TRIBUNAL OF REDWALL --- No Comments Here

[cairn destop]

The badger is considered a god in the Redwall universe.  So what would have one such beast vilified as a vermin?  How too would such a beast become an honorable inhabitant of the Abbey?  That, and any other question left unanswered in my Vermin Badger series will be revealed when Tassel is brought before the Tribunal of Redwall.




AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This is a stand-alone work.  No prior knowledge of the character or the series is needed.

Understand this is not a true fan fiction.  I have made modifications to the canons of the creator.  Time is measured in human terms.  The accented speech of hares, moles, and dibbuns have been eliminated.

[cairn destop]

Honored Eldest – Part One

"Now stop yanking on my elbow, Mother Abbot.  At my age, I don't climb these stairs as fast as I did when I was as many years as you."

"You get around quite nicely for a squirrel of a hundred and six, Honored Eldest.  At sixty, I find these tower stairs far too steep for my aging knees.  Why you insist on sitting up here when there are many places just as sunny at ground level boggles my mind.  You lose so much valuable time each day because of your stubborn streak."

"Listen, vixen, I don't turn another year for some five days.  Think I don't remember when I was birthed?  'Twas the third day after the summer's first quarter moon.  As to why I insist on coming up here, it's to keep far away from the dibbuns that run amok within this glorified orphanage."

The Mother Abbot chuckled.  "We did the research, Honored Eldest.  The date of your birth was the tenth of this month, some three days back.  Like it or not, Mister Stiles, our modern world is now ruled by a calendar and not by some scribe tracking the phases of the moon."

He gave a low growl, which ended in a prolonged coughing spell.  Once he regained his breath, Stiles continued up the stairs.  The two climbed in silence until they reached the tower's roof.

"I don't care what that new fangled thing said, I'll celebrate my birthday as it's suppose to be and on the proper day too.  I swear, if either our very first ruler, Abbess Germaine, or our founder, Martin the Warrior, ever knew what has happened to their beloved Redwall, their spirits would rise in anger and lay waste to the very place they created.  Vermin have changed the world, and not for the better I might add, Abbess."

"You protest too much, sir.  As to vermin changing the world, you have forgotten a shrew invented the calendar you detest so much.  Need I remind you a mole combined the power of a pony with a plow and now the same land produces more than four times as much food?  Was it not an otter who designed a merchant ship needing no oars?  Each of those changes has enriched our lives."

"Some ferret came up with carts pulled by ponies.  Now anyone meandering down any roadway risk being crushed by hooves or wheels.  And what about that demented stoat apothecary?  Blasted fool discovered something he named gunpowder, which made our sanctuary behind these walls a mere illusion.  That city, just a half-day's walk away, is ruled by a weasel mayor and its woodlander inhabitants think nothing of it.  And worse yet, our Abbey now has a fox as its leader, and one not even of this land."

"Times have changed, sir, and for the better.  Thank goodness slavery is a dying institution since the introduction of modern farming machinery and the rapid growth of industry.  Our Abbey and the lands we once ruled cannot remain an isolated and independent entity forever.  Best we embrace the modern world and take our place as one of the many regions honoring our badger king."

Mister Stiles removed his wide brimmed straw hat and wiped his brow.  His fingers mussed the wispy strands of colorless fur that still covered parts of his face before he replaced the hat.  He shuffled over to the high wall and gazed to the east while listening to a third fellow struggle onto the roof.  When all became quiet once more, he moved into the chair set there specifically for him.  As he made himself comfortable, he smiled up at the Abbess.

"As a retired Chief Scribe and a bit of an historian, perhaps I remember our past too fondly, Abbess.  We were a place of refuge then, a place of peace that inspired the righteous and frightened the villainous.  Today, all we are is a crumbling relic used to warehouse the many orphans seeking sanctuary.  In this modern world, our single claim to fame is October Ale.  My home for all these years is nothing more than a forgotten footnote in the annals of history, a place filled with myths and legends.  It deserves a better fate."

The vixen smiled and patted his shoulder one more time before she made for the stairs.  A moment of blissful silence.  Even the voices of the dibbuns down at ground level seemed muted.

"She has left, Honored Eldest.  Shall I take out your writing material," asked the young squirrel who followed them to the roof.

He looked at his young attendant and gave a low groan.  "I know my fur 'twas a deeper brown and a lot thicker than yours when I counted as many years as you.  Tell me, child, are we related or has our Badgermom assigned you the duty of attending to a senile old fool?" 

He laughed at the youth's incredulous look and took a moment as he regained his composure.  "Don't be so concerned about my feelings; I know how others see me.  My advanced years allow me to get away with as many things as a precocious toddler with doting elders without worrying about the crack of a willow switch upon my backside.  An advantage to old age, perhaps one of the few left to me."

"Neither, sir.  Remember me telling you how Father lived far from here until he joined the military?  While serving with the Unity Division, he met Mother, and after their discharge, they moved to the Town of Mossflower.  The Town Crier announced the need for a potter at the Abbey and my parents moved within these walls."

"Tell me Tigraff, is your father still disappointed you want to mar your paws with ink instead of clay?"

"Yes, he is a bit disappointed in my choice of studies.  Scribes are a dying breed, Honored Eldest, or so my father keeps insisting.  Three years ago those two hedgehog brothers invented a typesetter.  They can produce a hundred copies of a book it takes a diligent scribe a year to write.  It's only good fortune they are related to our last true warrior, otherwise I would never be granted an apprenticeship so many others covet."

Stiles nodded.  "Yes, Firelog was our last true warrior, not like that strutting prince chicken of a mouse we have now or the otter who came before him.  Be honest, haven't you heard that mouse call himself the reincarnation of Martin the Warrior?  Fool is more likely to stab his own foot if he ever held the Sword in battle.  And I bet his water would flow faster than his legs would carry him if some beast ever challenged him in anything other than the mock duels held to amuse our visitors during the season festivals."

For a moment, Stile's eyes glazed over as he stared north.  Such talk about current events at the Abbey always left him miffed.  He didn't understand the need for a standardized currency or setting firm prices, which replaced the haggling he favored at market.  Nor did he accept the need to engage in commerce and the entertaining shows for the funds needed to keep the many youths here housed or educated.  He wanted the Abbey to remain self-sufficient.

Then Stiles snagged the youth's arm with a firm grip.  "Listen, Tigraff, those hedgehogs know talent when they see it and scribes will always be in demand, even with this newfangled typesetter making everyone a legible writer.  As to why they chose you as an apprentice, didn't you spend all last summer helping them do whatever it is they do when they produced Shortspike's old medical texts?  You applied yourself and they liked your work.  I know you'll do quite well when you start converting our scripted stories into typed works.  I just wish somebody would consider my account of the past worthy of such recognition."

Tigraff opened the footlocker he lugged up to this tower's roof every sunny day.  He rummaged through its contents, removing things in the order Stiles dictated.  A huge binder wrapped in a black ribbon came out first, which he placed closest to the chair.  Other scrolls and binders were lifted out and arranged within close proximity. 

Last to emerge, the box containing the writing implements.  Blank pages, slate and chalk came next.  Using the footlocker as a backrest, Tigraff leaned back and waited.  For the next few moments Stiles drummed the tip of his nose with an index finger as he contemplated which item he would work next.  He placed his paws in his lap.

"Tell me, boy, have you read my story?  I don't mean as a recorder would do or as some disinterested historian.  What I want to know is if you have really read what we have worked so hard at editing."  Seeing the sheepish grin made Stiles cackle.  "I thought as much.  I have far too little time left in this world.  I think it best you read this from start to finish while I can still answer whatever questions arise."

Tigraff blurted out a question.  "Sir, if this story is as important as you believe, why didn't anyone ever place it in the Historian's achieves?  It's a mystery to me."

Stiles gave that cackling laugh the eldest creatures seemed to share in common as he looked upon the youth.  "We like to think of Redwall as a place of perfect goodness where every resident does only what is proper.  Having somebody come along and prove us wrong is offensive.  My story focuses on the nadir point in our history, the time we proved ourselves no better than those we condemn for some perceived imperfection.  It is just unfortunate for this Abbey that I still live since I am the last one who was there when this all happened.  Without me, I am certain this account would turn into ashes.  Forgotten for all time."

Once more Stiles gazed upon Tigraff.  "So read my tale and tell me if this is best remembered or forgotten.  For good or ill, I believe this chapter in our history must be told."

With that, the young squirrel unbound the binder and flipped it open to the first page.

[cairn destop]

A Late Visitor

Thunder echoed throughout the hallways as Stiles strolled through the familiar passageway.  He had no reason for rushing home since his mind remained heavy with sorrow.  The calamity that befell Redwall happened many times before his birth, and without a doubt, it would recur many times after he entered the spirit world of Dark Forest. 

Stiles stopped at one of the narrow windows facing the setting sun.  Dark clouds skittered across the sky like acorns tumbling out of a farmer's silo mirroring the gloomy attitude of the many residents.  Raindrops cried upon the glass panes blurring the outlines of the trees and fields beyond the thick outer walls.  A flashing bolt of lightning and the immediate crash of thunder made Stiles jump. 

"Seems even the Eternals weep over the death of our beloved Father Abbot."

He glanced behind him at the female hedgehog who somehow materialized during the short time his eyes watched the approaching storm.  He recognized her as Shortspike, a long time resident of the Abbey who left her home so she could hone her trade under the tutelage of another skilled professional.  In her left paw she held a satchel bearing the engraved emblem of her chosen calling, a blue triangle within a white circle. 

"Healer Shortspike, I do hope your presence so far from the Infirmary doesn't portend more bad news."

The hedgehog gave the Chief Scribe a withering glare.  Stiles cringed.  Now the storm outside paled to the one brewing behind eyes that held their own celestial fire.  The healer's voice remained low, but nobody could mistaken her angry tone.

"I am not some demon of Hellsgate here gathering souls for the afterlife.  There be no lock or guards upon my corridor, and I will come and go as I bloody well please."

Stiles raised his paws as if he held a shield that could ward off her sharp tongue.  "None blame you, good lady.  It was just your misfortune discovering Father Hughnaught had died during the night.  If you didn't have an early appointment with our Father Abbot, I'm sure some other unfortunate resident would have discovered his body.  Please forgive my most inappropriate choice of words.  No insult was ever intended."

Quills held stiff and erect returned to a more relaxed posture while the fires within her eyes became snuffed candles.  Though there was a slight upturning to the corners of her mouth, not all of the hedgehog's anger had abated. 

"Scribes are supposed to be excellent judges of the proper words in any situation, sir." 

The hedgehog gave her head a slight shake.  Healer Shortspike used her free paw to massage her face as she made an attempt at hiding her weary expression.  She held her breath for a few seconds and when she next spoke, her voice contained a more professional air.  She might be no more than a few years his senior, but tonight's weariness added far more to her age.

"I find the sudden death of our Father Abbot disturbing.  Despite all my admonishments, his habit of swallowing whole strawberries finally caught up with him.  I don't know how many times I told our Father Abbot what to do if he should get one caught in his throat and I wasn't there.  He must've forgotten what I taught him and he choked to death.  Such an avoidable death; it should never have happened."

"I do believe we both have good reasons for our snappish attitudes during the last few moments, Healer.  What say we begin again?"  Without waiting for the hedgehog's response, Stiles spoke with a far more congenial demeanor.  "So, how are things around the Abbey, Healer Shortspike?"

She took the hint.  The Healer responded as if they had just met.  "I saved one young mouse from a terrible tongue lashing at the paws of his parents, though the dibbun has been properly punished."  Shortspike giggled, though it lacked much of her usual animation.  "He broke his leg when he tumbled down the stairs while racing the other dibbuns.  I do fear the cast will have him the envy of the other tykes living here."  Shortspike's light laughter now held a genuine note of mirth.  "No doubt there will be a rash of broken legs in the hopes I will give them a cast too."

Another bolt of lightning illuminated the dark day and the thunder that followed rattled the windows.  For the briefest of moments, the two stood side by side while their eyes followed the storm's progress.  When the raindrops started pounding the glass with renewed force, each sighed in near unison.  No longer did the storm remind Stiles of tears, now they were like river stones striking the glass.  Lost in such thoughts, he missed whatever question the Healer asked, which had Shortspike rattling her quills once more as he focused on her.

"And what's Redwall's Chief Historian doing?"

"That old woodchuck has every scribe going over Father Hughnaught's diaries with a fine toothed comb.  He wants those Summary Journals indexed before our next leader is chosen.  Father Hughnaught's death was so sudden nobody on the Council of Elders had yet considered the possibility of a successor.  I'm guessing the process of choosing another leader will allow us several more days organizing records."

Shortspike turned towards the Infirmary as they came to a parting of the ways.  "I hear their short list had something like twelve names.  Makes you wonder how many others our Council of Elders culled from the Abbey's registry.  I'm just glad being a Healer keeps me out of contention.  I have no desire deciding which merchant should get an extra barrel of October Ale or if the fields on this side of the stream should be planted with sugar beets or carrots.  The health of those residing within the Abbey is responsibility enough for the likes of me."

Stiles offered a quick good-bye while he stood outside the door to his residence.  Before the hedgehog disappeared around the next corner, his somber mood returned.  He wondered how Shortspike would have reacted if she knew her name had been submitted when the Council of Elders first considered candidates.  As a Recorder, he was honor bound never to discuss such things until given permission or when there came a time for selecting another leader for Redwall.  Then again, nobody ever checked the minutes, except historians some twenty or thirty years later when those involved were dead and such decisions had faded in importance.

Inside his quarters, Stiles leaned against the door and allowed his eyes to wander.  Not like the treetop drays of my youth.  Thick tapestries hid the stone walls that kept out the chill of the bleakest winter.  The only wood within this residence were the rafters above and the hardwood flooring.  Kicking his sandals off, Stiles flexed his toes, the feel of the oak revitalizing his spirit.  Wood, that's what a proper squirrel needs under his paws.  Forget these stony surroundings that are more befitting a mole.

A brown streak shot out of the room to his right like an arrow loosened from some hidden bow beast.  The projectile gained speed as it raced across the room, closing in on its intended target.  Stiles made no evasive move and laughed when the projectile collided with his shin.  Reaching down, he lifted the diapered babe who babbled an incoherent collection of sounds.

"What mighty warrior dares the wrath of Stiles the Stern?"  Smiling at the noisy baby he held, Stiles gave his son a  playful shake.  "Have you any last words before I gut you?"

Once more the babe voiced a collection of sounds and ended with a long raspberry.  Stiles gave the babe a light toss and caught him, which had the child squealing with happy sounds.  "Prepare to die."  Stiles gave a growl and made a playful thrust of his muzzle into the child's stomach, much to the babe's delight.

No sooner had he rammed his muzzle into the baby's belly than he held the child as far away as possible.  His child continued his noisy oration, unaware of his distress.

"It smells like somebody's nappy needs changing.  What say we find Mother?"

Those words were no more uttered than a sixth sense warned Stiles of impending danger.  He plastered what he hoped would pass as a wide smile on his face and with a slow motion, turned while holding the giggling child away from him.  His eyes beheld a brown female with her paws crossed beneath her bosom and on the belly that would soon make them a foursome.  Her deep scowl had Stiles give an audible swallow.  The steady tick, tick, tick of her toenails on the hardwood floor seemed louder than the thunder and like the thunder, signaled an oncoming storm.

"Why Trestlerose, how is my beautiful mate?  Did you enjoy your time sewing with the other ladies?"

"I have been diapering him all day.  It's your turn."

Stiles knew better than to argue with a miffed mate.  "You know, I do believe it is my turn.  What say I take care of the little one while you tell me about the latest gossip?"

The recorder fought valiantly with the squirming baby while his mate filled him in on the latest news.  As expected, everyone talked about the recent death of the Father Abbot and the selection of a successor.  It seemed everyone had their opinion as to which resident would be best.  Each lady in the sewing circle spouted the virtues of some friend, while listing the shortcomings of those forwarded by the others.  Stiles just grunted at the appropriate spots as he tucked the now sleeping infant in his crib.

Their moment of peace was shattered by a light knock.  The relaxed posture of Trestlerose morphed into that of a bold warrior as she stomped across the floor growling dire consequences for whichever resident dared bother her baby's sleep.  Stiles remained by the crib and gave it a gentle rock, hoping the child would remain undisturbed.

He half-expected the unknown called needed him.  No doubt the Council of Elders changed their minds and would hold another session discussing succession after the evening meal.  Judging by Trestlerose's hostile tone, his expectation must have been wrong, very wrong.  His wife's voice climbed in volume and the child's expression changed from peaceful to a deep frown.  He sprinted for the door, afraid the baby might awaken.

"You might be a resident of this Abbey, and our Badgermom, but I'll not have you befoul the air within our quarters.  Be gone vermin, before I show you my fist."

Stiles stepped in front of his mate as he snagged the door's latch just as Trestlerose was about to make good on her threat.  A quick peck to her cheek and a fast step beyond the door prevented any further physical actions by the female squirrel.  Closing the door, the recorder breathed a sigh of relief as he faced the badger standing in the passageway.

"Do forgive my mate's words, Lady Tassel.  At this phase of her pregnancy, Healer Shortspike said it's not unusual for such heightened emotional outbursts.  Had you come by at a different time, she would be the most congenial of hosts, insisting you share our hearth."

He tried reading the female badger's body language without success.  Since the badger lacked a tail, the best clue to her mood remained unknown.  Nor was there any hint visible in her face as a cloth mask covered all but her eyes and ears.  Though Stiles met the female badger casually several times since he moved into the Abbey, they had not sought out each other before today.

"We need to talk, and it must be soon.  Is there a place where we may speak in private, Mister Stiles?"

He gave the masked female badger a wave of the paw, indicating the left passageway.  Without hesitation, Tassel moved in that direction.  Stiles stepped a bit faster, coming alongside the powerful creature; neither spoke about the earlier confrontation or about the purpose of this unexpected visit.

As the two strolled along, Stiles gave the female a closer inspection.  He knew the badger wore a facial mask that hid her features, but had not noticed how the cloth clung to her even when she spoke.  Stiles found this lack of emotional clues disturbing and after a few aborted attempts at conversation, kept silent. 

The offices of the Abbey's Scribes and Recorders stood at the end of another corridor, just short of the next watchtower.  Stiles opened the door and waited until his companion entered the main room.  Here, a dozen desks were arranged in a neat row.  Large, moveable slate walls stood behind each desk, many covered in chalky scrawl.  Reams of paper were stacked to each side and all manner of writing implements littered the desks.

Passing these inanimate sentinels, Stiles led Tassel to his private office on the second floor.  Within this room another desk stood, one that mirrored those downstairs as far as its accouterments.  Against the near wall stretched a large couch, which is where the badger stretched out one leg while she rested her back against the armrest.  She remained unmoving until he closed the door and perched on his stool.

"Mister Stiles, I have caught your scent in places where it should not be."

"Are you speaking literally or figuratively, Lady Tassel?  Could you be more specific?"

A light growl came from the badger, which accentuated her gravelly voice.  "Very well, let me be blunt.  You have been working on an unauthorized history, my history."

He reached up and tugged on his collar.  "And I thought I kept my research so discreet.  It seems my efforts were wasted."  Stiles shoulders slumped.  "I take it you want me to cease my efforts."

"To the contrary, sir, I want you to tell me everything you know.  In return, I'll give you my side to your history.  Perhaps armed with both viewpoints, a factual account can be recorded, one with balance."

"And where would you like me to begin?"

"Start wherever you wish.  I shall only interrupt if it is necessary."

Stiles reached down to the footlocker behind his stool and after finding his bundled pages, removed one.  "Very well, Lady Tassel, let us begin with the hares."

[cairn destop]

The Unconquerable Foe

"Beware of wishes, for the Eternals delight in granting them to those foolish enough to ask."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but did you say something?"

"Nothing you need be concerned about, Private.  Just some wisdom imparted to me by my Momma with the help of a firm switch far more years back than you have lived or counted."

Captain Greypaw leaned against the only obstruction in an otherwise wide valley of grass, a large obsidian rock that now supported his weight.  His lungs labored for air and his body demanded rest, yet a glance along their back trail showed their relentless enemy just past the horizon closing in on their position.  After inhaling deeply, he reached for the canteen hanging on his belt.  Then he remembered it was as dry as the land they had just traversed.

"Seems like an odd time to recall some lapin memory, Captain."

"Private Sweetleaf, you think now is the time to question your superior?  Need I remind you that you just got out of boot camp with a less than stellar record?  Otherwise, you and the rest of these almost washouts would be joining the front lines and not here acting as an honor guard for some retiring general."  He snorted.  "And that I have the honor of leading this group of misfits just about sums up my career."

Maybe I'm being unfair dressing Sweetleaf down when everyone is in such mortal danger.  Captain Greypaw tried stifling another yawn without much success.  Maybe it's the stress that has me remembering an overheard conversation.  That memory, along with the one from my dibbun years, has me waggling a tongue as barbed as any hedgehog's back.

"As I recall, wasn't it you who wished for some excitement on this trip?  Well my dear girl, it seems you have your wish.  Do hope you enjoy it in the time left to us.  I'll see if it becomes your epitaph after you enter the afterlife realm of Dark Forest, assuming any of us survive long enough to write it."

Though the uniformed doe stood before him at parade rest, Greypaw no longer saw her.  His mind wandered back some eight years earlier to a time when opportunities seemed endless.  It took him ten years serving in the army and another two years as a member of the Long Patrol before his superiors offered him a rare chance at earning an officer's commission. 

A hundred hares entered the competition, but only the top twenty received the promotion.  Never one to squander such a rare opportunity, Greypaw earned his commission thanks to his diligent efforts.  He recalled his graduation from the officer's training course as the tail dragger, finishing dead last among the successful candidates. 

Commissions in paw, the twenty hares commandeered a bar in the seediest section of town.  Libations flowed throughout the party and many a boastful challenge was issued regarding which of them would reach the next rank first.  At one point, their class valedictorian asked everyone what they wished for as newly commissioned officers.  One by one, they stood.  Each hare requested some distinctive notice thanks to their feats in battle or rapid promotions.  Then their class leader turned towards Greypaw.

"And here we have our last new officer.  How you managed passing is anyone's guess, Greypaw, but the Eternals do love a joke."  Drunken laughter filled the room.  When a semblance of quiet returned, the tall buck addressed the inebriated hares sprawled around their table.  "So, Greypaw, what does our tail dragger wish for in the years to come?"

Too much alcohol impaired his thinking and he snapped his response.  "I wish for a long career where I'll not be spending my free time burying comrades who made but one mistake.  You can have your glory, I'll take my retirement whole of mind and body.

His wandering mind returned to the present.  "Whole of mind and body, that's what I said." 

Captain Greypaw rested his back against the warm rock.  His weary eyes inspected his squad of ten hares, all the greenest of soldiers when they first left camp.  Now bereft of their youthful spunk, these soldiers appeared as haggard veterans.  Their exhausted expressions from the nonstop running they had done over the last five days reminded him of battle fatigued soldiers arriving home after a long and bloody fight. 

Such thoughts had him reviewing his own war record in the time it took him to blink.  Each time battle loomed on the horizon, the Eternals intervened, or so it seemed.  A prime target his unit guarded was never challenged.  Some major objective lost its importance during the flow of battle and his unit remained in reserve.  Their enemy did the unexpected, leaving his command too far removed from any action.  Greypaw always found the soldiers he commanded stationed where the danger never became more than a possible threat.

Such fortunes of war had their good and bad points.  Greypaw recalled how all but one of the other nineteen received promotions before him.  The one exception, their class valedictorian who led his unit into battle against impossible odds in what many labeled a heroic last stand.  The other hares gained rank and honors over time, most posthumously.  Now just three remained.  Greypaw was on his first assignment following his recent promotion to Captain, while the other two vied for a chance at General.  All thanks to their luck at being where the battle was fiercest and having the skills to survive.

During all his years of service, Greypaw had just one opportunity at drawing his weapon.  One skirmish that later proved to be a diversion for the primary campaign saw him in close combat.  His sword had cut the life from one enemy soldier, a young fox no older than himself who wore the wrong uniform on that fateful day. 

He rubbed his tired eyes, "Amazing how much of your life can flash through your mind in an instant."

His muttered comment captured the attention of the other hares, and one by one, they gathered around him.  Greypaw tried recalling not only the names of those lounging nearby, but the identities of the forty hares that died since this disastrous turn of events began.  In his mind, it seemed ironic when the very officer they escorted home died first.  Now they fought to save the population of a small village the fire destroyed while they raced before the flames.

"Does anyone remember how far away that caldera is," Captain Greypaw asked.

A buck hare, his one ear bent in the middle, grunted, catching everyone's attention.  "We could reach the lake in about three hours if we ditch everything.  Even in our condition, running up this slight grade isn't going to slow us down too much.  We can outrace the fire."

The brown-furred male lounging on the ground gave the bent-eared male a hard slap to the back of his head.  "Hey stupid, you forget something?"

Within seconds, the two males rolled in the dirt, their paws flaying away at each other, but doing nothing more than hard slaps.  Greypaw hesitated for a second, his tired mind not registering the breakdown of command within his unit.  At last he pushed himself upright and barked out his orders.  None responded.  Taking a deep breath, he bellowed the call to formation and every soldier froze where they were.  Like zombies, they responded to their training and shuffled into a ragged line.

Anger now tinged his voice as he stood before the brown male.  "Nobody here has forgotten anything.  If it were just us, I would challenge the whole lot of you to a footrace.  First to the water gets a bloody ribbon."  He paused while fighting to maintain a lower volume.  "We're herding over fifty civilians, including babes and dibbuns, to the safety of that lake.  They're in worse condition than us since they never trained for such a trek as this.  How long do you think it will take them?  Six hours?  Maybe 'til well after dark?"

Another male voice quipped.  "That wildfire will be here in two or three hours, judging by the smoke.  Worse yet, the wind's picking up.  We may have even less time."

While Greypaw tried spotting the one talking, another male voice piped in with his comment.  "Wish we had one of those good old fashion summer storms, lots of heavy rain.  That'll stop the fire."

The brown hare broke formation and snarled at the other private.  "That's a brilliant idea you woolly-brained bunny.  A heavy rain will soak our winter coats so bad we'll freeze to death, or have you forgotten how cold winter nights are out here?"

A single growl from Greypaw brought everyone to attention and silenced any further comments.  He couldn't decide which would be better, ordering everyone to rest a few moments or push them onward.  Either course would have them losing the footrace with the fire unless they abandoned the civilians.  My duty is to protect those civilians, I'll not desert them.

Private Sweetleaf broke formation and jogged up the hill.  Such a breach in military discipline by the doe private he could not allow, so he moved after her.  The speedy doe had just crested the first ridge when he grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around.  Instead of a frightened face or one which displayed a hopeless feeling, her smile radiated joy.  Captain Greypaw never got a chance to express his displeasure, the young doe broke free and continued up the hill. 

"Bloody hell," she shouted.  "That's the answer.  Captain, have everyone rest until the very last minute; if my plan works, we can take a leisurely stroll in the countryside."

Sweetleaf's voice carried such a positive note that he remained where he stood for several deep breaths.  Befuddled as he was, Greypaw trotted uphill to the now kneeling doe.  Steel struck flint.  A moment later, a spark came to life and a wisp of smoke rose.  Fanned by the ever growing breeze, a fire roared to life, consuming the tinder-dry grass like a voracious beast. 

Sweetleaf ripped one sleeve off her uniform and wrapped it about her sword's blade.  Using her improvised torch, she ran along the ridge, igniting a line of fire spreading up the valley towards a lake offering their only chance at salvation.  Exhausted by her short run, Sweetleaf dropped to the ground, laughing.  He stood over her like a bird of prey, too confused to say anything.  How could she be happy after blocking their only means of escape?

"Don't you see what's happening, sir?  This area will burn because of the fire, leaving nothing but ashes.  When that next fire catches up to us, we'll be in this dead zone.  The fire will burn out behind us and we can take our jolly-old good time following the fire in front.  When it reaches the caldera, it'll die and we'll be safe."

Like a flash of lightning, he saw the possibilities.  Facing downhill, he first checked the valley behind them.  The wall of fire was moving fast towards them, the smoke blocking out the morning sun.  Greypaw gazed down at all the creatures sprawled across the lower part of the hill, judging the relative speed of the two fires.

"Your fire is moving a lot slower than the firestorm following us.  We're not going to have more than one or two hundred paces between those two walls of flames.  Packing so many in this tight a space, the heat will broil us."

Sweetleaf's smile melted.  "Sorry sir, I thought I did right.  It worked back home, and I figured it would do the same thing here."  Sprawling out on the charred ground, the doe surrendered her enthusiasm and bawled.

Greypaw patted her shoulder until she turned to face him.  "Your mistake is doing it alone, private."

The Captain shouted orders while the other hares launched into action.  Greypaw ordered the civilians forward, which took much prodding and pushing.  Half his unit started fires towards the sides, expanding the burnt-out space in front of them.  As the heat increased, Greypaw kept swiveling his head, checking on the progress of both fires.

Over time, the firestorm trailing them gained a voice.  It started as a low background popping sound that remained pervasive.  Then it turned into a crackling growl.  Now it roared so loud Captain Greypaw had to use paw signals as a way of relaying orders to his command.  When he raised his eyes to the sky, he saw nothing but a wall of fire arching over him.

The hares lead the civilians into the burnt patch of ground and as close to the other fire as possible.  Everyone hugged the ground.  Each breath carried the taste of ashes and a searing heat had everyone panting.  Greypaw kept slapping at his fur as embers fell upon him like raindrops which threatened to ignite his fur.  To one side, the agonized screams of an unknown civilian caught his attention.  Somebody else jumped up and dashed back down the hill, disappearing in the wall of flames.  Paws clawed at the dirt, expanding the shallow depression where several villagers crowded together.

Then silence replaced the fire's deafening roar while a chilling wind blew over them.  Greypaw lifted his head and scanned the vicinity.  The Captain took a mental roll call of his command as the hares stood.  His count ended at seven.  Then his eyes noted the unmoving creatures among the civilians numbered ten.  In front of them, the wall of fire continued its relentless march through the valley.

Shovels turned the shallow pits that kept them safe from the fire into deep graves.  With reverence, the hares laid the bodies of their comrades in their final resting places.  The civilians were buried next to them while the numbed survivors watched.  Once the last shovel full of dirt was laid upon the graves, everyone marched to the lake.

Nightfall came and the group continued their trek.  As the moon reached its apex, the vanguard trudging up the hill crossed the top.  An excited shout had him sprint forward.  Down below, the shores of the lake beckoned.  No words were spoken as both the civilians and the hare military collapsed along the shores.

Captain Greypaw grunted as he struggled back to his feet.  What remained of his command gave him their undivided attention, waiting for his orders.  Though exhausted, all had that special look which marked them as battle tested and not found wanting.

"Private Sweetleaf, under the powers vested in me as an officer of the Long Patrol, I may promote anyone one grade to maintain the chain of command.  Until such time as this emergency is declared over or we return to base, you will assume the responsibilities of corporal.  Congratulations on your temporary promotion, Corporal Sweetleaf."

As Captain Greypaw inspected their campsite, Corporal Sweetleaf accompanied him.  Neither spoke as they walked among the slumbering civilians.  When they reached the water's edge, they stood there.  The doe hare cleared her throat and waited until he acknowledged her.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but where do we go from here?  We have no food, no clothing, no shelter, and the nights are more winter than autumn."

"We'll have to forage for whatever food we can find, and it will take longer getting where we have to go.  But it should be an easy march back to Fire Mountain.  King Meles will have to feed and house these civilians until spring, but that's what a king must do when his people need him."

[cairn destop]

Prime Minister

Dressed in a simple shirt and matching shorts, Resmallim hustled through the corridors of Salamandastron.  One paw stifled a yawn while the other lifted a heavy gold medallion over his head.  The weight about his neck reminding him that he wore the emblem of his office, Prime Minister.  He fastened the clip to his shirt, which relieved his neck of the weight and kept his badge of office from bouncing against his chest.

Hares in the uniform of an elite unit of the Long Patrol stood their posts along the passageway.  Each soldier stood at parade rest, the butt end of their spears touching their right foot and canted at a precise forty-five degree angle from their body.  As he passed each sentry, the spear would be snapped upright and the hare's left paw would be held in the proper pose for a guard saluting a dignitary.  He never tired of this open display of respect.

My elders would never believe this possible.  A ferret serving the badgers as an honored dignitary.  Sometimes I wonder if it's all real.

At the end of the corridor, two hares in uniform waited.  One stood at attention while the other sat in the visitor's chair.  Upon seeing him, the sitting hare rose.  Without any words spoken, the buck handed his satchel to him and then quickstepped in the opposite direction.  The other hare opened the door for him.  Resmallim never broke his stride as he took the messenger's pouch and entered his domain.

Within the room, more than a dozen hares bustled from one area to another.  Each darted about with a piece of paper in paw.  They would place the document on the desk of another hare before retrieving some other manuscript.  Voices stayed at a moderate level; still the cacophony of different sounds made it seem as noisy as a blacksmith's forge at the height of harvest time.

No sooner had Resmallim entered the room than an old buck hare approached.  The fellow weaved through the maelstrom within the outer office, somehow dodging the many workstations and evading his fellow workers.  Grasping his elbow, he both led and guided Resmallim through the bedlam to the relative quiet of the next office.  Once Resmallim got past the low wall encircling his desk, the old buck snagged the mail satchel out of his paws and rushed through the low gate.  Within seconds, Resmallim lost sight of his office manager as he merged with those hares still bustling about the room.

A high-pitched screeching sound overpowered the noise in the room, but did not lower either the intensity of voices or the frantic movements.  One of the hares printed something on the huge chalkboard.  Item Four had been removed and instead of hanging the lower slate slabs on the next higher set of hooks, the hare entered something new.  The message revealed itself, letter by letter.

Replace offensive tapestry hanging in Baron Crumgin's bedroom.

Resmallim shouted in a peeved voice.  "What in Hellsgate is that about?"

A buck hare passing by the gate stopped, perused the board, and grunted.  "It seems Baron Crumgin doesn't like the tapestry depicting otters and water.  He called it unnatural, and wants it replaced with something less wet, at least that's how he worded his demands."

"I can understand a mole not liking water, but a room's furnishing is hardly something for our immediate priority duty list.  So why is it hanging in the fourth slot?"

"Ever since we assigned the Iron Mountain delegation their rooms, Baron Crumgin has been throwing a real temper tantrum.  He's been ranting and raving about the problem all night, sir.  Paligess tried telling him we would address the matter within the week, but he kept threatening to take this matter to King Meles.  It's why your aide placed it on the roster."

"That fellow has got to learn what a real priority is.  Remove it now." 

He muttered to himself while the hare erased the chalky letters and reordered the lower items.  He pointed at a hare rushing by and ordered her into his office.  The gate hadn't stopped swinging when Resmallim issued his orders.

"Have somebody find a dark brown tapestry, preferably without anything depicted on it, and have it hung in Baron Crumgin's quarters by noon.  Earthen tones should soothe his disposition; then find Paligess and let him know I want his butt in my office, forthwith."

Resmallim muttered a few choice comments to himself as the hare departed, but other matters clamored for his attention.  Most of the papers he handled were routine, needing nothing more than a scrawled name approving whatever actions his staff took.  Some items he placed on the side, knowing his aide would route it to the appropriate desk.  A hasty note written on the bottom of a sheet and his subsequent waving of the paper had the nearest hare entering his office and scooping up the document. 

As that hare exited, Paligess rushed into the space that represented his office.  Without breaking stride, he dumped more material into the in-basket before taking the nearest seat.  The hare's paws were still smoothing out his rumpled shirt when Resmallim launched his verbal assault.

"I expect my office manager to know how to handle such minor nuisances without my having to intervene.  Your priority problem with Baron Crumgin should never have gotten that far.  Something so simple can be delegated to another member of this staff and handled without consulting me."

"Baron Crumgin is a very important dignitary on the Council of Ruling Nobles, and his moles produce most, if not all, of the metal we need in this war.  In deference to the Baron, I thought it best you see to it."

Thumping his fist on his desk, Resmallim glared at the old hare.  "Every Council noble thinks they are the most important delegate for one reason or another.  Your job is to be sure the only thing making their fur crawl is another noble, not the King, nor his hospitality.  Try keeping real priority items on our list and not the bellyaching of pampered nobles."

Mentally, he dismissed the hare and returned to the piled material on his desk.  As he scanned the new pages, he again questioned the wisdom of keeping his current aide on the job.  Most of the material wasn't his responsibility and should have been diverted long before now.  He would snort whenever he encountered one of these pages and placed it in the outgoing basket.  Resmallim never saw who delivered his breakfast as he concentrated on this flow of material.  With one paw snatching another sheet of paper, his other paw would shovel in some food or he would gulp down his drink.

Near the bottom of the stack, lying just under another misdirected missive, Resmallim found a report with the Long Patrol's seal.  That the Long Patrol sent him anything was newsworthy.  The elite fighting force preferred keeping things in-house, communicating only with the military's highest Commander, and she never visited his domain.  Resmallim's eyes scanned the material and he almost flipped the item onto the filing pile, until he read the last page.  For just a second, he froze in place, and when he tried shouting for his aide, only a choking sound escaped his lips.  Paligess materialized next to him and waited until his coughing spell ended.

Upon regaining his voice, he issued orders for a multitude of documents.  The hare nodded at the appropriate places and fled back into the bustling office.  About five minutes later, the Prime Minister espied his aide waving a stack of papers.  Resmallim made a beeline to the office exit, snatching the ream of papers as he passed.  A stiff paw sent the door flying open and the guard standing there snapping to attention.  Like an invisible wall, Paligess stopped at the threshold; he continued down the corridor following a path few others were allowed to tread.

At the end of the special corridor stood a contingent of hares, each regaled in the elite uniform of the King's Own.  Where all the other guards held weapons more befitting a parade, these hares held weapons which lacked the gilded luster of the palace guards.  Yet they too reflected the light of the nearest sconces from polished surfaces as they stood erect near two massive doors. 

The commanding officer noted who approached and barked the appropriate order.  Never breaking stride, the Prime Minister moved from the inlaid polished stone flooring that echoed with his steps, through the now open doorway, to thick carpeting which deadened the sounds of his footsteps.  Another dozen hares, each with weapons held at the ready, surrounded him as he crossed the outer room, but made no move to intervene.  He approached the massive set of doors to his far left.  His fist pounded four times on the doors before he entered.

"Your Majesty, I have news of a grave matter requiring your personal attention."

"Give me a moment, and I'll see what can be done."

Resmallim entered the next room and moved to the nearest window, content to watch the new day dawn.  Behind him, the badger stood near a three-way mirror surrounded by four hares, each assisting him into the appropriate attire befitting a king.  Like a well-coordinated show, the hares dressed and groomed King Meles until all was right.  A simple nod from the king when they finished sent the hares scurrying, and, like a morning fog, they disappeared.  Once the room emptied, Resmallim gave a discrete cough.

"Very well, Prime Minister; what is so important you would disturb me before my morning meal?"

"A dispatch from The Jade Coral arrived by special courier late last night.  Unless there was some bad weather over the last four days, the ship will be anchoring offshore at low tide in less than a week."

King Meles scratched his muzzle, his brow creased as he thought.  "Oh yes, The Jade Coral is serving the Long Patrol as a supply ship, though Count Sharpea isn't too pleased about it."  The badger gave a hearty laugh.  "See, Resmallim, I do manage remembering some of the things my Cabinet tells me at our weekly briefings.  They have news about the war?"

"The vessel docked at the port of Rimstone ten days ago.  Military intelligence learned our enemy had accomplices who acted as their agents.  These servants acted out of greed, their loyalty paid for in coinage for their services."

"The lowest of the lows, mercenaries to bandits and slavers." The badger growled.  "Knowing such creatures are within our alliance is disturbing, but it's not too surprising.  Anyone can become corrupted by power or wealth."  King Meles rubbed his chin.  "Such a low-level message wouldn't bring you running.  And you did say The Jade Coral would be dropping anchor here?"

King Meles waited a moment in case he wished to speak.  When he didn't say anything, the badger voiced his thoughts.  "Normally, the ship would return to the war laden with food, so whatever has you concerned is related to this unexpected detour.  I'm also guessing that our favorite spikedog, Count Sharpea, is somehow involved."

Resmallim glanced at the papers he held, hoping his facial expression gave no indication of his opinion.  A king can say such things about one of the Alliance's most powerful nobles.  He dare not take such liberties.  Instead, Resmallim focused on facts, not speculations.

"It seems our good Count wanted to have these woodlanders transported all at one time so they could face your justice, which is our first problem, Sire."

A groan passed the king's lips and he kneaded the area betwixt his eyes.  "Don't tell me, let me guess.  Count Sharpea sent his soldiers into the surrounding kingdoms and had the civilians snatched right off the streets."  Resmallim answered in the affirmative.  "No doubt the region's militia and the nobles overseeing those security forces took some exceptions to this and there was trouble."

"I'm afraid so, Sire.  There's a report of several injuries, quite a bit of property damage and some loss of life.  The Count ignored due process and now we have quite a few lords and ladies howling for retributions.  Even worse, they're allied with Count Delupo, and that wolf isn't too happy about this sanctioned military intrusion.  His words, not mine."

"What you said doesn't make sense, Prime Minister.  If there is anything I remember from your many briefings, the wolf is a hard liner for the law.  I'm more surprised he didn't join up with Count Sharpea.  So what's got our former pirate seadog's tail tweaked?"

The Prime Minister fingered his medallion as he considered his response.  "One of the civilians apprehended was the Count's nephew, a rogue if ever there was such a creature.  However, Count Delupo does think of him as a member of the royal bloodline and believes his arrest should have been done with far more . . . discretion.  He is asking the pup be delivered to him for appropriate discipline."

The King stared up at the ornate ceiling.  Then his eyes focused on him.  King Meles waved his paw in a motion asking for whatever information remained undisclosed.  He kept his eyes on the pages he held as he did not wish to influence the badger's mind.

"It seems Count Delupo had several prisoners, including his nephew, held on a myriad of charges."  Papers rustled for several seconds before Resmallim continued.  "According to the documents I have, those prisoners were pending disposition after verdict.  A euphemism the Count uses when interning somebody for the rest of their natural lives.   The hedgehog snatched them as well.  Now the wolf wants Count Sharpea tried in his court, or he'll unleash his naval forces against, that arrogant prickle-backed burrower.  I don't think I need tell you what Count Sharpea said in response; his reputation for vulgarity is well earned and I'll not repeat it least your mate overhears me."

"I'm surprised the Count's nephew is still free when others receiving the same sentence never see the outside of a prison."  The badger almost snarled.  "If your information is correct, this fellow received the same sentence seven times in the last five years.  How is it he's still out and causing trouble?"

"It seems our wolf has a soft spot for his wayward relative and releases him a month or two after each incarceration.  Since no formal sentence has been recorded, Count Delupo can commute his sentence whenever he likes, or whenever his mate orders him to do so.  So I've been told." 

King Meles drummed his fingers on the windowsill for several seconds before he turned to his Prime Minister.  The badger king's expression remained solemn.  Resmallim awaited the final verdict to this latest political crisis. 

"What say I fine Count Sharpea an amount twice as high as Count Delupo and the other nobles demand?  Then I'll give the money to them as restitution for the damages.  I will give the hedgehog credit for delivering the prisoners, but in the future I'll insist his soldiers remain within his borders."

"It should soothe the other nobles, but what of Count Delupo and his nephew?  No amount of gold can change blood."

"Arrange a private meeting with the Count's representative.  I will advise him our court will decide the fate of all the prisoners.  The nephew is of legal age, acted against every citizen in our Alliance, and committed crimes that fall under our jurisdiction.  I'll not allow nobles, or their families, a means of evading justice because of some perceived privilege.  If he is guilty, he will face the full weight of the law as will all the other defendants.  I make no exceptions for royal blood."

The badger now stood at the window, gazing out to sea.  "Sometimes I think running this Northern Alliance more akin to haggling with several stubborn merchants over the same basket of goods than honorable fellows debating important issues."

"At best, our Alliance is tenuous, Sire.  We have been united in name only for just under a year now.  With thirty major nobles, and twice as many notable others, vying with, or undermining, Count Delupo at every turn, I'm surprised open war hasn't broken out yet.  Like it or not, that wolf is the elected First Noble and second to you in power.  It's best we maintain a balance with the other nobility while we keep nudging them in the proper direction we envision for the good of the Northern Alliance."

"My keen eyes tell me there's something else bothering you.  Out with it."

Once again the Prime Minister's paw brushed his medallion.  "Yes, Sire, there is something else bothering me."  He handed the badger a separate sheet of paper.  "This was contained in a Long Patrol dispatch sent to me by accident."

The King's eyes scanned the document before he balled it up and tossed it into a nearby fireplace.  "How many know?"

"Just the crew of The Jade Coral.  However, once they make landfall, we'll have problems.  I issued orders which should mitigate any immediate damage, but we cannot keep this under cover for long.  Sooner or later, Count Delupo will detect my subterfuge, and when he does, I expect an explosion that would rival the eruption of a volcano."

"You're right about that, ferret.  There will be hell to pay.  I'll trust your intuition, Prime Minister, but I'll need a solution quite fast.  Once the hares learn about this latest development, they will just compound my troubles."

[cairn destop]

Just Another Day

She exited the Abbey building and stepped a few paces forward.  There she lifted her muzzle, closed her eyes, and took several dainty sniffs as she tested the air.  She then lifted her shawl and with a deft move, draped it across her shoulders.   What a glorious day.  When an unseen paw touched her on the shoulder, she jumped.  Her right paw covered her chest as she tried calming her racing heart.

"My word, Lady Pellanore, you are the jumpy one."

Turning around, she appraised the shrew who had inadvertently intruded on her moment of introspection.  The male was an old fellow, his muzzle now a deep grey, which accentuated his tan facial fur.  The heavy green habit he wore gave evidence to the chilly morning within Redwall Abbey.

"Father Draccon, you gave me quite a start."  Once more she adjusted her shawl.  "Thought I would take a walk, see how things are going around the Abbey.  Care to join me?"

"Accompanying our Badgermom is always a pleasant way to start the day.  Shall we stroll through the orchard, or do you have somewhere else in mind?"

"I thought to check outside, see how the crops are doing.  My old bones tell me this is going to be one winter where the northern winds will be biting anyone caught unprepared.  The last full moon of fall was but a few days back and I'm already seeing heavy frost upon the windows.  We'll need full larders and overflowing wood boxes this season; you mark my words, Father Abbot."

In companionable silence, the two ambled across the cobblestone courtyard and made their way to the main entrance.  Once past the outer wall, they stood on the stone roadway leading to a wooden bridge.  Beyond the stream it crossed, a path ran from the great forest bordering the east to another strand of trees on the west side.  Most of the trees had relinquished their hold on the colorful leaves of fall and now stood as nude wooden sentinels awaiting the onset of winter.

Beyond the bridge rose a series of high hills, the brownish grasses giving way to the many sheep grazing on what had been a lush green three full moons back.  Though the animals remained scattered about, a sharp eye could discern their lone guardian.  Sometimes a sharp whistle pierced the chilly air and some wayward sheep could be seen bounding towards the main flock while their attendant prodded it along.

"Lady Pellanore, when those sheep arrive, you'll be gaining another charge.  It seems this war up north has claimed the services of even more fighters.  Apparently, having one's mate serve in the military doesn't exempt one from being called to duty."

"If we are fortunate, Father Abbot, the war will end by spring and both will return."  There was a light snort before she continued.  "It will be nice having something other than three hedgehogs.  I'm not complaining; it just feels odd not having other species running about the Dormitory.  So who will be joining us?"

"The black squirrel you met during the summer festival.  You remember her; she's the one who spilled a full tankard of raspberry fizz on your blue shawl."

"You mean Robertasin?  That girl is a bit headstrong if you ask me.  Good thing she's got enough years to know her place or I would be requesting a dozen strong switches.  I can remember her mother giving her all kinds of grief over the accident and the girl's tongue coming ever so close to a most disrespectful tone.  Don't know if either would have kept their tempers in check had I not intervened."

"If having one young charge other than a hedgehog pleases you, then I have even more good news."

Lady Pellanore stared at Father Draccon.  There followed an awkward pause as the two continued staring at each other until the Father Abbot spoke.

"A courier pigeon delivered a letter from Henrietta's parents.  It seems our two vole emissaries became trapped on the other side of the mountains during their trade negotiations.  The snows came a lot earlier and heavier than expected in that region.  Their letter said they would have to remain where they are until the spring thaw."

Before Lady Pellanore could reply, a deep rumbling sound came from behind.  Both of them stepped off the path, giving way to those exiting the main gate.  Over a dozen squirrels marched down the road flanking three empty carts.  Each adult had a long two-beast saw draped over their shoulder, its metallic twang coming as a counterpoint to their step.  Other squirrels, including females and older children pulled the carts.

At a command from the large male leading the contingent, one youth broke out his fife.  After a few tentative attempts, his instrument sounded a light series of notes.  From the next cart, a teenaged female stood and gave voice to the tones being played.  The marching song went but one chorus before every squirrel joined in the refrain.  Such was their enthusiastic response that even those toiling in the fields took a break from their labors and listened to the impromptu concert.

"Do you remember your comment about our wood boxes when first we met today, Lady Pellanore?"  The Father Abbot nodded toward the tromping squirrels.  "Your wish is my command.  When those squirrels return next week, their carts will be full of wood for the winter season.  It's how they intend repaying our hospitality.  We give them a warm hearth and full bellies in return for enough wood for even the coldest winter."

"Then the rumors are true; their harvest wasn't as bountiful as they had hoped." 

Hearing the old shrew voice something between a growl and a harrumph had the Badgermom continue her thoughts.

"The Red Maple Tribe isn't known for their generosity or their cooperative attitude.  They prefer avoiding other species.  I know because my former home bordered their forest and they wouldn't accept anything in trade when our crops failed even when their larders overflowed.  Their leader was so stubborn she refused the services of our midwife because she wasn't a squirrel.  So how did you convince them into staying here?"

The shrew's features never changed from his normal unreadable expression when he responded to her.  "For once, I had the upper paw.  Without sufficient food in storage and the surrounding regions supporting the war, they had two choices.  Either every adult male joins the badger king's military or they starve.  No other options.  That convinced them this was the rare time when they had to swallow their pride and seek the generosity of an outsider." 

"I offered a third choice which allowed them the opportunity of saving face by claiming their service aids us and they received just compensation.  Of course I did hint if they served the badger king, their tribe would be treated as an insignificant group and placed under the command of hares.  Not what some squirrel with an overabundance of pride would enjoy."

Both Badgermom and Father Abbot meandered through the nearby gardens, noting the meager crop gleaned from last week's harvest.  They knew whatever remained on the vines past the next frigid night would be fit only for the compost heap.  Seeing such scant offerings, she asked about their supplies.  She received an unexpected chipper response.

"We have an otter clan joining us for the long winter.  Seems a late lightning strike burned much of the forest surrounding their home and the rains muddied the river.  It forced the fish to migrate further south until the spring floods flush out all the silt.  Still, near our Abbey the fishing has been better than expected.  All will dine well," and here Father Draccon chuckled, "though by spring I think there will be many not wanting to see another fish for several seasons."

As they made their way back to the main gate, she grunted with each uphill step.  Once they passed over the threshold, Lady Pellanore muttered something.  The Father Abbot asked her to repeat it.

"I said I'm not looking forward to being cooped up inside the Abbey for the next month or two.  After a few days playing games and exhausting all the gossip, the place becomes quite boring.  I really wish we could keep everyone's attention on something other than the cold, Father Abbot."

"Beware of wishes, Badgermom Pellanore, for the Eternals delight in granting them to those foolish enough to ask."

[cairn destop]

Drawn to Fiery Mountain

Resmallim stood at what would pass as parade rest if he were a member of any militia.  While he observed the ongoing debate, his mind wandered back to an event two weeks earlier.  He had been checking on additional accommodations, when he blundered into an unfinished hallway just under the seaside battlement.  Discovering where the corridor ended had the Prime Minister strutting back to his office feeling pleased with this latest revelation about the Fire Mountain Fortress and its maze of corridors. 

Upon his return, his underlings jumped to attention as he barked out a list of demands, insisting all be done with the utmost urgency.  Resmallim had masons construct a stone wall at the end of the hallway he had blundered into the previous day.  This new wall provided a framework for heavy wooden doors rivaling Salamandastron's main gate in height and weight.  While the wall and doors were being built, the Prime Minister procured the best tapestries, the richest carpeting, and lighting fixtures, which would bedazzle the most jaded eye.  Those talented in construction worked nonstop refurbishing the new room until the Prime Minister was satisfied.

He observed the finished product, a magnificent formal audience room befitting the king of the Northern Alliance.  It measured perhaps a hundred paces from side to side with a dozen wide windows along the northern wall looking out to sea.  These windows provided sufficient illumination without the sun's usual glare.  With the windows on the opposite side open, cool breezes kept the chamber comfortable for the large number of attendees gathered there. 

Armed hare guards in their best dress uniforms stood like statues along the side walls.  In the back third of the room several wooden pews afforded comfortable seating to the many advisers, minor dignitaries, and interested members of the public.  To the front, a series of decorative chairs bedecked with the colors of some nation ruled by King Meles.  Overhead, the flags from every nation ruffled in the breeze as they hung from the high rafters. 

A lectern stood at either end of a long narrow table which acted as the final barrier to the raised dais where the King's throne rested.  Even the tallest of beasts came no higher than the knees of the residing badger ruler when standing behind the podium.  It forced everyone speaking to gaze upward as a supplicant rather than as an equal.  Such thoughts brought his wandering mind back to the present. 

At the lectern closest to him, a male wolf growled.  "Your majesty must halt this blatant attempt at denying our kingdom any commercial opportunities.  Such thievery by a neighboring nation is tantamount to a declaration of war, especially when factions within their kingdom commit arson against us without fear of imprisonment and with their complicity.  Our nation will not tolerate it."

On the far side, a brown mouse tried overpowering the carping canine.  In a high pitched squeal, he expressed his indignation.  "Since when is a toll booth considered an act of thievery, or an unjust restraint on commerce?  Our labor built the road; we deserve just compensation.  As to your ridiculous claim about terrorists within my lands, perhaps you should look at your own residents."

The canine shot back.  "Without our seaport and the bridges we built between our land and yours, you mice would still be scrounging for a handout instead of doing anything productive.  Merchants avoided your principality for more prosperous lands lying further south.  Now caravans from neighboring kingdoms cross your lands to use our deep sea harbor."

"How dare you, Sir.  You speak as if we should be grateful the port city of Halazatt pays such pittance for the crops your merchants steal from our farmers.  Because of you, every pirate on this world is aware of our defenseless villages.  Or do you stand by your unctuous allegation of honorable service when everyone here knows your ruling family's past is besmirched with villainy?"

The wolf waved his paw dismissing the comments as if they were annoying flies.  "That my pack leader's ancestors were conquering pirates is historical fact and has nothing to do with our current problems.  Your Majesty, what we are listening to is the mindless prattle of the gullible."  Turning to the mouse, he gave a condescending glance.  "Where is your proof, my Lord?"

"The proof lies in the bowels of The Jade Coral.  The nephew to your ruler has been incarcerated for helping these invaders.  Thanks to him, and your leader's collusion with this kingdom's enemies, our towns remain exposed to continual attack."

"You have besmirched my pack leader's honor once too often, and now you must die," growled the wolf.

The fellow spun around, his hackles standing on end.  Stepping towards the mouse, his paw snatched for the sword hanging by his side.  The mouse accepted the challenge and he too reached for his weapon.  Paws froze in place.

Resmallim wanted to laugh, but refrained. Both delegates remembered they were unarmed.  The attentive eyes of the hares, the subtle shift of their bodies, and the weapons they held at the ready acted as a warning to both.  He could sense the building tension between the mouse and wolf.  Committed to a battle without a weapon, each sought a means of escape that kept their dignity intact.

He lifted the heavy staff he held.  Resmallim brought the butt end down with a resounding crash on the hardwood flooring.  The hollow boom overpowered all conversations within the Grand Audience Room as it resonated from the stone walls.  After the third stroke, he raised his voice.

"This audience with King Meles, ruler of the Northern Alliance, is hereby concluded.  All nobles and creatures of honor shall withdraw so our leader may ponder what has just transpired within this hallowed hall.  May the Eternals protect our realm and give guidance to its leaders.  All hail King Meles."

Nobles and aides alike stood.  Each gave the badger king a deep bow or curtsy before filing out the doorway.  Though their words remained indecipherable, the tone remained calm.  Dignitaries who had spoken in anger exited, stabbing their adversaries with withering glares while retreating to their quarters.  After a few moments, the only ones within the huge room were the badger King, his Prime Minister, and the guards.

The badger pushed himself from the throne and placed his paws behind him.  He gave the small of his back a gentle press while suppressing a low groan.  As he stepped off the uppermost level of the dais, his royal blue robe caught the sea breeze and billowed out like an unfurled sail.  The King's paw reached for the heavy crown.  Resmillim frowned and the king left the crown untouched.

The Prime Minister kept a pace behind the badger king.  They moved to the backside of the throne.  As they approached the wall, two guards stationed there seized a decorative ring, and stepped away from each other.  The tapestry parted, revealing a narrow walkway.  Without breaking stride, both King and Prime Minister entered the rough stone corridor leading to the King's private chambers.

Once inside his room, several hare attendants removed the King's formal vestments of office.  As they darted about the place, the badger's left paw drummed against the arm of his chair.  The talons on the end of his claws creating a click-click-clicking noise which continued until the last hare left.  Then the badger king focused his crimson eyes on him.

"Three times I scratched my muzzle, three times.  I expect my Prime Minister to catch the signal we agreed upon before we started this meeting.  If you had waited any longer, I might have lost my temper with those two buffoons.  Listening to this formalized version of a spitting match makes me want to start cracking heads together."  The King gave his Prime Minister a scowl.  "Something I'll bet you would lecture me against doing?"

The Prime Minister took an involuntary step backward.  "Sire, now you know how tenuous this alliance is.  Just one perceived injustice can shatter this union like a dish dropped from your highest spire."

"They were discussing a minor squabble; the destruction of some insignificant bridge.  It's not worthy of my time."

"Then I must point out the First Mate to the Skipper of Otters had representatives egging on both sides.  While her aides conferred with the combatants, she was whispering in the ears of those delegates not yet allied with the wolf or mouse."

Such information had the badger's brow furrow in concentration.  "Though the otters are not a formal nation, they have holts within every region.  If the Skipper of Otters thought a bridge could disrupt her river trade, would she go so far as to start a war between two factions?  I'll have to give that some serious consideration before making any final decision."

"That is why I did not end the meeting earlier, your majesty.  I thought you would want to take notice of which delegates sided with each faction and those who kept out of the dispute.  We need to fashion a solution that offers all something to gain."

Resmillim checked over several documents he held.  Once the king had his morning tea, he raised another issue needing the king's attention.  "We still have the problem of The Jade Coral.  I suspect the sea otters delayed the ship's departure while relaying the identity of certain prisoners.  How else could the Lowland Barony know about the arrest of Count DeLupo's relative?  Fortunately, we have independent confirmation that The Jade Coral will arrive tomorrow night.  If you would be so kind Sire, we could inspect my preparations in the lowermost caverns before tonight's formal reception."

"Another one?  How I hate strutting around as if everyone were my inferior.  At least my mate has an excuse for her frequent absences; she can always claim our son needs her attention.  Lucky sow." The King shook his head as if such a simple act could change events and resignedly pointed to the back doorway once more.

* * * *

Pika shifted from one foot to another as he watched his friend.  His eyes shifted to the rock ceiling and his voice reflected his irritation.  "Hey Fourtoes, how much longer before you give up?"

"Husk . . . tee . . . un . . . dance."

"I'm telling you its fine just like it is.  Let's just finish this thing and get back to our warm cots."

"Hoe day.  He . . . rain . . . port.  Yule . . . add . . . fit . . . might here moon."

An audible click and Pica groaned.  Fourtoes spat out the piece of straw he held between his teeth that garbled his speech and laughed.  The iron-barred gate that separated the two hares swung open.  Fourtoes couldn't contain his joy. 

"Didn't I tell you we had too much slack in the chain?  You didn't believe I could pick the lock with a piece of straw held in my mouth, but I did it.  Shows you what you can learn after serving a year guarding prisoners at Black Rose."

"Okay," said Pica.  "I'll have another six links removed, just like you recommended.  Will it make the all-knowing Fourtoes happy?  I should see if you can get out of those shackles using another piece of straw, you filthy braggart, but you made your point."

"Say Pika, you have any idea why the Sarge had us build a dozen jail cells so deep in the mountain?  Only time I can remember anyone needing confinement was an officer who didn't know when to stop drinking, and all he needed was a closed tent flap."

"You're asking something two privates are never going to learn.  I'm just glad we're almost finished.  Come tomorrow morning even a badger in a battle rage couldn't bend those bars."

A third voice echoed through the chamber.  "May I suggest you use one chain as a guide for the blacksmith?  When he has all the chains done, load them in a wheelbarrow, and you can return in one trip.  It'll make your work a lot easier and you'll finish a lot faster."

Both hares turned, wondering who would be down in this distant stone tunnel.  The two privates snapped to attention when King Meles step out of the shadows.  Fourtoes remained at attention with the manacles still locked about his wrists while Pika stood with his mouth hanging open. 

When Resmillim suggested they might want to hurry, Pika almost left his companion chained to the wall.   With much bowing and profuse apologies, the two hare privates gathered the chain and scampered beyond sight.

Once they were alone, the King gave a mirthless chuckle.  "That one private made quite a prophetic comment.  One of these cells will indeed be holding a badger.  And if the note you showed me is accurate, every soldier under my command will want to slit her throat."

"I agree, Sire.  You could understand a mercenary's alliance; maybe you can even explain a turncoat within some obscure clan, but a badger who fought willingly for slavers?  It seems impossible to comprehend."

The king nodded.  "Wish I could find a unit without any connections to the current war.  All I need is one squad to guard all these prisoners, including our special prisoner, but wishing for something is the province of a fool." 

King Meles gave one more cursory examination of the cells before striding toward the only exit. 

"We better hurry or we'll miss another exciting state banquet and its endless prattle."

* * * *

Atop a low hill, a lone observer gazed upon Fiery Mountain.  Captain Greypaw's eyes measured the remaining distance and he tried feeling something, but with no success.  After three weeks of hard marching without sufficient supplies for his unit or the civilians they escorted, he longed for the familiar haunts of the town surrounding the great mountain.  His hunger kept his mind fixated on the many taverns and eateries he intended visiting when this nightmarish journey reached its merciful conclusion.

The distant glow of the great forges of Salamandastron acted as a beacon in the night.  He found some comfort knowing everybody would be within the immense fortress by noon tomorrow.  Such introspection had him miss the sound of footfalls.  A paw touched his shoulder and Captain Greypaw turned around, facing a doe hare with an expression far too careworn for one so young.

"We lost another one, Captain."  Sweetleaf rubbed her bleary eyes and grunted as she tried stretching the kinks out of her sore back.

"How many does that make, Corporal?  How many have died since we survived the firestorm?  Three?  Four?"

Corporal Sweetleaf didn't have the energy to even shake her head in contradiction.  "That was the sixth civilian we lost, sir."  Without asking permission, she flopped down next to him.  "It was the baby.  The otter pup wasn't weaned and nobody could provide the milk she needed.  We tried using water, but it didn't work."

Captain Greypaw's eyes never turned from the night sky horizon.  "You did your best.  When the mother died in the fire, you knew the pup couldn't last too much longer without her care."

"Burying the child will delay our arrival 'til late afternoon.  If I were of a mind to, I would leave the body for the birds, but . . . it wouldn't be right.  Will you say a few words for the pup, Captain?"

Greypaw continued staring forward.  "Next time some general retires, I hope he goes home on his own.  If we're lucky, perhaps our next assignment will have a real purpose to it, something the King himself will appreciate."

"Making wishes, Captain?  Thought you were afraid the Eternals might grant them."

[cairn destop]

The Jade Coral Arrives

Stiles sat at his high desk in his private office.  After a long day, the Counsel of Redwall Elders declared a short three-day reprieve.  It gave him a chance at placating his mate entering her final trimester by attending to the diapered son scooting around their quarters.  His son's latest antics on the ceiling beams while his wife waddled about wringing her paws in a tearful state underneath him had him smiling.  Though if his wife ever saw his expression, the Abbey's undertaker would be digging another grave.

With his son sleeping and his mate resting, Stiles returned to his workstation.  He used the knife sitting on his left to sharpen his quills.  As he scraped off the residual ink, he examined each point.  A quick dunk into the inkwell and a light tap on the bottle removed any excess, assuring him of pristine pages of text.  Just as his pen touched the paper, the bell over his door heralded the arrival of an expected guest.  Stiles never looked up from the page.

"Badgermom Tassel, do hope your tardiness wasn't due to some problem."

"Nothing more than the usual reluctance of a child performing chores.  It took no more than a firm voice and a hint regarding tomorrow's dessert."  The gravelly voice lost its serious inflection and a note of amusement tinted her words.  "Trust me, your little one will respond to the same inducements.  The trick is convincing them you intend carrying out an action you'll never do when their offense is a minor thing and following through when it's more serious."

"Words of experience, dear lady?  I'll have to remember them; but that isn't why we're here."

The female badger stretched out on the sofa opposite the squirrel's desk.  A flick of each foot and her sandals landed on the hardwood flooring with a thud.  Though the badger's face remained covered by the cloth mask she always wore, Stiles imagined a pensive expression.  Sometimes his curiosity had him come close to asking her if she would remove her mask, but stories of her disfigured features and a vague childhood memory of her face kept him silent.

"So far, Mister Stiles, I'm yet to appear in this historical account.  If I'm to be the subject of your rendition of events, wouldn't it be prudent including me?"

"History, when taken out of context, becomes a confusing story.  Actions which made sense back then have no relevance today.  You need to know those times if your story is to be objective."

Turning her masked muzzle, she stared into the squirrel's face.  "I lived that time and have no clearer an understanding.  Of what relevance is all this prattle about a bridge that caught fire or the actions of some female otter?"

Stiles squirmed under the intense examination.  He raised his quill, and almost chewed its point before remembering the ink.  A conscious thought had him first wipe down the point before placing the still sharpened quill beside the others prepared earlier.  Once the pens were stored, he took the blotting cloth and set it by the inkwell.  When he heard the badger growl, he snatched his glasses off his muzzle and began polishing them on his vest.

"There were maybe twenty major regions vying for power and another dozen minor realms and powerbrokers who thought themselves kingmakers.  All were united because of the continual threat some pirate nation represented, but their union was tenuous at best.  Problem was, dear lady, the badger lord became a power they feared, yet needed for their own security.  Not the best combination when thinking of an alliance."

Stiles replaced his glasses and adjusted the earpieces before continuing.  "And none of the nobles wanted their power usurped, or the badger's enhanced, so each lord or lady sought favor or vied for a stronger bargaining position.  It made their ruling counsel a political marketplace."

"I repeat my question, sir.  When will I be making an appearance in my own history?"

He climbed down from his stool and handed over the next scroll within his bulging satchel.  Tassel snagged its leading edge and pulled it out of his paw in one fluid motion.  Fingers played with the ribbon for a few seconds before it loosened.  Unrolling the first of many pages, the sow badger gave an audible grunt as she scanned the first one.  For the next hour, the only sound was the ticking of the hallway clock standing just outside the door.

* * * *

Captain Greypaw pushed open the door to the large hutch.  Inside, he listened to the laughing voices of his unit after their first good night's sleep and a hearty morning meal.  As he entered the room, he imagined all the things that made him angry, certain his displeasure would be reflected through his facial expression.  An old trick every officer learned when they are given their first command.

"Sweetleaf, what in the bloody blazes are you doing out of uniform," he bellowed.

The doe snapped to attention and tried examining her attire without looking down.  Her confusion remained evident as she replied.

"Captain, the private is in the appropriate uniform of the day while in base camp."

"And that's just it."  Greypaw relaxed.  "The Board of Inquiry into our actions since leaving Salamandastron just rendered its verdict.  They ruled our actions justified and the loss of lives as unavoidable.  They also supported my after action recommendation."  He reached out his paw to the bedazzled doe.  "Congratulations, your promotion to Corporal is now official.  Everyone is granted liberty until nightfall."

Lusty cheering and congratulations rang out from the other members of the squad.  As everyone rushed to leave, the Captain snagged Corporal Sweetleaf's arm.  "Stop off at the Broken Anvil and mention my name.  The hedgehog proprietor owes me a big favor and I intend collecting by sponsoring your celebration.  Just be sure everyone is as close to sober as possible when you return.  Be dockside three hours after the start of the third watch.  It seems our king has assigned us a prisoner detail.  Not the kind of duty a real soldier craves, but it will have to do."

Nightfall found the Captain pacing the seawall at the appointed hour worried his unit might miss their latest assignment.  Turning once more towards the town at the base of Fiery Mountain, he spotted seven hares approaching, though their progress reminded him of a meandering sea bird avoiding the waves washing across wet sand.  He listened as some hare's inebriated voice choired some Long Patrol song about a war and the soldier's lover.  Then came half a dozen shushes which sounded no more clear-headed than the singer.

Guess my unit enjoyed their liberty.

Greypaw waited while his unit assembled along the shore.  Once everyone stood in formation, he nodded at the Corporal before turning towards the sea.  He stepped out along the boardwalk constructed along the jutting finger of volcanic rock, the Captain knew the location of each member of his unit by the squealing planks and the occasional groan of some private suffering the effects of a mild hangover.

When they reached the spot where the rocks ended and the wooden pier continued, all stared into the foggy sea.  Salty spray blew over them as the frigid air rolled inland, leaving Greypaw chilled.  Then, from out of the void, a red lantern appeared, hanging above the sea like a bloodshot eye.  All heard the groaning shift of timbers yet the vessel remained hidden somewhere beyond the rolling clouds.

A contingent of sea otters lined the end of the pier, their muzzles pointing like the needle of a compass at the approaching ship still hidden from view.  None spoke as they waited for the vessel.  They stood in a ragged line at the very edge of the dock, each dock worker flexed his muscles in anticipation.

With no reference point, Captain Greypaw took a step backward when the ship materialized so close to the heavy pilings that he feared a collision.  Movement along the ship's deck became clear as different members of the crew ran about their assigned task.  A throwing motion heralded the arrival of a lead weight.  It landed just behind one of the sea otters.

A second lead weighted line arched its way toward the dock from a point near the ship's aft deck.  Once an otter snagged it, the others converged.   In rapid succession, the thin rope gave way to the hawser.  As the ship drew still nearer, a series of additional lines were heaved towards the docking gang.  Soon the vessel was tethered and whatever slack existed, disappeared as the crew drew their ship alongside the wooded pier.  Gangplanks dropped fore and aft while the dockside otters busied themselves rigging several hoists. 

Without hesitation, Captain Greypaw led his unit aboard.  As the hare's sandals landed upon the deck, he noticed an old sea otter wearing the insignia of a ship's Captain moving in his direction.

"I understand your ship has several prisoners consigned to the jurisdiction of King Meles.  My unit is here to receive them."

"Aye, and a sorrier lot you'll not find.  One of 'em is suffering from a high fever.  Sad to say, but Healers had their orders too regarding priorities right from the top, or so they informed me.  Hares first, woodlanders next and prisoners last."

"How sick is this prisoner?"

"Let's just say I'll be happier once they be your responsibility and not mine.  Best her death be charged to you than me.  We had fifteen when we left Rimstone, but there was ... an incident while sailin' south.  Now we have a baker's dozen in the hold."

"You have thir..."

"Blast your long ears an' bigger mouth.  Say the number an' I'll have half my crew jumpin' ship.  These otters I command are a very superstitious lot.  Your prisoners will be comin' up that way.  The injured travelin' with me will come up after you're out of sight.  Those are the order of our Shaman."

"Shaman," inquired Greypaw.  "Is that why your ship is late?"

"My crew saw an ill omen.  A lady otter dressed in earthen colors dropped her bottle of perfume when the pilot bumped her.  No crewmember would allow the pilot aboard.  It took me two days findin' a shaman willin' to travel with us for the price offered.  Ah, here comes your prisoners."

The clanking of chains preceded the arrival above decks of the prisoners.  The crew of sea otters used belaying pins as less than gentle motivators, soon got everyone into a semblance of a straight line for the hare's inspection.  Then the shaman exited the stairway.

Over his lifetime, he saw many oddities, but none like this.  The otter wore a bright yellow loincloth and shirt.  Every bit of his fur was dyed in alternating bands of white and blue.  The shaman held a lantern and kept the light beam waving over the prisoners.  The fellow remained in the hatchway, whistling the call of a morning dove.  Greypaw glanced towards the sea otter captain.

"He claims evil spirits will exit their bodies and invade our ship.  He is foolin' the demons into believin' it is daylight.  He will stand guard at the gangplank until you are gone and my crew safe.  Then we will have the injured moved ashore."

"You believe this nonsense?"

"Doesn't matter what I believe, it's what my crew believes."

Captain Greypaw left the sea otter where he stood and examined the menagerie of felons before him.  At one end, a male wolf stood tall.  In spite of his grungy attire and the chains binding him, he projected a commanding presence.  At the opposite end, two female stoats supported another prisoner.  Between the wolf and stoats several woodlander prisoners tried vanishing from sight, their dejection evident by their posture.

A cursory inspection showed all were in reasonably good health, with the one exception noted by the ship's Captain.  Were it not for the two stoats flanking her, the unknown female would be lying on the deck, muttering like the town's drunk. Her face remained hidden behind a dirty towel covering her forehead. 

For a moment, Greypaw couldn't determine the species of the sick criminal as she had no tail and any distinguishing coloration was masked by the night.  He drew nearer, his curiosity piqued.  The prisoner supported by the two stoats was a young female badger.  If it weren't for her heavy restraints, he could picture this sow as not knowing her limit while visiting the local tavern, a common sight near the Fire Mountain. 

Greypaw motioned to one of the privates.  He wanted the rag removed.  Just as Private Kindrell snatched the rag, the badger's eyes focused on the flop-eared hare.  With a loud bellow, she launched herself at the startled private.  Curses sounded from the closer detainees as the connecting chains snapped taunt, and even fouler words sounded as the two who had been holding the badger were yanked off their feet and tossed about the deck like rag dolls.

Otters from the ship's crew plunged into the melee used belaying pins as weapons.  The other hares under Captain Greypaw's command also charged to the rescue of their comrade.  Over all of this, an enraged badger roared out some incoherent battle cry in a gravelly voice.  Several otters and hares slid across the deck before someone delivered a hard jab to the badger's belly. 

A quick rap to the back of the head and the melee ended.  Despite the hard blow, she still muttered incoherently as her head bobbed from side to side.  Once again the two stoats lifted their burden, growling threats of their own if she repeated her attack.  A wave of the badger's paw must have satisfied her two fellow inmates as they resumed their place in line.

However, this did not end the badger's hostility.  Whenever her eyes focused on any of the hares, they turned a deep red, signaling a temper just waiting for the right opportunity at creating mayhem.  Determined to establish his authority and his disdain for the pugnacious female, Greypaw stared at the badger for several seconds before turning his back on her.

Meanwhile, both the crew and his squad took a quick inventory.  No broken bones.  Other than several minor contusions among his unit, all were fine.  Even Private Kindrell recovered after a fellow hare broke the badger's chokehold.  All signaled their readiness for duty.

"Told you she was dangerous."  If Greypaw had to speculate, he would describe the otter's voice as unruffled by the near fatal melee aboard his vessel.  "She killed one of my crew and three hares who got within her reach while we were at sea.  She also killed two of her fellow prisoners.  Only thing that has kept her manageable since we left our last port of call was her fever."

Captain Greypaw led everyone down to the pier.  A glance behind him revealed the shaman following a few paces back.  The painted otter stopped halfway down the gangplank, still giving his rendition of a morning dove.  He dismissed the odd fellow, but hoped it helped the crew return to a semblance of normalcy.

[cairn destop]

Incarceration

"Those chains should have kept her docile" one of the hares quipped as they led the prisoners deep beneath the mountain fortress.

Corporal Sweetleaf first admonished the private for his remark.  She added her own commentary, but kept her voice low enough that only Captain Greypaw heard her.  "Always thought prison shackles were so painful whenever you resisted.  That sow fought as if she didn't even know she was in irons."

"An excellent observation, though I can guess what happened."  Captain Greypaw continued as they marched down a long corridor.  "Either she was unaware of the pain because of her illness or she experienced the bloodwrath badgers are known to suffer whenever their anger is aroused.  If you've ever seen what a badger in bloodwrath can do, you'll not forget it."

Her commander shuddered, but kept quiet.  A few paces later, Greypaw's voice took on a distant quality.  "It was my first mission after boot camp and we were hunting bandits in the highlands.  Our lieutenant was a boar badger no older than her.  He ordered our unit to hold on the ridge while he scouted the pass.  After an hour, the sergeant took four of us and we tracked him.  There must have been twenty bodies scattered like broken dolls on the path.  The lieutenant had a dozen arrows in him and he was missing a paw, yet he held his weapon at the ready as if he expected another fight.  By the time the sergeant calmed him down, the poor fellow bled out."

Another turn and the chained prisoners passed through a doorway in a heavy wooden wall.  They continued marching until they were beyond an iron gate.  Everyone halted between two lines of barred cells.  One by one the squad released the prisoners from the chain and escorted them into their new quarters while the remaining prisoners awaited their turn.  As the hares secured the prisoners, the female badger laid on the floor, snoring. 

With everyone else secured, it was the badger's turn.  Four hares, two on each arm, dragged the unresponsive prisoner into the last cell.  They removed one series of chains and attached those anchored to the floor within the barred enclosure.  Captain Greypaw signaled her to vacate the cell while he drew closer to the unresponsive badger.  She made to protest, but his expression made it clear he would not accept her suggestion he keep his distance.  She drew as close as possible and did a physical examination of the sow.

Judging by the badger's injuries, her capture must have happened during a physical brawl.  The right side of the female badger's muzzle was crushed and a bloody discharge still bubbled from one nostril.  Though the left side exhibited signs of an old scar, when her commander turned her head, she gasped.

Four large red scars marred her face on that side.  The first scar ran from the middle of her snout just behind the tip of her nose and ended at her upper jaw.  The second ran from the center of her muzzle to the end of her upper jaw.  Between these two marks, her lip swelled and she detected a rancid odor.  Two more scars stretched on either side of her eye from the top of her head to a point halfway down her neck.

The female badger stirred as Greypaw stood.  He turned.  Corporal Sweetleaf shouted a warning just as the prisoner's two paws wrapped about the Captain's throat.  Without any hesitation, the Captain reacted as training dictated.  Elbow thrown back, inside hip twist, lift, and follow through.  There came the satisfying sound of the badger's back slamming onto the stone flooring, followed by a low groan.  The prisoner made no further move.

Three quick steps had her commander outside the cell as another member of the squad slammed the barred door shut.  Though she no longer stirred, each soldier maintained their vigilance until they heard the sound of the lock turning.  Now they relaxed as the tension from the fight ebbed.

"You okay, Captain?"  Sweetleaf inquired.  "That beastie moved faster than I would've ever imagined."

For a moment, all Greypaw could do was nod as he continued massaging his neck.  "I'm just glad my stupidity didn't cost me my life.  It had to be the bloodwrath.  Regardless of the pain and her illness, she still tried killing me?  She must have been a living demon when she was whole of mind and body."

From the neighboring cell, a female stoat chuckled.  "The sight of a hare sent her into a murderous rage.  The Captain had to have some crew beast feed us after she killed one Long Patrol hare with her bare paws.  Bet she was a real terror in battle when she held a weapon."

In the adjoining cell, the second female stoat advanced as far as her chains allowed.  Like her companion, she too found the incident worthy of comment.  "If only the pirates had a dozen warriors just like her, the Long Patrol would've been pushed into the sea and you wouldn't dare arrest us."  Her eyes took on a wistful expression.

Corporal Sweetleaf shouted, her words reverberating off the rough stone walls.  "The prisoners will be silent." As quiet returned, she marched the walkway between the cells, assuring herself that all were attentive. 

"Nobody gives a bloody damn what you think.  All of you are here to face trial, which is more than any of you deserves.  One more word and your next meal comes after your first session in court, which doesn't start for another thirty-six hours.  So unless some fool prefers a long wait, there . . . will . . . be . . . silence."

One or two nervous coughs sounded from the cells as Sweetleaf moved alongside her commander.  As the squad withdrew, a firm voice called out, seeking an audience with the Captain.  The doe turned on the miscreant who dared defy her orders, but her retort remained unspoken when Greypaw held up his palm, ordering her silence. 

Captain Greypaw stood outside a cell inhabited by a tall wolf.  She remembered how this fellow carried himself like a high-ranking officer, one deserving the deference of others when first she saw him on the ship.  Though the male wolf had spent several days in the hold of a ship, his grungy garments still had a tailored look.  His fur was matted and filthy, yet it showed signs that at one time it had been a well-groomed pelt.

"Do I have the privilege of addressing the senior officer?"

"I'm as high in rank as you'll see," responded her captain.

"My dear sir, must I be treated like these common rift raff?  As a member of the royal family, I am entitled to certain amenities.  At the very least, my accommodations should reflect my status."

Captain Greypaw placed his balled fists on his hips and examined the wolf with a slow shift of his head.  His expression remained that of somebody who had come across a foul odor.  Even his nose twitched as if he detected something unpleasant.

"You must be the nephew of Count DeLupo."  The wolf smiled and nodded in his direction.  Greypaw's voice acquired a note of contempt.  "Since you will learn this when you get to court, I see no harm in telling you now.  Your uncle has signed an Expulsion Edict.  You have been expelled from the pack and exiled from your homeland effective with its delivery.  As far as your family is concerned, you don't even exist.  So you can forget about any special favors.  I see no reason to extend hospitality to a prisoner charged with perpetuating this war."

Before the fellow could respond, the Captain executed a right turn, which terminated their conversation and left the wolf with no viable retort.  Everyone took two steps before the Captain brought his unit to another halt at the edge of the wolf's cell.  Her commander focused his keen eyes on the high-born noble.

"Corporal Sweetleaf, be sure this prisoner receives no morning meal.  If he keeps bellowing like a love-sick ox in heat, have him bound and gagged for the duration of his stay."

Blessed silence descended.  The hares marched beyond the jail's door, slamming it shut and resetting the lock.  With the prisoners secured, three privates grabbed their weapons and went to their post.  The others grabbed cots as they had the next watch.  She welcomed the opportunity to recover from her hangover.

[cairn destop]

Prison Routines

Over the next three days, Greypaw's unit established a routine.  After receiving their morning meal, the prisoners received cleaning supplies for their cell.  Once they finished washing down the stone floor and replacing the slop bucket, the prisoners awaited the arrival of their armed escort to the courtroom.

A loud knock on the jail's outer door alerted Captain Greypaw another contingent of hare guards had arrived.  These hares shoved official documents through the door's aperture.  Greypaw verified the document's authenticity to a list of code words.  Once confirmed, the prisoners were rousted one by one, and connected to the travel chain just inside the jail's main room.

This routine applied to all but one prisoner, the badger.  She remained behind since her name remained off the transfer list.  Not that she was in any condition to stand trial.  After her last fight, she remained in a feverish state.  By the second day, she no longer responded to the guard's presence.  Lying on the stone floor, she sometimes thrashed whenever she entered a deep delirium. 

With all the other prisoners now on their way upstairs for another full day in court, the Captain had only the sick one to monitor.  He leaned against the badger's cell, watching the sow groan as another spasm had the female twitching so bad her chains rattled.  Blood flowed from her wrists and ankles as her struggles twisted the sharp inner edges of her prison cuffs. 

Since her first night, the badger's condition declined.  Unable to perform any cleaning, the cell soon took on a putrid odor, a testament to her rancid blood and foul waste.  At first, the other prisoners complained, but he showed no concern about their discomfort.  However, after two days, even the soldiers under his command hinted some remedial action was necessary.

Captain Greypaw stood at a point that provided him a full view of their badger prisoner's cell.  He gave a slight jump when a paw tapped him on the shoulder, disturbing his thoughts.  A turn of the head confirmed his suspicion; Corporal Sweetleaf stood at parade rest and a pace behind him.  Neither spoke as the badger went through another violent convulsion before she curled into a tight ball.

"What are we going to do, sir?  She's getting worse.  Yesterday, her seizures were several hours apart; now they come just about every other hour."

"Do you know when she last ate?"

"It must've been while on the Jade Coral.  Her fever was mild then, but it has had her in a state of delirium since she tried killing you on that first day.  I've seen her take water, but she hasn't touched any food."

He frowned.  "I take it no healer will speak with you?"  Seeing the doe's nod, the Captain scratched his chin.  After a moment, he turned on his heels and quick-stepped down the central corridor.  "You have command of the jail, Corporal.  Await my return."

Once beyond the stout timbers that comprised the jail's outer door, he hastened his step.  As he continued through the underground passageways of Salamandastron, his anger grew.  Twice he sent his second in command for a healer and both times she reported none available.  It didn't make sense to the Captain how every healer remained indisposed whenever he needed one.

Anyone meeting him along the public corridors must have noticed his determined demeanor and his fast gait, both a great deterrent to any interruptions.  Other inhabitants moving through the same space gave ground rather than risk his wrath if they blocked his progress.  Some who recognized him called out, asking for whatever news he carried, or for details about the trial; he never acknowledged any of their inquiries.

Two flights of stairs and a sharp turn down the eastern hallway brought him to his final destination.  Already he noted a contingent of officers standing before the door he now approached.  His eyes took in the blue triangle on the white field, the mark of a healer, affixed on the right shoulder of every hare gathered before the doorway.

Since none of the bucks or does in the hallway were at or above his rank, Captain Greypaw did not hesitate.  He grabbed the doorknob, wrenched the door open and stepped into the next office.  Two majors turned at the unexpected intrusion, but neither had a chance at blocking his progress.  So swift was his entry that the startled officers remained silent.  Using a stiff arm and without breaking stride, he battered the office door open, entering the inner sanctum of the Long Patrol's highest ranking doctor.

Lounging in a comfortable chair centered behind a wide desk sat an old general.  Like the other officers Greypaw passed in this section of the fortress, he too wore the insignia of a healer, though his badge had an extra adornment.  Superimposed over the blue triangle, a golden leaf was stitched.  This emblem designated the old buck as the supreme military commander of the medical staff.

The old hare raised his head without rushing, as if such intrusions a common occurrence.  For Captain Greypaw, it provided him a chance at viewing this officer who dismissed his requests without consideration.  The heavy sprinkling of grey throughout his fur and the dull brown coloring attested to his advanced years.  Greypaw guessed his age at double his own.  The monocle in his left eye was so thick the glass appeared opaque until it focused on him.  Then the one eye appeared three times its normal size. 

The old hare swiveled his chair so his back faced the Captain.  The general leaned back, his chair, which gave a slight squeal as he stared out an open window.  For a while, the silence continued.  With a quick step, Captain Greypaw stomped around the desk so he could face the officer whose demeanor showed he was unperturbed by the sudden intrusion. 

"I take it you are aware of the proper chain of command . . . Captain?"

Greypaw's whiskers twitched and his temper threatened to erupt.  "I tried that route, General, but my situation is desperate."

"Send your request up the appropriate chain of command.  When it reaches me, I'll consider extending medical aid to your prisoner."

"Then you're aware of the situation," an incredulous Greypaw said, "and still you do nothing?  My superior has made it clear the health of every prisoner I guard is my primary responsibility.  Since you are the ranking medical officer, I'm now making it your top priority."

"I am concerned about hares needing medical attention, any woodlander warrior seeking medical care, non-combatant civilians injured as a result of our military's actions, and then any prisoners deemed worthy of medical care."  Standing up, the old buck towered over Greypaw, his voice taking on a hard note.  "You have problems with that . . . Captain . . . take it up with your superiors.  Perhaps another officer versed in proper protocol can convince me this is worthy of my time."

Greypaw didn't flinch under a look that must have made subordinates loosen their bladders when the General was in his prime.  Drawing in a deep breath, the Captain calmed himself, knowing any display of temper would be counterproductive.  He even felt a bit of satisfaction when he considered his reply.

"Begging the General's pardon, if I have to report to my immediate superior, King Meles might become irate with your interference.  Must I go to such an extreme for a healer's examination of a sick prisoner?"

The General's reaction was immediate and better than Greypaw ever anticipated.  A mention of the badger king and his inference their supreme commander had a personal interest in the situation resulted in an immediate reaction.  The medical officer's ears shot upward while his monocle dropped to a point halfway to his belt.  Using one paw to replace the errant eyepiece, the General strolled to a point halfway between the Captain and the door. 

When Captain Greypaw didn't move, the General cleared his throat.  He remained in this position for several seconds, staring at the other hare.  Giving a low growl, the General opened the door and led the way.  Once beyond the outer office, Captain Greypaw doubled his pace until he preceded the superior officer and led him through the maze of passageways deep within the bowels of Fiery Mountain.

Once inside the jail, the General stooped down close to the sow badger, but outside the cell.  The old surgeon remained in this position for some time studying the sick prisoner.  Occasionally he would twitch his ears or give a loud snort, but at no time did he speak.  With an audible grunt, the old hare rose to his feet and led the way beyond the cells.

"Your prisoner is suffering a high fever induced by the gangrene developing on her muzzle.  The diseased skin needs to be excised or it will poison her blood and kill her."

"Then grab your gear and do it.  Or order some subordinate do it."

The old general chuckled.  "She needs a surgeon, not a healer.  Scheduling such an operation will take time, perhaps more than she has."  Captain Greypaw opened his mouth but the officer's raised paw silenced him.  "Even our liege couldn't free up a surgeon since she is so far down the priority list.  With so many others ahead of her, I just don't know when one might become available."  With that, the old hare exited the jail, whistling a merry tune.

Once the general departed, Greypaw turned to his subordinate.  "Send one private into town and have them purchase the largest bottle of high-grade whiskey five silvers will purchase.  Have two others get me an anvil, a wooden mallet, and a sharp chisel."

An hour later, two of the privates wheeled in a flatbed cart containing a heavy anvil.  Another private carried the bottle of whiskey while a fourth hare held the requested tools.  As the hares approached the sow's cell, Corporal Sweetleaf unlocked the barred door.  Everyone circled the badger and maintained a heightened state of alertness should she try attacking any of them.  Captain Greypaw placed a lantern he removed from the wall outside the cell on the floor.  While he moved the anvil into position, he had one private hold the chisel over the lantern's flame.

Lifting the badger's head, Greypaw pulled out the cork from the jug of whiskey.  He then forced the badger's mouth open and poured the potent drink down her throat.  She resisted the first swallow.  Then her parched tongue sought out every drop offered.  By the time the bottle was emptied, the badger slept, oblivious to everything around her.

Two privates held the badger's head while Corporal Sweetleaf stretched the infected lip over the flat top of the anvil.  Taking the mallet in one paw and the white-hot chisel in the other, Greypaw hovered over the unconscious sow.  Giving a hard rap, he knapped off the infected tissue.  The chisel proved as sharp as any knife and the heated edge cauterized the flesh.  After a half dozen quick raps, the diseased flesh had been cut off and discarded.  Everyone then retreated from the cell, secured the door, returned the borrowed tools, and awaited the inevitable end of today's trial session.

The badger did not become alert for another day.  An hour after the other prisoners left for court, she let out a low groan, which sounded more like a loud shout in the vacated jail block.  Greypaw waved a private back to his bunk as he grabbed a nearby wooden water bucket.  The sow still moaned as he strolled to a point just beyond the cell.  The Captain stood there, watching the sow rousing herself and said nothing.  When her bloodshot eyes eventually focused on him, he addressed her in a voice devoid of any emotion.

"The prisoner will use the water in this bucket to clean herself and her cell.  If your efforts are to my satisfaction, I will consider requisitioning food."

The sow's gravelly voice slurred as she responded.  "My name is Tassel.  Things would go a lot easier if you addressed me by my name."

"I have known your name since your custody was transferred to my unit.  However, so long as you're my responsibility, I will not dignify any prisoner with a name.  Now do as I have commanded."  With that, Captain Greypaw pushed the bucket with his foot through a section of the barred barrier just wide enough for the pail. 

Tassel pulled the bucket closer just as he turned towards the door.  Greypaw watched her out of the corner of his eye as the badger removed the wet sponge and placed it on the stone floor.  For a moment, she remained in this pose as she stared into the bucket.  Then the sow's voice screeched as she jumped upright.

"What happened to my face?  Give me the name of the butcher who dares pass himself off as a healer and I will rip his head off his shoulder."

Greypaw remained calm, his voice still as flat as it was the last time he addressed Tassel.  "No healer treated you.  Your lip was infected, so I cut it off.  Be happy, at least you'll live long enough to stand trial."

With a mighty roar, Tassel grabbed the bucket and threw it with all her might at him.  The wooden bucket shattered like an egg when it hit the intervening bars, spraying water throughout her cell.  Greypaw retreated at a slow pace without reacting to the heavy drenching he also received.  Just before he exited the prison proper, he shouted without turning.

"I'll return in an hour, have your cell cleaned or you can go hungry for another day."

* * * *

Badgermom Tassel tucked the scroll back in its satchel.  Her paw reached up to her masked face, scratching the right side of her muzzle near the tip of her nose.  She continued rubbing her mask, saying nothing.  She again removed the last sheet of paper and studied it.  After several seconds, she gave a dainty cough and looked towards the room's other occupant.

The squirrel scribe had remained at his desk, not moving a muscle.  Like their previous sessions, Tassel would arrive after the Dibbun Bell and read his work while reclining on the sofa.  When the Final Bell rang and the last note had peeled, she would thank Stiles for his patience and promise to return the next day at the same time.  She said nothing else during their meeting.

Tonight, she broke her usual routine.  Standing up, she carried the paper sheets she had read and placed them on the squirrel's desk.  When Tassel stepped towards the door, Stiles asked her why she was ending their session earlier than expected.

"It seems I must write a long overdue letter of apology.  All these years I thought his mutilation a deliberate and callous act."

"Even if it was a deliberate and callous act, Captain Greypaw did save your life, Tassel.  Didn't you feel any gratitude for that?"

Tassel shook her head.  "I was already a bit self-conscious about the old scar on my muzzle's left side, but had deluded myself it could be hidden or some boar might not see it.  What Captain Greypaw did to my face could never be overlooked."

"May I ask why you need to write a letter?"

Tassel's paw rested atop the doorknob.  "All these years, I thought he did what he did without any consideration for my well-being.  Knowing now no healer would treat me back then has changed my opinion.  I'm old enough and wise enough to know when I should swallow my pride and seek forgiveness."

[cairn destop]

The First Verdict

Prime Minister Resmallim never wasted any of the King's valuable time.  While the monarch donned his attire, the Prime Minister delivered his morning report.  He touched on whatever topics he felt the King needed to know and answered any inquiries the badger had for him. 

Once dressed, the badger ambled over to the window where he could better observe the dark sky.  He continued staring while a deep frown etched itself onto the King's brow.  Resmallim understood the reason for his majesty's troubled mood and said nothing.  The whispered words and the melancholy tone just confirmed his suspicions.

"You're sure there is nothing I can do?" 

"None, Sire."

The badger never turned from the window.  "I don't mind telling you, my mate has quite a temper and she displayed it in all its less than glorious detail last night.  I might be king, but that doesn't mean I can always command my queen."

Resmallim paused a moment before he spoke.  "This is a matter of state, Sire.  Like it or not, both of you must be present; otherwise much of its singular importance will be lost."

The king nodded.  "After three weeks, which felt like as many seasons, it comes down to this one moment.  It's not what I expected when a menagerie of creatures first placed a golden crown atop my head.  Makes me almost wish some other delegation had the power, imagination, and fortitude to accept leadership of our alliance."

"At least you'll not be expected to speak, just read the official proclamation."

"Sure hope we don't have a repeat of the fiasco when the trial first started.  All I expected to do was observe the opening proceedings and be gone.  Next thing I knew, half the counselors wanted me presiding over the entire trial and the other half ranted about the undue influence my presence created.  If I remember, it took another four days of legal wrangling before the actual trial even got underway."

In the privacy of the King's dressing room, Resmallim vented his displeasure.  "Didn't I tell you not to make an appearance?  If you had stayed, it would have tainted the whole trial's objectivity.  Every creature would wonder if it was fair or if the verdict had been preordained.  Instead of becoming a shining moment of judicial integrity, I'm certain future historians would classify it at the opposite end of the spectrum."

"Your concern for future historians is laudable.  Still, refusing to keep me advised about the case troubled me.  Like you said, these were crimes against our union.  I felt a duty to know what was happening."

The Prime Minister offered no further comment.  The silence hung in the room like a tangible object, but neither would speak.  Outside, on the distant horizon, the blackness lightened.  Dawn was still another half hour away, but the deep dark of night had lifted.  Turning from the window, King Meles strolled across the room.  Just before he reached the door, Resmallim opened it, stepped beyond the chamber and awaited the passage of the boar badger.

Once in the corridor, he approached a second set of doors within the residence and gave a light rap.  He waited a few seconds and again he knocked.  When he struck the door a third time, it opened.

Out stepped the queen dressed in a simple gown of dark fabrics.  As sow badgers went, she was an excellent example of both feminine beauty and power.  Only the deep scowl she displayed marred the image of a perfect lady.  Her angered look deepened when Resmallim offered his salutations.  Ignoring the Prime Minister, she addressed her mate in a voice capable of freezing an ocean on a summer's day.

"I take it there is no backing out of this?"  Her mate shook his head, which elicited a low growl from the queen as she glared at the Prime Minister.  "Good thing this fellow didn't insist our older pup attend, otherwise I would show him the business end of a sharpened spear.  Sometimes I wonder if we rule or he just allows us the illusion of ruling."

There was a low snicker from the king as the two made their way beyond their residential quarters.  When they entered the open corridor, an honor guard of a dozen armed soldiers flanked them.  The protective detail kept close to the two imposing badgers while Resmallim followed at a respectful pace behind them.

King Meles ignored the hares shadowing their movements since they accompanied him or his mate whenever they stepped beyond their quarters.  His paw sought his mate as they continued down the corridor.  After his fingers entwined with hers, he peered over his shoulder.  "What about it, Resmallim?  Have you ever wondered how a ferret became my Prime Minister?"

"I always assumed it was my effective style of management under the most adverse of circumstances."

The royal couple looked into each other's eyes and erupted into a series of light giggles.  Neither badger turned nor did they slacken their pace as they moved through the Fiery Mountain fortress.  When their shared moment of merriment subsided, King Meles answered his own question.

"When our union first formed, every ruler accepted my hares as military commanders, but balked when I selected them for my cabinet.  To appease their ire, I asked each of the fourteen major rulers to recommend those they most trusted for the positions my hares held prior to our union.  My guidelines regarding these candidates were simple; nominate five for each position, none from your realm, and no more than two from any of the others.  Your name came up the most often."

Turning his head to see how his comment was being received, the king finished his explanation.  "None wanted any vermin species selected as Prime Minister, but you had the political ear and confidence of too many rulers.  It would be sheer folly on my part if I didn't exploit your clout for the betterment of our newborn union.  So you see I'm not as ignorant of politics as you appear to believe."

There was no chance at a response.  Up ahead, two hare guards yanked open the doors at the end of the passageway and snapped to attention.  Without hesitation, the entourage passed over the door's threshold and onto an open-air balcony.  Up close to the low stone wall which marked the outer boundaries sat two ornate chairs befitting a king and queen.

Each guard took his station and came to rigid attention, facing the expansive courtyard below them.  Resmallim moved to the left side of the King, far enough back he showed his subordinate role, yet far enough forward that he had an unobstructed view of the upcoming event.  A light sea breeze ruffled their fur as all sat facing the morning sun.

A large crowd stood within their allotted space below the balcony, pressing up against the rope boundaries.  Along the stone walls, temporary bleachers had been erected, according the earliest arrivals an unobstructed view over the latecomers.  The constant buzz of conversations remained low while anticipation grew.

Across the courtyard was the focal point of everyone's attention.  The wooden platform measured thirty-five paces from side to side as calculated by the steps of two hares marching before the structure.  Its height placed it between the second and third floor.  Interspaced along its length were a dozen raised crossbeams. 

Below the platform, linen sheets had been stretched.  Though these panels hid the scaffolding from view, the rising sun's light illuminated its underside.  At this time of year and at this early hour, it cast an eerie reddish hue to the material.

Atop the platform stood four hares garbed in black.  With the exception of their long ears, the hoods they wore allowed none a clear view of their facial features.  Even the floor-length garments hid the gender of the specific beast.

A great hush fell across the crowd as the sounds of drums drifted into the courtyard.  With every passing second, the slow cadence intensified.  Two lines of hares marched into the enclosure, their feet matching the beat of the drums.  When the line of soldiers reached a point a dozen paces from the structure, they pivoted outward and stepped forward four paces, forming a path between their ranks.

Next to enter were seven hares who surrounded a chained badger.  When these creatures passed the end of the formation, they turned to the left and approached a lone chair sitting to one side of the platform.  For several moments the guards fussed over their prisoner as they fastened her manacles to the chair's stout timbers.  With the prisoner secured, they formed a line between her and the crowd facing forward.

King Meles faced Resmallim.  "I take it the sow down there is the prisoner named Tassel?"  He nodded and the king leaned back in his chair.  "For someone that is capable of toppling our union, she doesn't look so imposing."

Again, he had no opportunity at responding.  Six drummers advancing between the two lines of hares.  Once the drummers moved past the formation of guards, they faced the crowd and changed the cadence.  Now the drummers played a continual roll.

One by one the chained prisoners came forward and were escorted to the bottom step of the scaffolding.  With a slow and careful step, each prisoner was assisted to the elevated platform.  They were then positioned under the first open crossbeam.  Working as an efficient team, the hooded hares placed a noose over the prisoner's head, adjusted the rope, and secured the condemned prisoner's legs together.

With a sudden crash, the drums fell silent and those awaiting death got their first glimpse of the beast who had signed the order for their execution.  King Meles rose from his chair and lifted the proclamation. 

"By the order of a duly appointed court of law, each of you has been found guilty of capital crimes against the realm where you resided and this Alliance.  If any wish to speak before sentence is carried out, I will listen."

The boar badger returned to his seat.  As the executioners approached each prisoner, they would repeat the king's offer.  When that beast shook off the opportunity, a black hood was lowered over the head of the prisoner. 

When the executioners repeated the king's offer to a male hedgehog, the condemned called out in a voice that broke with emotion.  Once more the hedgehog tried, and after clearing his throat, called out a third time.

"If you believe in justice, then spare my mate and kits.  Both knew nothing of my crimes.  They thought the extra gold came from a profitable business, not the blood money I accepted from pirates."

King Meles muttered just loud enough that Resmallim could hear.  "What is he blubbering about?  He is the only hedgehog here."

"Lord Narffa of the Northern Fjords caught this one selling out isolated villagers.  Under their law, his family must serve an appropriate number of years in involuntary servitude; even the children are not exempt.  My sources say each has been sentenced to forty years."

"Involuntary servitude is nothing more than slavery with a fancy name."  The King's paws gripped the chair so tight his claws dug into the wood.  "By the Eternals, I thought we were fighting against this abomination."

"Their laws state all family members must be punished if they benefited from the crime of any member.  Usually such sentences never exceed one year."

The king stood.  "Hear my judgment.  I shall have your mate and kits brought here to serve their sentence.  If I discover your words are true, all will be freed after three years honorable service within my household.  Play me the fool and your family will find themselves where you stand now."

The hood went over the hedgehog's head.  The routine continued until they reached the last prisoner, a tall wolf who spoke in a cultured voice.

"Why isn't the badger up here with us?  When she was captured, your own hares declared her vermin and stripped her of all rights.  Then your court spoke of justice and we received a trial, a trial that has placed the rest of us here.  Pledge to me, on your honor, she too will stand trial.  Then I shall believe your words about justice."

Again the king stood.  "Then you shall have it.  Within the next four weeks, she shall be tried."

Now all the prisoners stood with their heads covered in a heavy blackened hood.  Once more the drummers began a loud drum roll as the four executioners removed the safety pins from the trap doors.  Each hare then stood by a lever as they awaited the command of their sovereign.

King Meles raised his paw high and held it, then snapped it down.  As his paw fell, each hare threw the lever, which released the trap door beneath the feet of the condemned.  Every prisoner dropped below the platform and the slack rope became taut.  With the dawn's light shining from behind, the crowd could see the macabre silhouette of the condemned as their bodies hung at the end of each rope.  Five minutes later, the guards ushered the crowd out of the courtyard, leaving only the guards and the badger prisoner behind. 

Once the royal family returned to their quarters, Resmallim could not contain himself any longer.  "Whatever possessed you to speak?  Didn't I tell you a king should listen, but not respond?  I warned you these prisoners might put you in a compromising position and now they have."

"Such histrionics do not become you.  What harm have I caused?"

"For one thing, Lord Narffa will see your actions as interference.  We might not like his form of justice, but changes must be done without insulting valuable allies."

"The hedgehog's family will serve a sentence longer than what his courts impose for other crimes, so that should satisfy his sense of justice."  Then the badger's stare became hard.  "And as King, it is within my rights to commute the sentence of anyone convicted of a crime, be it against a state under my rule or our alliance.  Justice without mercy is nothing more than vengeance."

Resmallim scratched the side of his muzzle as he pondered this line of logic.  "A technical point, but it does provide a reasonable way of allowing Lord Narffa to claim his form of justice prevailed."

"And just how do you intend keeping your promise to the wolf?  My liege, I believe every lord and lady has approached me since word got out about her capture.  All expect she will receive whatever verdict you think befits her crime.  Such a preordained outcome would destroy the significance of this trial and might result in unexpected consequences."

"Several of these rulers, or their representatives, have bypassed you and pleaded their position to me in private."  Then the badger snorted.  "All want something in return and each expressed a strong distrust for anyone offering their courts as the appropriate venue."

"Your majesty must understand Tassel represents all badgers, including you.  If she can be tried, and convicted, it leaves you vulnerable to those same judges.  I know you have disagreed with me on this point, but politicians can twist anything to suit them or their ambitions.  We need justice without such complications."

A servant provided a welcomed interruption when he delivered the morning meal.  As the king and his mate dined, Resmallim noted how the badger's expression denoted a deep contemplative mood.  When the meal ended, King Meles summoned both his scribe and a messenger.  Once he finished the two messages, he handed the sealed envelopes to a hare wearing the golden armband of a King's Herald.  Before dismissing the hare, King Meles issued his verbal instructions.

Snapping off a sharp salute to his king, the soldier pivoted and jogged through the residence.  Once beyond the inner sanctum of the royal family, the messenger continued at the same brisk pace through the Fiery Mountain fortress.  In less than a quarter hour, his ground-eating loop carried him beyond Salamandastron's gates.  He increased his speed to one he could maintain over a long distance as he set his paws along the road leading to Redwall Abbey.

[cairn destop]

Messages From The King

Though the season was early fall, the weather mimicked winter at its coldest.  The air had a snap to it that nipped at the nose and ears of every inhabitant.  Wispy clouds marked the spoken word and maintained a continual fog about the speaker's head.  Heavy garments now kept the residents of Redwall Abbey warm as they performed their routine chores.

Lady Pellanore received no special treatment as the Abbey's Badgermom.  The cold settled into her joints like an unwanted relative as she doubled her pace across the exposed courtyard.  Such cold weather had her wishing for a connecting walkway between the empty schoolhouse and the Abbey.

If there was any consolation about being outside, it was the presence of the high outer walls.  They kept the invading northern winds from lashing her.  She had made the mistake of stepping onto the battlements earlier, hoping to see how the harvest beyond the walls was progressing.  Like a seasoned pickpocket, the continual breeze atop the walls kept stealing whatever warmth her heavy coat held.  Even the guards stationed along the wall had frost tingeing their fur.

After her short excursion across the wall's walkway, Lady Pellanore thought it would be nice if she checked out some of the gardens within the Abbey's grounds.  She recalled measuring several of the larger pumpkins and her mouth salivated thinking about the seasonal pies Redwall's chef would soon prepare.  It was a special treat she considered the best way of celebrating the passage of another year.

With sudden abruptness, a shrill squeal sounded a frightening note.  She came to a standstill within the enclosed courtyard, her ears swiveled as they tried locating the source of the disturbance.  A few seconds later, both the source and the reason for the noise darted out of the blacksmith's work area.

A female hedgehog of four springs ran for all she was worth.  Right behind her and waving a heavy hammer followed one of the two older male hedgehogs who shared space within the dibbun dormitory.  The petite female hedgehog raced up to her and latched onto her tail, a move which sent a sharp pain up Lady Pellanore's spine.

"Silly brother gonna hit me with that silly hammer." The child panted.  "I didn't do nothing and he's chasing me."

Badgermom Pellanore had no chance at responding to the child's plea of innocence.  Egress sprinted to a point several paces in front of them while holding a maul at shoulder height.  The older hedgehog came to a stop, lowered his arm, and allowed the hammer to dangle from a cord wrapped about his paw.

"You have got to keep Shortspike out of the workshop.  It's no place for such an immature hogget.  I don't want her injured due to her carelessness, and I don't have the time to watch her."

"Just 'cause you can swing that silly hammer doesn't mean you can hit me with it."

"And that's another thing," growled Egress.  "I don't mind answering her constant what's this, but the little twerp is driving me to distraction with her description of every object I name as silly.  I'm ready to smack her silly bottom black and blue if she doesn't stop."

He paused.  Realization dawned on the teenaged hedgehog about what he had just said.  Egress sounded a growl directed more at himself than her or the child.  The hedgehog gave his guardian a sheepish grin.  He then backtracked to the warmth of the blacksmith's workshop.

The Badgermom never said a word.  Bad enough Shortspike asked a never-ending series of questions, but her habit of calling everything silly did have a way of grating on one's nerves.  With the immediate danger averted, Lady Pellanore turned her gaze onto the young child standing behind her who still maintained a death grip on her tail.

"What have I told you about going near the blacksmith's forge?"  The blank expression on the girl's face didn't help.  "And how many times have I told you not to grab my tail whenever you want my attention?"

Shortspike's reply had such a matter-of-fact attitude that she knew the girl hadn't thought her actions inappropriate.  Even after a quick admonishment about such rude behavior, the hogget's expression never changed.  Lady Pellanore mentally admitted defeat and after getting the girl's promise not to bother Egress, sent her off in search of some other diversion.

While Shortspike darted off, another familiar voice intruded on her peace.  "There goes proof supporting the old adage about trying to put an elder's head on the shoulders of a child.  It cannot be done."

"Indeed, Father Abbot, but it doesn't mean I should stop trying.  I know children sometimes go through a stage where they fixate on one word and in time will outgrow it, but in the meantime, we elders must suffer through it."

Father Draccon grinned.  "By the way, I sent Dale to the next town.  He has a list of supplies Redwall could use as well as the personal wish list of several of our more prominent members.  When I saw him out the gate, he seemed quite eager for this adventure."

"Now that hedgehog is my pride and joy.  He's an excellent choice for such a shopping expedition.  I swear he can convince anyone to part with their goods at an unheard-of low price and still have them think they came out the better.  I do worry about him traveling such a distance by himself."

"He left early so the trip can be completed before the sun sets."  Lady Pellanore stood ready to argue the point, but the shrew spoke in a voice which brooked no argument.  "There comes a time when you have to let the bird try their wings.  Give them a few short flights alone and they will learn far more than a longer voyage in your shadow."

She nodded at the sage wisdom imparted.  Lady Pellanore too treasured the change from child to elder and basked in each success.  Yet it didn't help alleviate her desire to protect those she raised.

Side by side, the two of them continued their inspection of the first garden's crop when another shrill wail sounded.  Shortspike ran towards them while a black furred squirrel followed right on her heels.  This time the Badgermom blocked the hogget's progress.  An action designed to save her tail another jolt from a frightened child.

Two voices spoke in near unison.  "Robertasin, is there a problem?"

The black squirrel first nodded a greeting to the Father Abbot.  "This imp is bothering my sheep."

"Young lady," growled Lady Pellanore, "sheep are something new for Shortspike.  If you can remember the first time you came in contact with such an animal, maybe you can appreciate her curiosity."

The Father Abbot posed a question.  Robertasin nodded in response and the shrew offered his suggestion.  After extracting a promise to be on her best behavior, Shortspike almost pranced as she followed the squirrel back to the enclosed sheep pen.

"Why Father Draccon, I never pictured you as somebody who could handle children so well.  Having them groom the sheep should keep both occupied and out of trouble until the dinner bell."

Once again the two adults had a few moments of solitude.  In companionable silence, they completed their inspection of the gardens and took a longer route back to the main compound.  As they passed the main gate, a voice called out to the Father Abbot.  Though she longed for the warmth of the inside, she dallied outside the gatekeeper's quarters until the grey-spiked lady hedgehog could relay a quick message.  Picking up their pace, they made their way to the Abbey.   

Just outside the Father Abbot's office stood a tall male hare in the uniform of the Fleet Foot Messenger.  His gold band identified him as one of the many messengers assigned to the badger king.  He remained at parade rest just before the door as if he were guarding it instead of blocking it.  As they drew nearer, the hare reached behind him and pulled the satchel resting on his back to the fore.  After extracting the sealed scroll, he presented the dispatch to the Father Abbot.

Draccon took the message.  Even a pace behind the Father Abbot, Lady Pellanore noted the seal of the badger who not only commanded the hares, but ruled the Northern Alliance as well.  The Father Abbot stepped around the soldier and entered his office while holding the door open for her. 

The buck hare intervened.  "I'm sorry Father Abbot, but my orders are firm.  Lady Pellanore is not permitted access to your office or allowed to meet with you once I have delivered the King's letter.  My orders are to use whatever means possible to assure that this condition is met."

"And what makes you think you can command either of us?" growled a miffed Lady Pellanore.  "We will acknowledge your king's right to rule lands to the north of our Abbey, but he has no power over Redwall or its residents."

"My orders state that until the Father Abbot replies, I am to accompany you wherever you go."  Before she could ask why, the hare provided an answer.  "I also have a communication for your eyes only, my lady, but I cannot deliver it unless the Father Abbot gives the appropriate response.  That is the reason why my liege has set this one condition.  I'm hoping both of you will be reasonable and cooperate."

Lady Pellanore withdrew.  Keeping a pace behind her, the hare followed.  Several times the Badgermom tried soliciting a comment from the buck without success.  She stared at the messenger, gave a light growl as a way of expressing her frustration, and returned to her usual duties with her new shadow.

Over the next three days, the hare made sure she came nowhere near the shrew.  However, this didn't stop Lady Pellanore from hearing the local gossip.  Every lady from the sewing circle harassed the poor hare for information.  When the hare failed to respond, the ladies discussed the Father Abbot and his clandestine meetings with the squirrel and otter tribal leaders.  Though she speculated that such meetings has something to do with the message delivered by the hare, he would neither confirm nor deny her deduction.

Dinner was in progress on the fourth night when the Father Abbot summoned the messenger up to the head table.  Residents openly wondered about their whispered conversation, but the shrew made no pronouncement.  The hare then returned to the Badgermom's table and finished his meal with the children without speaking a word to them or to Lady Pellanore. 

When she dismissed the youngsters, the hare gave a discrete wave of his paw, catching her attention.  "Ma'am, I can now deliver the King's message.  Before I do, I am instructed to inform you an answer is required within the hour.  Your failure at a timely response will be considered a refusal."

"You allowed our Father Abbot all the time he wanted, why am I granted but an hour?"

"Your role is important, but unlike the Father Abbot's, it is not vital.  Another can take your place, if necessary.  The king told me you have a way of delaying vital decisions, at least you did when you lived at Fiery Mountain."

"Then you already know what the message is?"

"I have given you all the information the King gave me when he sent me here.  I have no idea what is contained in either message." 

Lady Pellanore almost ripped the proffered scroll from the hare's paw, her eyes showing a light pink.  She retreated to an unoccupied table beneath a lantern.  She read the message.

For a time, she stared into space, the letter resting face down across her bosom.  Once more she read the message before she rose from her chair.  Walking into the Common Room, she approached the fireplace.  Crushing the document into a ball, Lady Pellanore tossed it onto the flame and waited until the charred ashes mixed with those of the logs within the hearth.

She then turned to her ever-present shadow.  "Your king is a smart one, no denying that."  Lady Pellanore stared into the fire, turning her back on the soldier.  When she spoke, her words hinted at an anger smoldering just below the surface, waiting for the right target.  "Return to Fire Mountain with my reply.  Tell your king I accept his challenge.  I may curse his name 'til my dying day, but I'll do as he requests."

[cairn destop]

Awaiting Orders

"Alright you two lazy louts, keep those paws a moving."

Three paces in front of Corporal Sweetleaf, two other members of their squad ran.  Each soldier wore a full backpack and held their weapon at the ready as they trotted through the stone corridors deep beneath the Fiery Mountain.  At every cross corridor they turned either left or right, their sandals echoing within the empty passageways.

"The two of you sound like winded elders.  I covered this course the same number of times and with just as much gear, not to mention holding onto this chained beastie.  So kick up those heels and let's cover this last stretch in record time."

Everyone made one final turn.  At the end of a long corridor, their commander awaited their return.  He leaned against the jail's heavy door, keeping it open.  Beyond this one, another member of the squad held the jail's inner door ajar.  As they approached, Captain Greypaw eyed the sands draining into the bottom of the hourglass.  His frown had her spur the others to a faster pace.

None of them broke stride as they entered the prison proper.  They didn't stop until all reached the finish line, the open cell at the far end.  Once there, the two privates leaned against the bars, huffing.  Sweetleaf watched as her chained prisoner entered the cell.

While the hares were unencumbered, the fettered female badger wore restraints.  When she stood, a taunt chain ran from the shackle on each wrist down to the cuffs around the prisoner's ankles.  Another chain between her ankles allowed the badger a shortened pace.  The Corporal held onto a leash attached to the chain running between her ankles.

Like the hares, the badger wore a backpack filled with rocks.  Unlike the winded hares, she had run the course twice.  The first time through the underground labyrinth she kept pace with the Captain and four members of his unit.  When the first run ended, the private holding the badger's lead handed it to Corporal Sweetleaf and they repeated the grueling marathon through the twisting rock tunnels with the remainder of the squad.

Corporal Sweetleaf relinquished the chain lead to her commander just as the badger shuffled into her cell.  Before she could react, the Captain gave a hard yank.  The sow tripped, falling onto the stones with a heavy thud, the air whooshing from her lungs.

"Secure the prisoner.  If she offers any resistance, or fails to do as told, you will inform me."

With a casual flick of his wrist, the Captain tossed the lead into the cell.  He heard them whisper among themselves wondering why he so delighted in tormenting the helpless badger.  None spoke to him about his cruel actions and he offered no explanation.

At the start of her physical training, the sow hadn't been in top shape. Several times her chains knocked her off her feet.  If he was there, she received a firm kick to the posterior and a tongue lashing.  Once Tassel regained her footing, she found herself racing behind the hares at an even faster gait.

Days passed.  If he assigned one of the privates the duty of holding the leash, Greypaw carried a metal quarterstaff, which he used as a prod whenever the prisoner lagged behind.  When he wasn't present, he timed his troop's run, withholding half the sow's food if the second run through the course was slower than his.  With two sessions a day and her running twice as far as any of the hares, the badger finally voiced her resentment.

In response, Captain Greypaw ordered the squad to shove the badger's paws between the cell bars above the highest crossbar.  He slid his quarterstaff through the eyebolt of her cuffs, forcing the badger onto her toes.  Satisfied she couldn't move, he withdrew a leather strap from his pocket.  Before anyone could voice an objection, he gave the sow five hard lashes.  Despite the welts, he had the rucksack secured to her back.  By the time the badger completed her final run for the day, the course was marked with her blood.

After twelve days of hard training, the badger now matched the hares with ease the first time and with effort on the second run of each session.  By the time she reached her cell at the conclusion of her two daily runs, she was too tired to do anything but shuck her gear and sleep.  She offered no resistance to the hares and refrained from speaking.

Captain Greypaw retreated to his private quarters.  Today, he received a special gift, a letter from his sister.  He always looked forward to her comical stories about his nephews and nieces.  His sister's lament that these dibbuns made vermin appear angelic never ceased to amuse him.  He sometimes wondered if he missed such simple joys when he made the military a career. 

He removed his boots and sat with his back against the stone wall.  A comfortable cot, a bright lamp, and a thick letter from home, it didn't get any better.  He savored the thickness of the pages as he arranged them in order. 

A knock interrupted him.  He could think of just one hare with the courage to disturb his rest.  Captain Greypaw also knew this confrontation was an inevitable one too.  He placed the letter on the night table.

"Permission to enter granted, Corporal Sweetleaf."

He almost laughed at her expression when she entered.  The wide-eye look and jaw hanging open said she never expected his response.  When she took a breath, he cut off any expectation of a genial discussion.

"Say what's bothering you, Corporal.  I'll not waste time explaining how I knew it was you."

"What's bothering me?  Just what in hellsgate has you acting like a bully, Captain?  Tassel has made excellent progress building her stamina, yet you're determined to heap on as much abuse as possible.  If it's personal, you better control your emotions."

Greypaw leaped off his cot.  "Don't you ever address a superior officer in such a tone.  I will not tolerate you questioning my commands, even in the privacy of my quarters."

Corporal Sweetleaf had enough sense to come to rigid attention.  Her eyes didn't focus on him, but something above him.  A quick glance behind him and he found the brownish rock in an otherwise grey background.  He moved to a spot where the odd rock appeared above his shoulder.  He approached her until his whiskers brushed her muzzle.  His attempt at intimidation failed.  He knew that by her defiant tone of voice.

"If I am to carry out your orders, Captain, I must know why you keep finding new ways to make Tassel's life a living hell."

He returned to his cot and sat.  It appeared rank alone would not satisfy his subordinate.  Greypaw needed to provide something more.  The question uppermost in his mind, how much should he reveal.

"I was just like you and the rest of your unit, a near washout assigned to Black Rose Penal Colony.  Unlike you, no retiring general needed a personal escort home.  Did you know I was a guard there for just over six years?  Our squad guarded the absolute worse of the worse villains."

"May I ask what happened, Captain?"

"My kindness to one inmate I thought reformed had severe consequences.  I slipped him extra rations, not knowing he and his gang stockpiled those gifts.  They made a daring escape, but not until they killed the other soldiers in my unit and left me for dead.  I volunteered to recapture them, alone."

"You succeeded?"

Greypaw nodded.  "I tracked them down, recaptured them, and returned them to Black Rose.  As a reward, my commanding officer gave me the honor of presiding over their execution.  The story got out and some officer had me promoted to corporal and transferred to another duty station.  That same officer helped me earn my commission."

"Than things worked out nice for you."

Greypaw felt his anger flare.  "Not at the price of five friends and an innocent family of farmers who were in the wrong place at the wrong time.  It wasn't worth it."

"And that gives you the right to abuse Tassel?  May I remind you she hasn't faced any judicial court?  She might go free.  Why else would they exempt her from the first trial?"

"Her being a badger protected her, or she would've joined her codefendants on the gallows.  Why it made such a difference is for those with a higher rank than me, but if the prisoner is lucky, she will spend the remainder of her life in a prison colony.  Based on the scuttlebutt I hear at the officer's mess, I'm guessing we are going to preside over her execution.  Tell me, Corporal, if I give you the order, do you have the will to yank the lever?  Can you watch her body dance at the end of a rope, hack off her head, and than mount it on a pike outside this castle's wall?"

Her shocked expression had Greypaw close his eyes once more.  "I didn't think so.  Let that be your first lesson; never refer to a prisoner by name or you may develop feelings.  Best you remember we become the instrument of the Law once judgment is made.  You are dismissed."

Captain Greypaw listened to the scrape of the doe's sandal as she turned to the door.  He heard the protesting squeal of the one hinge which defied any lubricant.  He didn't open his eyes or move until he detected the sound of his chamber door closing.  He retrieved the unread letter and scanned the pages without seeing any of the words.  His subordinate stole all the joy and anticipation the letter represented.  Greypaw dropped the letter on the nightstand and stretched out on his cot.  All he hoped for was the sweet oblivion sleep offered.

"Lieutenant Greypaw, enemy squad moving towards the crossroads."

Blinking his eyes open, Greypaw checked his surroundings.  The sun shone bright from the bluest of skies.  A soft breeze washed over him, stirring the leaves on a budding tree and carrying the scent of wildflowers.  Insects hummed in the late morning air near where he rested.

Then he remembered why anyone would disturb his sleep.  He slithered to a low barrier on his side of a wide field next to the hare who had awakened him.  Drawing closer to the buck wearing sergeant stripes, he scanned an area to the left of a tall evergreen on the far side of a clearing.  More than a dozen eager privates, each with their weapons drawn, awaited his signal.

Movement across the field caught his eye.  Ten soldiers hesitated at the tree line like the well trained military unit he anticipated.  His enemy scanned the open field.  While the ordinary soldiers wore a uniform, their leader wore an armored breastplate over his tunic.  The sunlight reflected off it, which caught his attention.  All of them remained alert as they searched the area and tested the wind for any scent of a trap.

"They must be a scouting unit for their main force.  If HQ is right, the enemy intends moving their supplies across this road when they launch the counterattack.  Eliminating those soldiers might just delay their deployment another hour or two.  We have an excellent opportunity here, sergeant."

"Begging your pardon, Lieutenant, but I thought our orders were to observe and report when they moved through the area with anything larger than a full regiment.  They didn't say anything about us starting our own little war."

"Sergeant, we can do that and slow them down at the same time by eliminating those scouts.  Whoever is waiting for their report will move with a lot more caution if he doesn't know our strength in this region."

Before his sergeant could respond, Lieutenant Greypaw gave a lusty war cry and charged the enemy formation.  Shouts rang out behind him as his unit followed him into battle.  Weapons reflected the sunlight as their opponents answered the challenge. 

The fox officer advanced.  His expression, detached.  His eyes focused on Greypaw as if no other opponent existed.  He held his weapon at the ready.  Their blades met.

Captain Greypaw bolted upright from his cot panting.  His nightmare had returned once more.  Now awake, the horror of his confrontation faded.  Climbing out of his bed, he smoothed his uniform and stepped outside his room.

All was dark.  As he made his way back to the cells, he detected the sounds of his squad sleeping.  Captain Greypaw approached the iron gate separating the prison area from the squad's quarters.  A lone guard remained on duty, his back resting against the bars.  The private jumped to attention.

"Is there a problem, Captain?"

"At ease, private; I'm just feeling a little restless and thought I would check on our prisoner."

The guard returned to his stool.  "When I came on watch, she was sleeping.  She hasn't stirred during my watch.  Unless there's a need to awaken her, my time here should be very dull."

Nodding in agreement, he moved beyond the guard.  The Captain strolled down the center of the walkway making no effort at stealth, yet not going out of his way to create a disturbance.  Another forty paces down the corridor and he stood outside the cell containing the badger.  He gripped the bars, leaning as far as he could into her cell without opening the door. 

Since her incarceration, the prisoner learned how to keep her restraints untangled.  He studied the long timbers resting on the stone shelf she used as a bed, wondering if she found it comfortable.  As his eyes acclimated to the darkness within her cell, he noted the peaceful expression on her face and the steady rise and fall of her chest.

His voice hissed so low even his own ears had trouble detecting the sound.  "How do you do it, sow?  How can you sleep when you have killed so many?  Even if the stories I hear are exaggerations, you must feel something.  I have got to know your secret; how do you vanquish your victim's face from your dreams?"

[cairn destop]

Move Out – Part One

Captain Greypaw never hesitated.  He entered through the designated door and found a seat to the rear of the room.  His subordinate, Corporal Sweetleaf, followed him and sat next to him.  They waited.

Long wooden benches lined the back quarter of the large room now officially known as the Formal Audience Chamber.  A menagerie of creatures sitting on the hardwood seats whispered to anyone willing to listen.  Each voice had a pleading tone as they kept an eye focused on the wide, central corridor.

A virtual army of scribes darted back and forth through the chamber.  Occasionally a scribe approached a bench and hiss out a name.  Like the waves created by a pebble dropped in a still pond, the name would pass down the length of the benches until somebody stood and waved their paw.  Once the scribe acknowledged them, the named beast would weave around those in the seating area until reaching the nearest passageway between the many seats or the main corridor.

There the scribe and named supplicant met.  The petitioner relayed the particulars of his or her request.  The two would continue standing before the hard benches until they concluded their business.  Then the applicant returned to his seat while the scribe strolled down the main aisle to an elderly hare.

Eyes of the curious followed the scribe as he handed a sheet to the hare.  A few unheard words passed between them before the scribe returned to his former station.  Upon receiving another slip of paper, the process would repeat.

Sometimes a contingent of creatures would pass down the central aisle bedecked in uniform of some ruling house.  One member of such a group would break away and jog to a hare guard.  After examining the proffered document held by the uniformed runner, the two would pass a brief word.   All would then pass the guard and gather about a hare dressed in a bright orange shirt.  The uniformed hare conferred with the delegation's leader.  When they left him, the cluster of creatures spread themselves along their designated cushioned benches.

Dignitaries and their entourage would proceed down the central aisle without consulting anyone.  Such individuals did not take a seat, but gathered in clusters that kept changing.  If one of these nobles raised a paw, some individual from the cushioned benches would dash forward for a hasty conference.  After a few words, the runners returned to their associates and relayed the message.  Once again, a single beast would dart to the noble where words were exchanged a second time.  Having concluded their conversation, the runner would return to his or her assigned seating area awaiting the next call.

"I thought this bloody meeting started with the ninth hour.  The hall clock just bonged the tenth and nothing is happening," grumbled Sweetleaf.

"Patience, Corporal; these nobles move at their own pace and in their own good time.  And if each has a petition for the king, it'll take a while sorting out priorities."

The Corporal leaned back as she muttered about the uncomfortable seating.  Captain Greypaw stared at his subordinate, saying nothing.  The teen doe's sudden silence let him know she understood his displeasure about her undignified reaction.   

Up front, a ferret bedecked in a bright blue outfit and wearing a black and white cape climbed onto the first raised step of the dais.  He turned to the assembled creatures and lifted a heavy staff.  When he brought it down, the room filled with the sound of thunder.  Twice more he lifted the rod and the room reverberated each time to a loud boom.

When silence returned, the ferret called for order.  The great lords and ladies moved with grace as they took their seats beneath one of the many standards hanging from the high rafters.  Once the nobles were seated at their stations, the Prime Minister raised his staff and again a hollow boom sounded.  All rose and gave a deep bow or curtsy when the badger king entered the hallway.  As he took his place upon the throne, all sat.

Though the room was large, its acoustics allowed everyone a chance at hearing everything discussed near the throne.  For the next two hours the king presided over a court of nobles as they debated such issues as the proper tithing of the latest crops and the best locations for some roadway.  Petitions from those gathered in the rear were read, with most directed to other officials.  A few of the affected supplicants were offered an opportunity at pleading their case before the badger king.

From the rear of the room, Captain Greypaw found the whole gathering rather boring.  Several times he resisted an overpowering urge for a quick nap.  When one petitioner droned on about the quality of one type of wood over another, it took all his willpower not to yawn.  His subordinate must be as bored as she broke military discipline to speak with him.  At least she kept her voice down to a low whisper.

"Other than some fiendish form of punishment, is there any reason why we're here, Captain?"

Up front, the King dismissed the latest petitioner.  The king addressed his Prime Minister, asking if anything else needed his attention.  Corporal Sweetleaf groaned when the ferret noted three unresolved issues.  Captain Greypaw reminded the doe about her location, demanding her immediate silence.

"Let me introduce one of the new servants assigned to your household, your Majesty."

During the long meeting, one hare sentry stood beneath an open window next to a lone female hedgehog.  When the Prime Minister spoke, the hare guided the hedgehog before the throne.  While the hare stood proud, the lady hedgehog kept staring at her feet.  A nudge by her hare escort had the female do a quick curtsy.  She never raised her muzzle.

"Ah yes, I promised your mate a place in my household two weeks ago, just before his execution."  There was a sly grin on the King's face as he leaned down and addressed the ferret.  "You said 'one of,' where are the other servants?"

Upon hearing these words, two hares moved the curtains lining the wall behind the throne.  From the hidden hallway three young hedgehogs entered the room.  One of the youngsters scanned the many assembled creatures before him and bolted from his older brother and sister.  The other two must have noticed the same beast and joined their sibling in a chorus of Mother.  Once a semblance of order had been achieved, the badger king leaned back, a smile on his face.  For the first time, the female hedgehog looked upward.

"If your mate spoke the truth, you will find life in my service quite pleasant.  Serve me well and I shall release you and your children."  With those words, the King dismissed the four hedgehogs.  All waited until the family and their escorts left the room.

"Our second matter is the retirement of a hare who has served you for many years.  Today is the last day for General Vindicarr.  He has decided to retire after more than thirty years of honorable service."

At the mention of his name, a tall hare approached the dais.  Attired in his best dress uniform, the brown-furred hare displayed an array of medals earned over his long and distinctive career.  When he faced the King, he snapped off a sharp salute and remained at attention.  Not until the badger acknowledged his presence did he assume a parade rest stance.

"I noticed your service record had you representing the Law in many tribunals."  A note of admiration tinged the badger's voice as he read the document he held.  "It also shows you have never lost when acting as a prosecutor.  I'm impressed.  Though you are no longer obligated to do so, I would consider it a great personal favor if you would accept one more case.

"Two weeks ago, I promised I would have a certain prisoner brought to justice.  As I was leaving my quarters for this audience, a runner delivered a priority message informing me the Father Abbot of Redwall Abbey has accepted my request.  This prisoner will be taken to Redwall for trial in a neutral location."

Then the King stared at the hare standing before him.  "If you accept this assignment, you will represent our Law, General.  Until the trial ends or a sentence rendered, your interpretation within their courtroom shall be considered final.  However, such power may not be enough since you must contend with a court which may value emotions over legal logic."

Without hesitation, the General barked out his reply.  "Ask and it shall be done, my Liege.  When do I leave for Redwall Abbey?"

King Meles smiled.  "And that brings up the final item on our agenda.  What is the status of our special prisoner?"

From the back of the room, Captain Greypaw nudged his companion.  Sliding into the narrow space between the bench and southern wall, Corporal Sweetleaf waited until her commander stood before her.  She then followed her commander to the wide aisle and remained a step to the rear of her Captain.  They advanced to the very front, standing before a gilded railing that was located halfway between the king's throne and the noble's seats.

After saluting his king, Captain Greypaw delivered his report.  "Your Majesty, our prisoner is just recovering from a grave illness and is not in the best of condition.  It will be another six days before she is ready for departure.  If you wish, my second-in-command will provide whatever further information is needed."

From the throne the King waved his paw as if he were shooing an annoying fly.  "How the prisoner is fairing is of no concern to me.  Prime Minister Resmallim will see that anything you need prior to departure is provided.  Although General Vindicarr will be presiding for the prosecution, his rank is now honorary.  Until a verdict is rendered, I give you full authority over the prisoner.  Inform me directly whenever you feel she is ready to travel."

All three hares clicked their heels as they snapped to attention.  This time, the King did not acknowledge their presence; instead, he rapped the armrest of his throne.  The ferret lifted his staff and three times the room vibrated with the boom his staff created.  Every beast rose as one and paid homage to their ruler before exiting the huge chamber.

A discrete cough from General Vindicarr brought the two hares to a standstill just as they passed outside the Formal Audience Chamber.  Ignoring the passing dignitaries, their aides, and the civilian supplicants, the General inquired about the prisoner's health.  Corporal Sweetleaf remained silent, acceding to her commanding officer.

"My report to the King was somewhat optimistic, sir.  We will be hard pressed meeting a six-day deadline."

General Vindicarr brushed the long fur hanging below his lower jaw with his left paw as he considered his options.  "Very well, Captain.  Have appropriate quarters made ready for my arrival.  I'll be there within three hours.  A great deal of material must be gathered if I am to plead my case; may as well use the time preparing."

While the General made his way down a side corridor, the Captain and Corporal descended an ornate staircase.  They maintained a brisk pace as they hurried through the citadel along a seldom used passageway arriving at a heavy door that squealed in protest as they opened it.  They continued down a steep flight of steps leading them deep underground.

When they reached the landing at the base of the staircase, Captain Greypaw took a path leading back to the prison cells.  Now far from prying eyes and even sharper ears, the Corporal posed a question.  "Begging the Captain's permission, why did you lie to the King?  We could leave right now if he ordered us to do so."

From the dark shadows surrounding them, a third voice replied.  "His words were in code, as ordered by King Meles."  The Prime Minister stepped out of a narrow side passageway.  "Each day equaled an hour."

"My question is not a challenge, sir.  I but seek clarification.  May I ask why the deception?"

Instead of answering, the Prime Minister followed the two hares.  After a quiet interlude, the ferret looked at the Captain.  "Any objections to my satisfying her curiosity?"

Shaking his head, the Captain remained silent. 

"You must understand the significance of the trial and execution.  The death of vermin is expected, but now all woodlanders know they too are subject to the same laws.  When the wolf died, it made the nobles vulnerable to our system of justice.  As a badger, Tassel represents not only her species, but the king."

Sweetleaf's expression reflected her confusion.  The Prime minister continued with his explanation.

"We know some factions among the nobles want this vermin badger tried and convicted in one of their courts, thereby assuring themselves a position where they could challenge the King's right to rule at some future crucial date.  Other groups want King Meles beholden to them by assuring whichever verdict the King prefers. Between these two extremes are some nobles who may try endearing themselves by removing such a troubling political problem with an assassin's deft touch."

"It doesn't explain the lie, sir."

Prime Minister Resmallim laughed.  "Our king has been harassed ever since the executions concerning the fate of this vermin badger.  King Meles knows these nobles have ulterior motives, which is why he chose a neutral site for the tribunal.  If any faction is going to act against the King, they will need time.  So while the nobles plot and scheme ways to snag this prisoner, your unit will slip outside.  By the time they learn the truth, you'll be at Redwall Abbey, safe from the influence of any interfering noble or whatever mercenaries they may employ."

[cairn destop]

Move Out – Part Two

Captain Greypaw and Corporal Sweetleaf returned to the prison area after their audience with the King.   He expected to meet with the Prime Minister later, but meeting him down in the mountain fortress's lower level surprised him.  Such secrecy and deceit might be considered normal by the aristocrats upstairs, but he was a soldier.  Give him a clear objective and let him do his duty. 

Once he assured himself all was in order, he retired to his quarters.  Too many thing needed doing before their departure.  He sent one member of his squad with a message to the Prime Minister.  With no other duties demanding his attention, he decided to catch a quick nap. 

The wall clock had advanced three hours when the guard on duty heard a hard rap on the outer prison door.  The soldier moved over to the viewing slot and slid the wooden cover to one side. 

A tall hare stood in the hallway leading to the prison.  His deep brown fur showed evidence of recent grooming as it had an extra lustrous sheen to it.  Just under his lower jaw, there hung a long beard that had undergone recent styling as it showed just a hint of curl at the very tips.  A heavy sprinkling of silver-grey throughout the brown fur on his face and exposed arms caught the light and sparkled.

Attired in a neat suit of light blue, the hare projected a professional air.  He might not wear a military uniform, but the sheathed sword resting on his side lacked the usual ornamentation favored by the nobility.  Just in front of him sat three large satchels, one of which showed numerous scrolls straining the backpack's leather straps.

The brown-furred buck aimed his muzzle at the opening as if he held a crossbow.  The two engaged in a silent staring contest.  The soldier waited.

"Well blast it all, private, open the bloody door and let me through," the fellow commanded.

The guard kept his voice modulated as even as possible, refusing to lose control of the situation by shouting at this intruder.  Instead, the hare tried a diplomatic approach.  "I'm sorry, sir.  Nobody has been authorized to enter this area.  Perhaps you became disoriented and should be somewhere else.  Tell me where you want to go and I'll give you directions."

Now the buck's initial note of authority carried a snarl behind it as the fellow raised his voice.  "By all the demons of Hellsgate, open this bloody door right now, before I have my boot permanently affixed to your cottontail rump."

The private closed the spy-hole cover, which ended their discussion.  Within a matter of seconds, the outer door shuddered under the fierce pounding of a fist.  Stepping from the closed door, the guard smiled as he listened to the muffled cursing emanating from the flustered hare.  The fellow continued his futile assault against the wooden barricade.

Captain Greypaw came rushing out of his nearby quarters.  He tried smoothing his uniform as he ordered everyone to assemble.  His irritation focused on the guard stationed at the main entrance.

"Didn't Private Kindrell tell you about our expected visitor?"  Seeing the guard's blank look was sufficient explanation.  "Next time I need everyone to know about a visitor, nobody sleeps."  Captain Greypaw pushed the beam locking the door to one side.  "Give me a paw with this door, soldier."

As the door opened, a very miffed hare stood there with his paw clenched and ready to batter the door once more.  Captain Greypaw might have thought the other hare's expression comical, but realized things had progressed too far.  He decided his best chance of defusing a tense situation was to take the offensive.

"Proper protocol requires you to present your authorization when challenged by a guard.  As an officer of thirty years, that is something you should know.  If you had, there would be no need for such theatrics."

"And a commanding officer is responsible for informing those under his command, Captain.  I wouldn't resort to such an outburst if the bloody private had asked me for my papers."  His voice continued verbally flaying Greypaw.  "Now get this door opened and have that idiot of a guard move my gear inside."

"You'll have to surrender your weapon, sir, regulations."

"I was an officer for thirty years and served as commandant to a penal colony for seven of those years.  Blast it all, I wrote the bloody regulations you're quoting."

"Then you'll have no objection to surrendering your weapon?"  He extended his paw while barring the other hare's entry.  "Since you are an officer, I'll return it to you while we are in transit, but until then, for the safety of my command and my prisoner, I will allow no outsider weapons within the confines of this jail.  As you said, you wrote the procedure, so you know them better than me.  No unaccounted for weapons allowed within the proximity of a prisoner while said prisoner is incarcerated and only trusted elders may have weapons if traveling with a prisoner detail."

Chuckling, the brown hare slipped off the sheathed sword and handed it to the Captain.  "Word for word as the manual dictates.  We'll get along smashingly." 

Captain Greypaw spent a few moments introducing his command before offering his guest a private room.  General Vindicarr surveyed his quarters and dropped his gear.  One backpack went under the table.  The satchel containing scrolls Vindicarr unpacked immediately. 

Though his voice remained just above a whisper, Greypaw overheard Vindicarr mumble various legal terms while arranging the documents on his cot.  Once the scrolls had been arranged according to its relevance to whatever legal issue he was studying, the former General ceased his one-sided conversation.

With the task completed, the former general asked a favor.  Without hesitation, Greypaw turned on his heels and beckoned.  In short order, four hares in uniform joined the Captain as they marched to the far end of the jail.  The privates remained in line behind the two officers as they stared inside the only locked cell within the prison.

They watched the badger as she rested on her plank bed gazing at the stone ceiling.  The general discretely cleared his throat, which had the prisoner's ears flick.  She turned her head enough that she could view the hares.

In the quiet following their arrival, the badger's gravelly voice held an ominous intonation.  "What's the matter, Captain?  Getting bored under all this rock?  Decided you would show off your latest catch?"

Her legs swung over the side and she rose to her full height, her restraints making a soft clinking sound.  Then she leaned against the alcove, which housed her bed, examining the brown furred buck.  Badger and hare remained locked in this contest of wills, neither wanting to blink first.

He knew Vindicarr's eyes missed nothing.  Her muscular tone made her a most formidable foe in a paw to paw fight.  That was true with any badger, but there were obvious physical characteristic setting her apart from all other badgers, such as her missing tail.  While his guest and prisoner were locked in their silent duel, the badger turned her head to the side.  Just enough to display the thin red scar that ran from the tip of the badger's nose to the back of her head.

"So this is the sow that has every noble's tongue wagging?  She's an insignificant pup, not worth their interest.  I'll have her head mounted on a spike within the hour and after another hour has passed, none will remember her name or what she looked like."

"Speaking of looks, General, you should see hers.  Turn your face, badger."

The prisoner shuffled forward without exposing her other side.  Having reached the furthest extension of her restraints, she leaned forward.  "Stuff it, hare.  I have no reason to dance to your commands."

Reaching into his vest pocket, Captain Greypaw removed a leather strap.  He then raised his other paw straight up, which had the other four hares step forward.  "Shall I give you a reason?"

Tassel turned her head.  When the General saw the horror inducing face, he recoiled.  His involuntary action had the badger chuckling as she returned to her plank bed.  "You've seen the freak show; now go scamper off somewhere and let me rest."  Her laughter followed them as they retreated in silence back to their living quarters.

Another three hours passed before Captain Greypaw knocked on the former General's door.  The Captain stood outside wearing a full field pack.  "I'm taking the unit on a long training hike through the caverns under Fiery Mountain.  Care to join us?"  The inflection behind the question let the General know he had no option but to join the others gracefully.

"My unit, as well as our prisoner, will be wearing backpacks filled with rocks.  Although I'll not ask you to do the same, I'll offer you the opportunity.  I'm sure you understand the need for such endurance training."

"Captain, anything that might knock that badger down a notch is worth the effort.  Hand me a pack; I'm not that much out of shape."

Vindicarr slipped the proffered backpack over his shoulder and stepped into the common room.  The brown furred hare almost blundered into the female badger.  Her quick snarl had Vindicarr jump back several paces.  The sow laughed until the private holding her leash gave the prisoner a light tap on her head with the shaft of his spear.  With order restored, the Captain exited the prison compound.

Twenty minutes into the trip, the Captain led them down a dim passageway.  At the end he made an unexpected turn.  Everyone marched towards a well-lit area further along the dark hallway.  Every private held their weapons at the ready, but none questioned why they broke such a well established training routine.

His squad entered an unfamiliar chamber.  The light did not assuage the unexplainable tension.  If not for military discipline, the unexpected appearance of a ferret might have led to bloodshed.  Each of the soldiers assumed a defensive posture at the unexpected encounter.  While his command stood at the ready, the Captain stepped forward, his weapon sheathed.

"You're late, Captain."

"Do you have everything in readiness, Prime Minister?"

"Supplies and gear for your unit, our prosecutor, and the prisoner, just as you requested.  I've also mapped out an underground route that will take you as close to your destination as practical. "

Greypaw issued his orders.  The hares shucked their rock-filled bags for a properly stocked backpack.  Each soldier checked its contents and soon had their gear resting comfortably on their back. 

Then it was the badger's turn.  Getting her backpack into place was done with a minimum of effort and she did nothing offensive since four of the hares had their swords drawn and at the ready.  The badger's eyes exposed her fear when the Captain retrieved a wooden yoke from an adjoining room and proceeded to fasten it.

"If I give you my word that I will cause you no trouble, will you leave that abomination behind?  With my paws chained, I'll be helpless, unable to even feed myself."

Captain Greypaw's monotone delivery held no sympathy.  "I consider the word of a prisoner worthless, and having you so helpless will make this a pleasant trip, for the rest us."

Prime Minister Resmallim remained silent.  When the Captain indicated their readiness, the ferret revealed the rest of his preparations.

"At the end of this passageway, you will ascend a long stairway that will have you reach the surface halfway between the fortress of Salamandastron and the harbor.  Proceed through town to the pier where a raft will ferry you east along the coast.  They will drop you off at dawn, none should detect your presence as your destination is far from any known homestead.  Once on land, avoid all travelers and make for Redwall Abbey."

Captain Greypaw gave the ferret a quick salute.  In less than a minute, they marched beyond sight of the lit room.  At the end of the stairway, they ascended a series of stone steps.  They exited the underground tunnel in an old warehouse.  A quick check of the street revealed no other resident within sight.  They left the building and jogged towards the harbor.