope to receive some tips for the good service. Sure, Skinflint saw that it was him who got all the revenues and nobeast else, but with some luck it was possible to hide these tips from him. Foxglove had no regrets about stealing from her master. After all, Skinflint would use any chance to cheat her out of her earnings. Foxglove thought it only fair that she would take her share herself if Skinflint underpaid her, and she needed this share to put away for a rainy day. This rainy day would inevitably come after a ship’s department, when there were no more customers and no more work. This state of affairs usually lasted till another ship’s arrival, and the cycle would start anew.

Foxglove’s life had been passing by like that for some seasons. However, it had all changed when she met Kars. That day a corsair ship had just arrived to the hamlet, and the tavern was full with customers. Foxglove was busy carrying a tray with mugs of grog when she heard a noise from the common room. And that noise was louder and more belligerent than usual drunk brawling. It was easy to pin up a source of the disturbance. Two beasts stood face to face; they both swayed a bit, indicating they were no newcomers to the tavern. The crowd had backed away, giving them some space, an anticipation of a good fight on their faces.

A burly weasel bared his teeth, “Say it again and I’ll break your every bone!”

His opponent, a big wide-shouldered fox, only laughed. He was almost handsome, with thick brown fur and long straight muzzle. However, the good first impression was spoiled by the fox’s weird-looking eyes. His left eye was yellow and it had a slight squint, so it seemed that he was looking sideways as if keeping an eye on other corsairs round him. His right eye was green and normal, but Foxglove had a peculiar feeling that this eye looked through the weasel rather than straight at him.

“I say it again and again and again: you’re a coward!” spat out the fox. “Where were you when we boarded that riverdog ship? And before you say you was there, why you was the only one who got out of the battle without a scratch on your pelt?”

“Bah! Scars are signs of a lousy swordbeast, not bravery!”

“So, you think yourself to be a master swordbeast? Can you prove it, coward? Or do I add ‘liar’ to your title?”

“Oh, I can!” A cutlass appeared in the weasel’s paw. “And I gonna give you a fencing les-“

The fox didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence. He grabbed a bottle of grog from the nearby table and broke it over the weasel’s head. The weasel dropped on the spot, knocked out cold. The crowd roared in triumph.

Foxglove put her tray on one of the tables and clapped her paws. “Sirs!” she had to raise her voice to be heard. “Sirs!! Fights are not allowed in this tavern. Please resolve all your problems outside. But once there – no fighting, no dueling, no poisoning and, the most important, no damaging the tavern property or staining it with blood.”

The big fox turned at her, and Foxglove again got a feeling that his green eye was looking somewhere behind her. “He started all this!” he complained, pointing at the fallen weasel with a splintered bottleneck in his paw.

“The rules must be obeyed, with no exceptions. Please, leave the tavern and take your friend with you. You can come back tomorrow.”

“Hellgate’s teeth!” The fox slammed his paw on the table heavily. “I’m not leaving nowhere, that’s it!” And he swung the bottleneck in Foxglove’s direction.

Foxglove didn’t think he had actually wanted to hit her, but rather to shoo her away. Still, she reacted quickly. The vixen ducked under his paw and grabbed his wrist, digging her claws into a sensitive tendon. The fox’s paw reflexively unclenched, dropping his improvised weapon. Foxglove wrenched her opponent’s wrist outwards, so the big fox had to fall on his knees to avoid having his paw damaged. She kept wrenching till she had the troublemaker sprawled on the floor. “Please leave the tavern, sir,” she repeated.

“Aaah… right, right, I leave, stop breaking ma paw, ye pest!”

Foxglove released him, and the big fox made for the door. “Payment for your drinks and the bottle you’d broken!” the vixen called. Without stopping, the fox threw her a bracelet – silver, three stones embedded in it were definitely rubies. That was more than the fox actually owed them, but Foxglove wasn’t about to enlighten him.

Hiding the bracelet in her sleeve, Foxglove frowned. Other corsairs had already carried the senseless weasel out of the room, but that still left her with a mess to clean up. But there were business she had to finish first. Foxglove took the tray she had put down earlier and headed to one of the tables. “Your grog, sir.”

The next day Foxglove had met the fox with mismatched eyes again. He walked into the tavern, glancing round with a confident look of a beast searching for something.

Foxglove had a sickening feeling in her stomach. He had probably come to get a payback for getting thrown out of the tavern. She wanted to sneak into the kitchen and swap her serving duty for dishwashing when the fox noticed her. “Hey, you there, vixen, come here, need t’ talk.”

Foxglove drew nearer, making sure to leave a table between her and the visitor. “Yes, sir? Do you want to order something – beer, grog, wine?” she asked with a polite smile.

“No, no. Just… look, how…” the big fox stopped himself and stared at the floor as hard as if he wanted to burn a hole in it with his green eye. He looked almost as it he was embarrassed, except that Foxglove knew such beasts simply don’t get embarrassed.

She turned away to go. “Sir, I have a work to do.”

“How did you do that?” he blurted out. “Yesterday evening – that move you used to bring me down. I mean, I’m bigger and stronger – and yet you had me crying uncle on the floor like a wee mousebabe!”

Foxglove’s smile grew into a grin. “Ha, that’s be my little secret.”

“Teach me that move.”

For a moment, Foxglove thought she had heard it amiss. “Was that a joke? Haha.”

“No, I’m serious. I will pay you for the training.”

Foxglove rolled her eyes. “Oh, and then you’ll beat me using my own moves and take your payment back. No, thanks, go look for another fool.”

“All right, vixen. Look there.” The fox with mismatched eyes held up a dagger in a way as if he wanted to throw it. Foxglove immediately bent her head down, sidestepping and bringing an empty tray up like shield. Puzzled, the fox stared at her. “Emm, what are you doing? I’m not going to attack you.”

“Then put that dagger down,” Foxglove demanded. “Yesterday’s rules still apply.”

“Wait, look there. See that rat?” the visitor pointed the dagger at one of their regular clients sipping beer in the far end of the tavern.

Foxglove nodded, and in that very moment the fox threw his dagger. It whizzed like an angry wasp and hit the rat’s clay mug just as he was about to take a sip. The steel blade broke the mug and continued its way, embedding itself in the wall. The rat shot up to his footpaws, his paws, clothes and shaggy beard splashed with beer. “Who did this?!” he roared. “Who?!”

The big fox rose to his footpaws as well and waved his paw. “I did, messmate. That was a good throw, wasn’t it?”

“You ruined my beer, mangy flea-pelt! Rotten cod an’ bald seagull yer messmates, not me!”

“Ho, that was just a joke, messmate. Don’t you have a sense of humor? Don’t fret about your drink, messmate. Hey, tavern keeper! Two – no, three bottles of the best beer for my messmate there!”

“And who’s going to pay for the broken mug?” Skinflint called, promptly coming to the common room.

The fox carelessly thrown him a golden tailring. “That should account for everything.”

Skinflint was a very fat weasel, but he had always displayed great agility when business concerned riches. Right now he nimbly caught the ring and snapped at Foxglove, “Why are you standing there rooted to the ground? Get going, there’s work to be done!”

“Ho, wait there, tavern keeper. This beast worked hard yesterday and this day, don’t you think she deserves a day off?” with these words, the fox put another gold ring into Skinflint’s paws.

Once he had gold in his paws, the weasel shrugged nonchalantly. “Take a day off, maiden, but you’ve got to be there and working in the morning.”

Foxglove turned to the insolent fox, her paws on her hips. “And what’s that about?”

“Oh, I was about to ask whether you can throw knives like that.”

“Could’ve just do it without being such a show-off.”

Much to her dissatisfaction, the customer only smiled. “I’ll take that as ‘no’. So there’s a deal: you teach me that paw-twisting move, and I teach you the knife-throwing. If I ever try to use your skills against you, you will always be able to stab me with a knife. That sounds like a fair trade for me, er?”

Indeed, that sounded fair enough; besides, a day of hanging out away from the tavern would certainly be better than another day of exhausting work. “It’s a deal, then,” Foxglove said.

The fox with mismatched eyes extended a paw to her and, much to Foxglove’s surprise, began to recite an old by-word her mother taught her:

“Shake paws, count your claws.

You steal mine, I'll borrow yours.”

Foxglove grasped his paw and shook it, finishing the saying:

“Watch my whiskers, check both ears.

Robber foxes have no fears.”

They had already left the tavern when the fox said, “By the way, my name’s Kars. And yours?”

“Foxglove.”

His yellow eye got a mischievous sparkle in it. “A fox named Foxglove? That’s…”

“Just you try making fun of my name, and I’m going back to the kitchen,” Foxglove warned.

“Actually, I was about to say ‘fitting’.” Kars noticed the vixen’s confused look and explained. “You see, I’ve known a rat called Wolfclaw and a ferret named Badgerstripe, though even a blind mole would’ve never mistaken them for a wolf or a badger. But your name is more… clear, so to say.”

Foxglove hadn’t thought about her name that way before. That was actually kind of pleasant. “Let’s hurry up and get to the training,” she said finally.

They found a sandy clearing between the beach and the forest for their training. Kars had probably realized that Foxglove still didn’t completely trust him, because he offered starting their practice with knife-throwing. Two foxes spent all morning exercising. Foxglove learned to throw pretty quickly, adopting both the strong stroke of the paw that sent the knife in the air and quick flick of the wrist that made the knife land blade first. Aiming was what had given her the main trouble – three out of four times her knife would miss the oak trunk they chose as a practice target. Seeing her frustration, Kars suggested proceeding with bare-pawed combat. It turned out that his size and slower speed somewhat cut down his ability to reduplicate Foxglove’s move. The vixen made him repeat it again and again till his movements became swift and accurate.

Finally, two foxes sat down under their practice target oak for a break.

“How it happened that you’re so good in fighting if you’re just a tavern servant?” asked Kars.

Foxglove grimaced at the thought. “Beasts tend to get wild when grog and beer involved, so it’s actually part of the job. You of all beasts should’ve known that, after a brawl you put yesterday.”

“Oh my… I’ve just realized how terrible I’ve been then…” The big fox covered his head with both paws. “You know, I was drunk and that weasel was putting on airs… No, that’s making up excuses. It’s my fault, and I’m terribly sorry.”

“It wasn’t that bad. One broken bottle and a knocked-out client – I wished it would always end with such light casualties,” Foxglove mused.

“Why are you dealing with drunken customers anyway? That tavern is a profitable place, can’t its owner hire a bouncer?”

That made Foxglove snort with something that reminded laughter. “The tavern belongs to somebeast whose name is Skinflint. Why should he spend his loot if he can just make us work more?”

Kars shrugged and changed the subject. “You’re really good with knives, you know.”

“So good that I can’t hit a tree trunk?”

“Aiming skills will come later. But you’ve got good throw, and took less than a day for it. I myself had to practice for three days till my knives stopped landing handle first. You’re a quick learner, and you can make a fine fighter. Have you ever thought about joining a corsair crew?”

Of course she did. That topic was a sore spot for her. “No. I’m not leaving the village – not now, not never.”

“Why not?”

Because that would mean abandoning my mother to starve. However, she wasn’t going to tell her new acquaintance that much. “That’s none of your business.”

“But…”

“Leave it!” Foxglove jumped to her paws and briskly went away. “Got to go. Have business to do.”

Kars rose to his paws as well. “Foxglove, wait! Did I offend you somehow?”

“Private business!” Foxglove shouted before disappearing in the forest. She quickened her pace, but nobeast was following her.

I shouldn’t have left like that, she thought. After all, he was just being curious. And he actually was nice… nicer than all the other corsairs I’ve met.

It was too late to go back, though. Besides, Foxglove truly had some business to do.

She came back to the village and headed for one particular place, whose owner could provide some goods without asking questions about his clients’ source of payment. However, he had a strict rule about accepting only those things that were cleansed off blood. Foxglove nodded to the place’s owner and put a small ruby on his counter. Yesterday she managed to pluck it out of the silver bracelet Kars had paid with, and Skinflint either didn’t notice the defect or thought it was damaged to begin with. Either way, today she could buy her mother a month’s supply of vittles. After the vixen glutted her rucksack cram-full with bread, dried meat, pickled fish, hard cheese, dried fruits and even a couple of pies, she left the village and headed for a lonely mountain towering over the hamlet.

Foxglove’s mother, while she was still in her young seasons, had chosen to settle away from the center of the hamlet, midway up the mountain. That put her close to the mountain groves and glades, where a lot of medicine herbs were growing; however, that also put her far from her main customers, the vermin of the village. That wasn’t a problem when there still were customers who went to her for help, but at the moment Foxglove was the only creature that walked the path between the settlement and the mountain over many seasons. Nobeast maintained the path in order any more.

Earth gave way under Foxglove’s footpaw and crumbled down the steep slope, and the vixen threw her forepaws wide to regain her balance. Her heavy rucksack pulled her backwards, and she faltered on the very edge of the path.

“Hold on! Coming!” Strong paw gripped Foxglove by the shoulder and pulled her to the firm ground. “There, it’s safe now.”

Foxglove wasn’t feeling safe, though. When her rescuer grabbed her, she panicked. Foxglove really hated being crept on, especially since those who usually roamed these mountains were not goodbeasts. Once on firm ground, the young vixen spun round and kicked Kars in his knee. The big fox yelped in pain, and Foxglove used this moment to seize him by the collar of his jacket and shove him to the path’s edge, so that his footpaws stood on the ground but his torso leaned over precipice. “Ye were followin’ me, mangled flea-pelt!”

“And good thing I did, or you’ve fallen down!” retorted Kars.

Foxglove shook him soundly. “I wouldn’t!”

“Right, you wouldn’t! Er, Foxglove, can you back off? I’d rather talk with a solid ground under my paws.” His yellow eye was never still, squinting at the deep gap under him.

“I’d rather not! Getting thrown off the cliff is considered to be a good punishment for bandits and robbers in these places!”

“Bandits? Robbers?” Something gurgled in Kars’s throat as if he had wanted to laugh but thought better of it. “Look, Foxglove, I’m the Captain’s first mate – my share is second biggest of the whole crew. I’ve got no need to rob anybeast.”

“With the way you throw it on the wind I won’t be surprised if you go broke tomorrow!”

“You really think I waste my loot?” asked Kars seriously.

Foxglove rolled her eyes. After she worked in the tavern so long, she should have got used to the way its clients throw gold and silver left and right. She didn’t – maybe because she had to work so hard for each bread crust she received. “Yes, Kars, you do. You pay in gold and jewels, though simple silver would’ve done, or even brass and copper.”

“That’s a good advice. Now, can you put me on the firm ground, please?”

By that time Foxglove’s anger had faded, but she didn’t back away. “You never told me why you were following me.”

“I… I wanted to know what ‘private business’ you had to do. You ran off without a word – well, I was curious!”

Foxglove took two steps back, pulling Kars out of danger of falling. The big fox stole a glance at the precipice and shuddered. “Yaarr, you’ve almost killed me, vixen!”

“Ha, there’s not high enough to kill you,” the vixen noted cheerily. “You would’ve just broken a couple of bones, that’s all.”

“So you’ve got experience? In throwing beasts off the cliffs, I mean?”

“Yeah, I’ve thrown down a couple or so of bandits who thought they can rob a lone maid of her scanty belongings. Bottom of a cliff is a good place for bandits… or strangers who jump at beasts from behind.”

Kars looked offended. “I’m not a stranger.”

Foxglove gave him a mocking glance. “We’ve met only yesterday. That officially makes you a stranger.”

Both beasts fell silent after this remark. The silence had lasted for some time before Foxglove’s patience gave out. “What are you waiting for? Go away.”

“Well, you still hadn’t told me about that ‘private business of yours.”

“Are you seriously thinking I tell you?” In response, Kars stared at Foxglove. Foxglove stared at Kars. She sighted wearily. “I’m visiting my mother. Bringing her some vittles to live on. Satisfied?”

The big fox nodded. “Can I go with you?” Foxglove opened her mouth to protest when he continued, “I can make sure no bandits try to bother you… or I can help you carry that rucksack.”

Foxglove sighed. No harm can come out of this, she reasoned. “All right, let’s go – and no, I won’t let you carry my rucksack.”

Foxglove’s mother was home; she rarely left her small hut those days. She smiled when Foxglove had entered the hut’s only room; her smile turned into a puzzled look when Kars had followed her.

“Mother, that’s Kars, an acquaintance of mine, he accompanied me on the way here. Kars, that’s my mother Coltsfoot.”

The old vixen’s smile widened again. “That was kind of you, Kars, to escort my Foxglove here. Who knows what kind of bandits you can run across in these places?”

Left paw behind his back and right paw against his heart, Kars bowed from the waist in a formal greeting. “Mar’m Coltsfoot, I pity any bandits that would run across your daughter.”

“What a polite young beast, and with a proper respect to his elders!” Coltsfoot clasped her paws. “It’s a rarity to meet such a good husband. But,” she raised her claw, “if you ever wrong my Foxglove, I’ll poison you!”

“Mother!” Foxglove exclaimed, horrified.

“All right, all right. Don’t worry, won’t poison your suitor. But,” a claw was raised again, “I’ve got a potion that will give a bellyache to last days!”

“Mother!” Foxglove had regretted her decision to bring Kars along. “It’s not… We’re not a couple! Kars is not a suitor, not a fiancé, not a cavalier! We’re not even friends! We’re just acquaintances!”

“Shush! Calm down, youngster.” The old vixen turned to Kars now, who was busy observing the floor planks. “Now, look there, young beast. What do you see?” She pointed upwards.

Kars readily threw his head back; for one moment, his mismatched eyes looked in one direction. “Er, a ceiling, mar’m?”

“A ceiling, er? So that hole, through which water leaks – no, floods in right upon my head each time it rains, - so I’ve just imagined it, er?”

“You want me to fix the ceiling?” Kars realized. “Count on me, mar’m Coltsfoot!”

“Mother! Don’t pester Kars!” pleaded Foxglove. If it were possible for the vixen’s red fur to burn from her blushing, it would’ve certainly caught fire.

“If he’s good enough to walk you there, he’s good enough to fix the roof,” reasoned her mother.

“Don’t worry, I’ll fix it,” reassured them Kars. “Where’s your tools?”

‘Don’t interrupt beasts while they are harming themselves’ was a common rule among vermin, so Foxglove gave Kars their toolbox and even put a ladder to the hut’s wall for him to climb onto the roof. Even with Kars fixing the ceiling, there were still plenty of chores to do, and Foxglove went to the nearby stream to fetch water for her mother.

On her way back she passed the hut and listened to the noise: muted curses, loud thump mixed with a crack, loud curses and clunk of something falling. That didn’t sound like proper repairs. The vixen quickly climbed the ladder, “Hey, Kars, you all right?” Her head became level with the roof just in time for her to see how Kars had brought the hammer down on a plank, holding the tool with both paws. Naturally, the nail edged into a plank bent in half and the hapless plank split in the middle.

“What are you doing?” she gasped. “You don’t put the plank that way – it must overlap the other one like a tiling. And who on the earth holds hammer with both paws? Why didn’t you hold to the nail?”

“If I do, I hit my claws,” Kars explained shyly.

“Of course you do if you slam it down with such force as if trying to break somebeast’s skull! Honestly, as if it’s the first time you get a hammer in your paws…”

“Actually, it is.” Kars’s yellow eye became shiftier than usual, and his green eye attempted to burn a hole in the roof. “I’ve never had to do any work around the house. My parents had me training in fighting since the young age, hoping I would rise in ranks quick. So… I’m good in breaking beasts’ skulls but completely useless in fixing roofs.”

Why didn’t you say that to begin with? Foxglove wanted to ask, but Kars’s ashamed face restrained her tongue. He’d already properly embarrassed himself by admitting he was not capable of traditional male work. No need to add insult to injury.

“Give me that hammer. I’ll fix it myself before you wrecked the whole hut.” she said.

Kars did as he was told, an apologetic expression on his face. “Sorry. I just wanted to help…”

“You can help. There’s lots of work around. You can chop firewood. I don’t think that needs learning; just make sure you chop along the wood-fiber.”

Kars’s mood momentary improved. “I can manage that. After all, I can always imagine I’m chopping off some beasts’ heads!”

With extra paws to help her, Foxglove finished her work till dusk. She waved goodbye for her mother, ready to return to the tavern, but Coltsfoot wouldn’t let her go without filling her rucksack with herbs and potions. Foxglove’s mother didn’t have any patients for a long time, but old habits die hard; besides, Foxglove could sell some of the mixtures in the tavern if she was lucky and if Skinflint didn’t see her.

“Take good care of my Foxglove,” the old vixen said to Kars. “And remember about the poison!”

“Don’t worry, mar’m Coltsfoot, I’ve got a good memory,” laughed Kars, making another formal bow. And then, to Foxglove, “Let me carry that sack.”

This time Foxglove gave her load willingly. If Kars wanted to burden himself, let him do it.

“You’ve got a great mother,” Kars said once they were on their way back. “Though she has her oddities.”

“You’re about that talk of poison? That’s just an old healer’s joke. I’ve been hearing it since I was a cub.” Foxglove tried to imitate her mother’s voice, “If you not going to bed right now, I’ll brew a poison to palsy you for days!”

“Oh yes, that’s too. And the way she immediately thought us to be a couple.”

“Huh, pay no attention to old vixen’s stupid rambling.”

Kars stopped. “Stupid rambling? Am I not an enviable fiancé?” he asked, striking a pose.

That remark had Foxglove laughing out loud. It was quite a time since she had such a fun. “You? Ha! Have you ever seen your reflection in the water? Ha! You can scare the death out of a beast with those eyes of yours! I bet your Captain had you stand watches during the nighttime to use your eyes as signal lights!”

Kars folded his paws across his chest. “Well, I’m not talking to an ideal of beauty, either! You know, when I first saw you yesterday, I’d thought you got a bucket of water damped on you till I realized you fur is just so sleek! And your tail looks like an otter’s!”

That hit a sore wound. Thick and bushy fur was an object of pride for any vixen – just not for Foxglove. Her fur and tail was naturally sleeker than the ones of other foxes; besides, she didn’t have time to comb and brush it properly. “Hey, you know what? At least I can go through underbrush and brambles and bare rocks without leaving tufts of fur in my wake!”

“That’s a good point,” immediately agreed Kars. “There’s one more good point for you: for all the time I served among the corsairs, nobeast had ever tried to stab me in the back. They all think that my left eye is always watching them!”

Foxglove laughed in spite of her mood. “Are you doing it on purpose? The eye thing?”

“Nope, it does so by its own. I can focus the stare if I pay attention,” the yellow eye shifted its position and, together with its green counterpart, looked right at Foxglove. However, in a minute the eye began to shiver and finally slid back. “But it goes back once I lose control.”

“Well, that can be useful,” Foxglove admitted. This was as close to an apology as she could get.

“So, we’re still friends?” Kars said, offering her a paw.

Foxglove hesitated. Friend was a strong word; during all her life in the hamlet, Foxglove had some pals but not friends. But Kars looked so heartfelt that she took his paw and shook it. “Friends.”

“Meet you tomorrow?” suggested Kars. “We need to work on your aiming.”

“And I can show you some more fighting moves,” the vixen agreed. “Though you’ll need to talk to Skinflint again.”

“Oh, I will. And yes, I remember: no gold, no gems – only silver. See you tomorrow!”

Unknowingly to her, Foxglove had been smiling in her sleep as she relived that day in her dreams. She would have given anything to turn the flow of time back.