Redwall Abbey

Author's forward

This story is a fairly long one.  For ease of reading, I'll be releasing three chapters each week.  For the first week, that will be Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.  The post holiday start is what throws my usual timing down the drain.  After that, the chapters will be uploaded Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  The story will run fifteen weeks.

Each chapter is between 2,000 and 3,000 words. 

If you have not read any other work in my Vermin Badger series, don't worry.  Each is a stand-alone work.  Characters will be introduced as if this is your first exposure to them.  There is a sense of continuity between the various stories, but missing any will not affect this one.  If you have read any of the previous stories, you'll run into many familiar characters.  Otherwise, sit back for an enjoyable read.

For the enjoyment of others, I ask that you make any comments here (http://redwallabbey.com/forum/index.php?topic=2275.msg92783#msg92783).  I'll also provide a link in every third chapter.  So, until September 4, 2012, you'll have to wait.

Summer heat hung heavy over Redwall Abbey.  If any resident had chores that took them outdoors, they kept a pitcher of water close.  Even those who braved the bright sun for the shortest of times made some joyful exclamation when they returned inside the cooler Abbey.  Only the very young considered such a beautiful day a special gift from the Eternals as they frolicked under a cloudless sky, oblivious to the heat or humidity.

A woodchuck bounded out of the communal dining hall everyone called Cavern Hole.  He raced through the Abbey's long hallway towards the main doors.  In his eagerness, he did not spot the other creature just entering the Abbey.  They collided.  The youngster lay sprawled on the hardwood flooring staring into the hooded face of the other beast.

The older beast stood in the doorway framed by the sunlight.  Two black paws reached up and pushed her green habit's hood off her head.  "Why are you in such a hurry, my child?  The day is new and there is plenty of time for enjoying it."  The older squirrel reached down, extending a paw.  "So what has our young scribe so animated this morning?"

Hassellick accepted the squirrel's helping paw.  "Our Chief Historian told me at breakfast he is considering me for the position of historian.  I'm excited at getting to my new duties; I didn't look where I was going.  Accept my apology, Mother Abbot."

She smiled.  Now that she was indoors, the woodchuck could see how the Mother Abbot's green eyes twinkled. 

"I know all about your pending promotion.  Who do you think told me about it while we were conversing late last night?  I'm pleased you pursued this task with such diligence; I know how much the dust in our basements makes you sneeze.  I do hope your story is finished before next season's festival.  It can be part of our celebration."

With that, the squirrel continued on her way.  Hassellick remained by the front door and listened to the footfall of the elder's sandals as they ascended the marble staircase.  He watched the upper floor's railing, but the abbess did not reappear.  The sounds of her movement receded until the Abbey became quiet once more.

After closing the door, Hassellick stood atop the steps, scanning the courtyard.  Where shall I go? My mind is full of ideas, but none feels right.  Perhaps I should find a quiet place to consider my options.  Problem is, if I wander beyond the outer walls, some elder will decide I can better spend my time gardening. 

The woodchuck shrugged.  "One more dibbun by the swimming hole will never be noticed." 

As he passed a small stone, he gave it a vicious kick.  He watched it bounce across the cobblestone courtyard as he turned down another paved path.  "How I hate being called a dibbun.  I might not yet have the years to be an elder, but I'm not some irresponsible pup either."

When the path he followed continued beyond the small orchard, his eyes searched for a shady spot.  He slung his backpack down and knelt beside it.  His paws rummaged through the material he had gathered earlier.  He arranged all his writing implements neatly.  Satisfied, he leaned back and stared into space. 

His mind wandered.  Thanks to a light breeze, the rustling leaves created a kaleidoscope of green patterns against the blue sky.  A twig snapped so close that it startled him.  A glance to his left found the cause of the disturbance. 

"So, brother, what brings you outside when you could be working on your letters somewhere nice and cool?"

The female woodchuck stood next to his tree, her fur dripping wet.  For a moment, Hassellick considered sending her back to the swimming pond, but welcomed her company.  So many times in the past she had proven an aid to him, he couldn't dismiss her without cause.  It took no more than his paw patting a grassy spot.  The two rested, both comfortable in their shared silence.  When he began to speak, she leaned closer.

"I have a problem, sister.  I need a true story of Redwall, and I'm reluctant to go rooting through all those dusty scrolls in hopes of finding something everyone will enjoy.  If I cannot come up with a memorable story, I may lose this once in a lifetime opportunity at becoming the Abbey's historian.  But right now, my mind is a complete blank.  I have no idea where I should begin."

"Forget about entertaining everyone at our next season festival.  If the story you select doesn't move you, it will not capture their attention either.  You need something that fires your passions, dear brother."

With that, she gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek and made for the pond once more.  As his sister strolled across the grass, another beast turned to observe her approach.  The elder then looked in his direction; Hassellick waved a greeting.  The elder raised a paw before settling on the lawn, her back to him as she watched the many younger dibbuns enjoying the water.

Hassellick stared at the back of Redwall's most infamous resident.  At least he remembered others describing her that way when first they met.  Then, like the flash of lightning in the darkest night, an idea came to him.  Without moving his eyes from the unsuspecting female, the woodchuck pawed the ground as his fingers quested for his writing implements.  His pen raced across the paper in the special script recorders used.  He paused, once again gathering his thoughts.




Perhaps the greatest stories ever told are those filled with romance.  Love provides even the weakest of creatures, the strongest of motivators.  We willingly risk everything to gain what we see as a chance at happiness.  For love, we travel great distances.  For love, we sacrifice wealth, power, and position.  But is there a point where we fear to reveal our true inner self to another?

I shall relate a true account of our resident vermin.  Yes, such a beast lives within our Abbey.  It does indeed astound me Redwall would harbor such a creature.  From where I pen this tale, I can see her.  So I shall give you a story of love and hate, and how one conquered the other.  It tells how our own special vermin met another beast that saw her as a creature worthy of love.

All romantic narratives are enjoyable, but I believe they overlook one important element of life.  We cannot measure success with the blood of our enemies.  In our haste at penning the glories of our victories, we forget the tears shed by those who lost so much.  What we perceive as victory often has a high price, which brings me to my second tale.

This will be a story of two teens stolen from our midst.  They stand alone against a powerful enemy.  And we learn together the price of failure and the pain that comes with it.  Yet hope, like love, remains a potent emotion.  It keeps us moving when common sense tells us we should surrender.

Gather round and hear how I weave these two threads into a tale that would rival our Great Tapestry.  Though my saga shall focus on two hearts drawn together, it will also reveal the tragic events that parallel this love story as one could never be without the other.  Listen to my rendition of events that has such meaning to me, for I am a participant in this history.  And I challenge you dear reader to find me ... if you can.

The male badger ambled through the orchard.  His eyes scanned the branches as he passed each tree, the air redolent with apple blossoms.  The buzzing of bees provided a pleasant background.  Satisfied with what he saw, he moved to the next tree.

Another dozen trees passed his visual inspection.  Then he ceased his walking.  Unlike all the others, one high branch caught his attention.  The blossoms that delighted the eyes remained nothing more than tight buds.  

He made a quick trip to his cart and lugged back a ladder and several other tools.  In a matter of seconds, he grasped the branch, and with a swift motion, sliced one of the buds.  A putrid odor assailed his nostrils.  He tied a red ribbon about the limb at a point where it joined another that had a smattering of flowers.

"I see you have found us another good piece of firewood, brother."

He started sawing off the diseased branch.  "Broden, I still have another hundred trees to check before the sun sets.  Maybe if you would dirty your paws, the work would go faster, and you would still have time to chase every skirt in town."

"Now that cuts me to the quick, Bruno.  Here I come all this way with glad tidings and what does my brother do?  You insinuate my time going over the family's records isn't work?  Your talent is rooted in these trees while mine is found at the end of a quill.  Together we keep this place running at a profit, which allows me to chase skirts as you so crudely put it."

Bruno slid down the ladder and faced his younger brother.  He stared at Broden, his eyes noting the fancy shirt and the shine of the goat cart he rode.  Bruno leaned against the closed sideboard door.

"I'm wasting daylight standing here and I'm guessing some lonely badger sow is awaiting your return.  Unless you have something important to say, I've got work to do."

Broden's words carried a note of anticipation.  "There is a festival in town tonight and your presence is required.  I took the liberty of extending your acceptance when the invitations came in last week."  

Bruno gave a dismissive snort.  The two tethered goats took several nervous steps at the unexpected noise.  The seated badger spoke soft, calming words to them as he pulled on the reins.  Broden faced Bruno once he had the animals under control.  

"Our family is a prominent one and you neglect social duties.  And don't give me that 'you do enough for the two of us' speech.  It will do you a world of good getting into town and away from this orchard for a night of merriment."

Broden gave him no opportunity at responding.  With a flick of the riding whip, the two goats trotted off, leaving him where he stood.  Bruno sighed as he returned to his work.

Nightfall found Bruno riding with his brother along the main highway into town.  One displayed an animated anticipation while Bruno brooded in silence.  Broden drove the cart while providing a continual litany about the many sow badgers they would meet.  Bruno maintained his silence.

They had no troubles locating the festival.  The town's meeting hall had so many lights blazing that the surrounding area looked as if sunlight had lingered there for the party.  As the two badgers drew closer, Bruno recognized many of the town's other prominent members entering the building.  Lively music and louder laughter floated on the night breeze, promising an enjoyable evening.  

Just as they pulled up to the main entrance, a dibbun badger raced to the side of the cart and held out his paw.  Broden unlatched the door and without a word to the youth, dropped the reins into the child's outstretched paw.  The young boar climbed into the driver's seat and steered the cart into the livery stable.

Bruno hesitated by the town hall doorway while his brother hurried into the swirling mass of revelers.  Based on the number of celebrants, the festival seemed to have attracted more than just the locals.  He recognized many prominent residents from towns located more than a day's journey mixing with the local dignitaries.  If he read their expressions right, this social gathering also involved several discussions regarding some of the latest edicts from their clan chieftains, something Bruno preferred avoiding.

It took no more than a glance to distinguish the itinerant warriors and the successful merchants who traveled beyond the mountains.  Though none of the hired mercenaries carried a weapon, they dominated the gathered badgers with their physical appearance since they towered over the crowd.  Merchants may have lacked their size, but made up for it with their fancy attire and an open display of flashy jewelry.

Older males remained clustered in groups towards the rear while their mates gravitated to tables near the refreshment stand.  Unattached males and females vied for attention from their counterparts; the dance floor filled with those who succeeded for the duration of a dance.  Music and voices blended as a pleasant background.

Those entering the hall jostled Bruno as they passed the stationary badger.  A quick exchange of apologies and the newest arrivals joined the growing throng.  He found no means of escaping the crowd without drawing attention.  Bruno worked his way through the press of bodies towards the bar located near the back.  

No sooner had Bruno gotten a drink than a nearby boar placed a friendly arm around him.  His paw firmly clasped to his shoulder, a reluctant Bruno went to a table near the dance floor.  Once there, the badger responded to the many boars gathered at the table by name as he introduced Bruno.  

Despite his initial feeling, Bruno relaxed.  The talk proved stimulating as these prominent leaders discussed current events beyond their clan's territory.  The pleasantries ended when one local merchant broached a subject that divided the entire region.  

"So tell me Bruno, how do you feel about outsiders coming to our valley?  A landholder like you with so much property must have some opinion."

Bruno nursed his drink while his eyes scrutinized the fellow.  Though his garments appeared lavish, they lacked the well-tailored look of the more successful traders.  The amount of golden rings and bracelets paled next to some of the more prominent merchants he noticed as they danced with some sow dressed in their finest.

"That depends on how you define outsiders, sir.  If you mean as fellow merchants and trades beasts, I would welcome them.  Competition for our harvest could mean better prices."  The fellow squirmed.  "Something tells me your meaning is different, dangerously different."

The merchant coughed.  "I'm talking about workers.  The plateau of the Nine Badger Clans hasn't seen another species cross those hills in close to a thousand years, or so the stories go.  Some say we need no outsiders.  Others claim our kind would welcome a fresh outlook.  As one of this town's largest land owners, your opinion carries a lot of weight."

After draining half his mug, Bruno set it down.  He took a deep breath and released it before he spoke.  "You understand I speak from ignorance since I have never ventured beyond our clan's borders.  However, if the stories about the special services other species can provide are true, I would welcome them.  Our orchards might become more productive with squirrels.  Moles could be most useful as mining engineers, and I understand voles are known as excellent scribes."

The merchant's voice sounded vexed.  "You dodge the issue like a pup questioned by an angry mother.  Our leaders fear new arrivals will try settling here.  They would steal our land if given the chance.  Are you willing to lose what your family earned over several generations?"

"Workers are welcomed, but I also hear rumors of slavery coming to our lands.  I believe fair wages will prove far cheaper than forced labor."

The merchant' response supported the economics of slavery; Bruno bared his teeth.  Such ill manners did not go unnoticed.  Another boar placed his paws on Bruno's shoulder, keeping him in his chair.  Bruno kept his voice civil, but felt his hackles rise as his anger grew.

"Cheaper sir, I think not.  Slaves must be housed, fed, and clothed.  One also must guard such property, least it be lost.  A gold coin has far more power than chains or a strong paw wielding leather.  The only ones who benefit are those lacking a soul and willing to barter or sell such creatures."

The merchant remained oblivious to Bruno's growing ire as his expression never changed.  "That is not what your brother said last week.  He supports those who believe we should be expanding beyond our mountain borders.  After all, badgers are physically and mentally the better of other creatures.  It is time we assert our leadership and take advantage of whatever we find."

"Now I understand you, sir."  Bruno tried to maintain a serene expression, but his flexing fists betrayed his growing anger.  "In a war with outsiders, you stand to make a great profit since you have exclusive rights to the raw iron from our mines.  You hope to use such wealth in securing a slaving franchise for this region and profit from the blood and misery of others.  It's not going to happen."

"Haven't you heard?  Six of the nine clans were overthrown by the Expansionist in a bloody coup within the last month, including ours.  Half the merchants and warriors gathered here came to discuss the change in leaders.  Talk of importing slaves is but one issue."  The merchant waved his paw in an inclusive gesture.  "We all stand to make greater profits when the remaining three clans realize the error of opposing progress."

He pointed at a boar dancing with his mate.  "Tetsen has already said he would purchase as many slave miners as I can get him.  Unlike you, he sees the wisdom and profit such workers offer.  Even your brother said he would give serious consideration to acquiring slaves."

Bruno lifted his mug and drained it in one pull.  He placed it on the table before he stood.  This time no restraining paw kept him in his chair.  Bruno leaned over the table, his muzzle within inches of the merchant.  They remained in this pose for several seconds before Bruno's claw toppled the merchant's full mug into his lap.

"You are the most contemptible of creatures.  You deal in death and misery for gold while remaining untouched by any of the bloodshed.  If you ever come to our land with slaves, I'll use their chains to remove your head."

The badger spun around and left the table as fast as the crowd allowed.  With every step, he struggled to control his temper.  When he came to an open window, he stood before it and drew in a deep calming breath.  His jangled nerves had him jump when another paw tapped his shoulder.

Turning, Bruno gazed upon one of the most eligible sows living within the town, a lady he had wooed for several seasons.  The two conversed for several moments on less disruptive topics, both sharing a laugh at the local gossip.  A dainty cough from the sow had Bruno wave his paw until a server refilled their drinks.

Bruno spied an empty booth near the back that offered more privacy.  She smiled.  They settled on the plush cushions.  Bruno wasted no time.  He asked her about the prospect of a more serious relationship.  He never expected such an amused look.  Every time the sow looked his way, she giggled.

By the time the lady recovered, her expression had morphed from amusement to a more serious one.  "How shall I put this, Bruno?  You're a wonderful companion, but you've lost whatever appeal you had as a prospective mate."  She stared down at her drink, the silence stretching as she chose her words.  "Your brother's support of the Expansionist means he stands to become both wealthy and a prominent leader, two qualities ranking high with any eligible sow.  And, you do know Broden will be inheriting your father's estate?"

"By right of firstborn, I inherit, not Broden."  Bruno could not disguise his simmering anger.

The expression Bruno saw reminded him of a school teacher trying to impart a basic fact to a dense student.  "That only applies if there is no will."

"Father has no will; he never saw any reason for such a document."

"I work with our town recorder and can assure you such a document is on file.  Your brother submitted it on your father's behalf two days ago.  It names him as sole heir to the family's wealth.  That's why I sought you out tonight.  If the rumors are true, your father's illness has him near death.  I thought it best to let you know before the rest of the town learns you have been reduced to a moneyless tenant on your father's land."

Bruno tried hiding his shock.  Before he could say more, his friend reached over and touched his arm.  Her expression now reminded him of the healer who had diagnosed his father's ailment as terminal two months back.  When the silence between them grew uncomfortable, Bruno raised his mug, hoping the additional time would spur his lady into saying something.

"I also wanted to let you know I intend accepting Broden's marriage proposal.  He said he would make the announcement public a month after your father's death.  I can wait that long as a sign of respect.  I also believe him sincere, despite his reputation with the sows."  Bruno stared into the woebegone eyes of the lady he thought his.  "I do hope we can remain good friends, but I must consider my future.  Your brother will have everything; I'll not be the impoverished mate to some lowly field worker.  I deserve better."

Setting his mug down with extreme care, he bowed to her and excused himself.  He made his way to the exit, resisting the impulse to find his brother.  With their father comatose for the last two weeks, he knew Broden forged the will and got several of his drinking cronies as witnesses.  He could not win any public confrontation since others would see it as the actions of a disinherited brother seeking vengeance.  Bruno surrendered to his only viable option.  He left the dancehall.  The long walk home would give him time to consider his future.

The male fox polished the glass while leaning against the bar.  He lifted the tumbler and held it up to the nearby lantern, checking for any water spots.  Satisfied, the barkeep set the clean wineglass in its proper place.  He selected the next one and repeated the process.

His eyes wandered up and gazed into the long mirror hung against the back wall and observed his other workers.  The rasping sound of the cornhusk broom drew his attention in the otherwise quiet inn.  His eldest pup swept the floor with a broom that had a handle taller than him.  His niece struggled with a pail of soapy water that stood half her height and probably weighed a quarter of hers.  She placed the bucket by a table and after dunking her washcloth, climbed onto the nearest stool.  The girl leaned over the table and scrubbed the mess left by a recent patron. 

A door to his left opened, and a second male fox exited the kitchen carrying a basket filled with beer steins.  They exchanged no words as the dishwasher replaced the empty basket with one containing cleaned beer steins.  The second fox leaned against the ice-filled cabinets located under the bar; Kiyesh noticed how Dasher enjoyed the pleasure of something cold against his back.  Dasher removed his dirty apron and threw it into a hamper next to the bartender.

"I'm telling you Kiyesh, if that pup back there drops just one more plate, I'll box his ears."

Kiyesh reached for another beer stein.  "Don't be so hard on the lad.  I remember a certain pup who broke so many tumblers when he started here grandpa seriously considered using pewter mugs."

"Was I ever that young and clumsy?"   

Kiyesh listened as his brother admonished the young female about all the water she slopped onto the floor.  When Dasher shifted his position, it left the bartender the option of talking to his back or turning around.  The number of steins still needing attention eliminated his second choice.

"Business is a bit slow with the farmers between seasons and so many merchants preferring the rivers," Dasher muttered.

Kiyesh snorted.  "In the spring, barges go downriver.  In the fall, they go upriver.  The rest of the time the waterway is too dangerous because of the ice or the rapids.  That's when we have our busy times.  I like these quiet moments.  And we have enough locals to remain profitable."

Their conversation ceased when the tinkling of a bell heralded a new arrival.  The first fox continued polishing the stein he held while his eyes appraised the new customer.  The unknown beast lingered within the shadowy alcove, remaining nothing more than a silhouette.  Even that proved enough for the fox's discerning eye.  He knew the local farmers who frequented his place, so he labeled this beast as some traveler who had pushed on in spite of darkness.

The stranger stepped into the light.  While Dasher went to welcome their visitor, Kiyesh scrutinized the male badger.  Based on the gauge he used for unobtrusively sizing up his newest guests, the fellow stood a bit taller than most of the badger merchants who stopped at their inn.  His garments appeared too plain and the walking stick he held lacked any metal sheathing that would mark it as a weapon. 

Even from across the room, the bartender noted the broadsword's handle just behind the male badger's back.  Since he lacked the intimidating build or swaggering arrogance common to badger warriors, Kiyesh figured his weapon provided protection along roads frequented by bandits rather than as something for sale to the highest bidder.

Kiyesh continued polishing the glasses while his brother greeted their newest guest.  A quick nod from his brother sent Kiyesh bustling about behind the bar.  A twist of the handle and a short wait had a mug filled with chilled cider.  Without breaking stride, the fox exited the bar and approached the table where his newest guest rested.  A glance at the two working pups had both retreating to the kitchen area.  Cleanup could wait until their customer departed.

He settled the mug on the table and with a practiced move had the handle sitting within his guest's reach.  "It's quite late to be traveling, stranger.  Why didn't you bed down when the sun began to set?"

"There will be time enough for rest after I locate those who guard the prophetess.  The proprietor at the last inn said her home was some six-day's journey down this road.  I've been traveling almost eight."

"I take it you're not one for long journeys since merchants have no problem reaching us in that time, unless there are heavy rains or bandits.  My eyes tell me you are a simple farmer, and since such badgers seldom venture from their lands, you must have a good reason for seeking out this witch."

"My reasons are my own and no concern of yours.  I'll explain all only to the witch everyone claims can foretell the future.  If you can direct me, I would be most grateful."

The barkeep flipped the towel he carried over his shoulder.  Reaching out, he spun an empty chair around and sat down.  His arms acted as a cushion for his muzzle as he leaned on the backrest facing his guest. 

Though the badger had the advantage in height while standing, each could look the other in the eye while sitting across a table.  They remained in this pose until the badger reached into the backpack on the seat next to him.  The sound of a heavy pouch of coins landed on the table and the fox eyed the bag.  The badger eyed the bartender as he awaited some reaction.  At last the fox spoke.

"My name is Kiyesh, and I would be remiss as a host if I didn't offer you a room for what remains of the night.  Come morning, I'll contact the lady you seek.  If Melody deems you worthy, she will let us know and you can see her the following day.  If she refuses, a dozen gold purses like that one will not change her mind.  As to price, that is something we can discuss later."

Kiyesh's fingers twitched but he made no move for the coins when he stood.  The fox summoned the male pup from the kitchen.  Some quick instructions and the lad led the badger towards the stairway.  The second fox joined Kiyesh as they watched the fox pup and badger depart.

"Is he the one?"

A light chuckle came from Kiyesh.  "She said he would be a misfit that came in the dead of night.  His appearance does match her words.  Advise our cousin of his arrival and tell her everything you can about him; though I have a feeling she knows more about this badger than she told us."

The badger remained at the lodge another two days.  With the third dawn, Kiyesh summoned Bruno.  He led the badger along a winding trail deep into the woods.  The badger kept his weapon sheathed, while Kiyesh remained unarmed.  The sun had nearly peaked when the fox stopped and pointed to a path hidden by several trees.

"There is the path you must follow, Bruno.  Our lady awaits your arrival.  If you prefer calling her by name, she is known as 'Melody the Miserable,' and after you meet her, you'll find it a fitting title."




The badger hesitated.  Behind him, the fox retraced his steps.  Bruno stood for a moment as his mind considered his options.  He then shouldered his backpack and growled at himself for wasting daylight.

As the trail ascended, Bruno paused.  A short distance to the north he recognized the mansion belonging to the kin of the fox prophetess.  Tilled fields to the east gave the land the appearance of a green quilt.  A collection of simple huts hugging the lone road marked the location of a village.  Seeing the farming community made him think of his homeland.

Off to the horizon he could just make out the cliffs that surrounded the plateau where the badgers lived.  He hesitated, but then he remembered why he had parted with so many coins before leaving the lodge this morning.  When the route he followed led to another side of the hill, he lost sight of the many lands he crossed since leaving the place of his birth.

Bruno continued his climb and after another hour came to a clearing.  A simple log cabin sat on the far side of the wide glade.  It had a wide awning over the porch for anyone sitting in the chairs arranged like soldiers along the wall.  Smoke rose from the stone chimney and the sound of somebody singing floated across the open field.

Reaching the door, the badger gave a firm rap.  Just as he decided to give the door a second and harder knock, he detected the sound of somebody moving within the cabin.  A bolt slid back, and the door opened.

Bruno's jaw fell as he met the cabin's inhabitant.  The vixen stood tall, though her head came no higher than the badger's shoulder.  The lady's fur glowed from a recent brushing and when she moved onto the porch, he inhaled the scent of wildflowers.  Her garments mirrored those any farmer would consider appropriate, simple but functional.   She stepped into the sunlight and the badger beheld a vixen in the prime of her life. 

Before he could speak, the vixen pointed to another path.  She stopped halfway to the new trail, and glanced at her guest.  Bruno followed her.  Together the two strolled to the very top of the hill where they could survey the surrounding countryside.  They stood in silence.  Bruno felt her fathomless amber eyes measuring his soul. 

"You have the look of one who finds joy when his paws are coated in dirt.  Why would such a simple beast come to my door?"

Bruno gave a slight bow.  "Forgive me for saying, but from all that I heard, you should be an old crone.  Tales within my homeland and the gossip of those I met on the road speak of an ancient witch with the gift of foresight."

Melody gave a lyrical laugh.  "They describe my mother.  Our family has sired a soothsayer as the first-born daughter for more generations than I can count.  When mother died, I became the prophetess.  If you do not believe I have her gift, return to my kin and whatever gold parted from your purse shall be returned."

He gave her offer serious consideration.  What value did the advice of a charlatan hold for him?  Then again, did he have any other option?

The badger cleared his throat before he replied.  "I seek knowledge of my future.  Will you tell me what lies ahead?"

"First, a warning, badger; I can read the river of time and interpret the currents.  However, the future can be changed by knowing what Fate has decreed.  Because of that, she refuses to give up her secrets in a straightforward manner.  My readings often come as riddles, or poems that might help or hinder your desires.  I make no guarantee of clarity."

She tapped her finger onto the badger's chest.  "Not all who climb this path are granted a reading.  Fate often withholds her secrets or deems the beast unworthy.  I believe they may be the lucky ones." 

The vixen took a step back.  "I can tell yours, but would caution you not to ask me anything.  Reclaim your gold and leave with haste.  Better it would be if the future revealed itself as it does to all creatures; one moment at a time.  Should you be foolish enough to still desire knowledge of what the Fates will reveal, heed my words."

Melody continued; her voice filled with a melancholy tone that Bruno found frightening.  "When I read the future, I will answer a single question, which you must ask with great care.  An ill worded question, or one that is too vague, cannot help.  Once your question is asked, I cannot answer another until a full year has passed.  Such a limitation the Guardians of Fate will not change.  Tomorrow at noon, return and we shall talk."

That night proved restless.  Bruno kept replaying their conversation.  His mind kept bouncing between his two options.  Yet he could not dismiss the stories about her powers.  If true, her help could prove invaluable.

When he arrived at the hilltop the next day, Bruno found the vixen staring across the valley towards the mountains surrounding his homeland.  Though Melody did not look at him, she must have sensed his presence.  She kept her muzzle lowered as she voiced her concerns, never looking at Bruno.

"Though we have never met, I know you, sir.  Whatever action you take, or fail to take, will have repercussions you cannot ever imagine.  And how do I know this?  My curse is fathoming the many possibilities the future holds.  I know the price others will pay because of your foreknowledge."

Melody descended from the rocky outcrop and deemed the badger worthy of her attention.  Together, the two returned to the log cabin.  Just before she entered, the vixen blocked the doorway.  Badger and fox stood there for a brief moment before Melody stepped aside and waved Bruno inside.  She remained standing in the entryway.

"Despite my best efforts, you have your question ready to ask, that I see by your expression," she lamented.  "Inside, I shall drink of a potion spiked by a measure of your blood.  Once drunk, you may ask me your one question.  What words I speak, are from my vision of the waters.  Expect no help from me and depart without delay.  For a vision of what can be shall create a burden few would accept.  I prefer not helping you avoid whatever course Fate originally intended."

Having said this, she slowly entered the cabin.

Bruno slid his chair back.  He stood in the darkened cabin and circled the table.  He approached the beast sprawled across the rough planked table.  When he stood behind the vixen, he reached down and lifted her.  Though an adult, Bruno carried the lady fox as if she weighed less than a basket of fruit plucked from his family's orchard.

In an adjoining room, Bruno found Melody's bed.  He laid the fox atop the quilts and withdrew.  He stoked the fireplace and placed another log on those still burning.  Confident that the fire would keep the simple cabin warm, he started for the door.  Just as he touched the handle, he hesitated.  Bruno returned to the table and collected the paper sheet he forgot.

He sat on the top step while he held the document.  A stiff breeze blew and several times it tried stealing the paper.  His fingers remained locked on it.  The continual snap and pop of the fluttering sheet accompanied the music of the swirling breeze as it stirred the leaves.  Bruno tested the ink.  When the letters did not smudge, he folded it and placed it in his backpack.

He had to choose.  Bruno descended the hill until he reached the rocky outcrop where he met the prophetess that morning.  Staring off to the horizon, he focused on a grey line that smudged the green landscape.

Those mountains are like walls that will entrap me if I return home.  With the death of father, my brother has become lord to our family's estate.  Can I abide life as a servant on my own land when I believe my brother stole what was rightfully mine?  If war comes to the Nine Clans, which side shall I support?  Yet I fear peace most of all since it will mean we are taking the war to others.  A war will bring slaves to our lands.  Can I only add to their suffering regardless of the course I choose?

Such thoughts clouded the badger's mind as he stared back along the road he traveled.  Bruno recalled telling his brother about his upcoming trip and how Broden laughed.  It did not assuage Bruno's anger at his disinheritance when his younger brother assured him he would continue as the chief groundskeeper for the orchard.  

Bruno did enjoy watching his brother dodge the many sows he promised to marry.  Prominent families added even more pressure as Broden turned such evasions into an art form.  Yet that did not make him long for home.  He remembered how those sows had enticed him as possible mates until the contents of his father's will became public.  After that day, none did more than display proper manners around him while shamelessly courting his brother.

His mind recalled the last village he visited atop the badger plateau.  There he spoke with the merchants and debated politics with his fellow badgers.  Warriors added their opinions.  Some welcomed war against outsiders while others saw any upcoming civil war as a cleansing.  Bloodlust ruled both sides.  Only the target remained undefined.

Several merchants leaving for the lowlands discussed the need for soldiers as the clan's former leaders recruited armies against the rebels.  They welcomed any who would stand with them.  Other departing merchants said the same about the rebels.  Warriors discussed the upcoming conflict, debating which side they would join and tried enlisting anyone who listened.  By the time Bruno retreated to his room, his head spun.  

Those conversations kept replaying in his mind.  Then he remembered the other creatures he met along his journey.  Until then, such beasts as squirrels, moles, hedgehogs, and foxes existed only in stories relayed by traveling merchants.  Whatever he knew of them came from tales that might have exaggerated some points and ignored other important facts.

Bruno had never previously met such creatures since he kept to his family's holdings or the nearby badger town.  Meeting them opened his eyes to the outside world.  They were simple farmers who treasured the land and their families just as he did with his father's orchards.  Knowing such creatures would suffer first if war ever spilled outside his homeland mountains saddened him.  

The sun passed its zenith and still he could not make up his mind.  He wondered if he should return to the land of his ancestors or seek another path.  A soft voice surprised him out of his reverie.

"Sometimes clarity comes with the morning, Bruno."

"You startled me Melody."  When Bruno saw the vixen's mouth open, he hastened his comment.  "What you said will help, but right now my mind churns like a dust storm."

Melody smiled.  "Did you know your coming was foretold to me in a dream?"  She paused until Bruno turned towards her.  "Every prophetess in my family sees the future in a different way.  My mother saw it as a huge library where the words of ones fate are inscribed on scrolls.  A wise owl always led the way to whichever scroll she needed.  I always envied her visions as they seemed simpler than the ones I experience."

Bruno nodded, not because he understood but sensed she expected such a response.  When the silence became unendurable, the badger again focused on the distant mountains feeling the call of home.  Yet his curiosity got the better of him and he asked the beautiful fox how she saw the future.

"I see time flowing around me as if I travel along a river.  Most of the creatures who receive a reading from me are quite ordinary.  It takes no special effort divining their futures.  The currents of time are strong and push such beasts to an inevitable destination.  Fate doesn't allow them many options.  I float over these waters on a raft that lets no wayward drop touch me as it could distort whatever reading I give.  My journey always ends when I see a crane standing on the shore dip its head.  I immerse my paw in the river, and all is revealed."

"I feel the key word in your statement is 'most.'  Something tells me mine was different.  It had to be so different you feel compelled to explain yourself and your powers."  Since Bruno continued staring off in the direction of his homeland, he did not see how the fox reacted to his words.

"Before you climbed my hill this morning, I sailed that river.  For the first time, something pushed me overboard.  I swam the waters of time.  Making my way to shore had me experience more possibilities than I wanted.  It frightened me.  I felt every outcome and knew my words would help some, and condemn others to a horrible death."  Melody's voice cracked, and she remained silent for a short time; she continued her tale.  "When I reached shore, the crane had me heft a boulder that could only be lifted in the reality of a dream.  When I held that massive rock, I saw your face and knew your past as if we were family.  The crane ordered me to throw it into the river."

Melody's paws rested on the badger's shoulders.  "My dream ended when I threw the rock.  I awoke and went about my normal chores until your arrival.  After my trance, I finished that dream.  Once more I found myself in my boat, and what did I see?  I saw that rock still suspended in the air, darting across the river like a dragonfly.  All I can tell you is that whatever choice you make, the flow of time will be forever altered.  The river cares not about you, only what happens because of you."

Bruno said nothing as he considered the lady's words.  When he turned to face her, he found himself alone.  Shouldering his backpack, the badger followed the trail downward.  While his mind replayed the day's events, his feet carried him back to the inn without any conscious effort on his part.

A light knock on his door the following morning preceded a sumptuous meal.  While he ate, his paw dug through his backpack until he found the parchment sheet.  His paws smoothed out the creases as he read the words written but a day earlier.  Moving to a desk, he took quill and ink.  Once he copied the prophecy, he sanded the page.  Now that he had a clean copy, he balled up the original and heaved it into the fireplace.  Moving to a chair bathed in sunlight, he read the cryptic message.

Behind are lands of long ago
To the fore lies a world yet to know
History gives thee lots of joys
The future morrows with girls and boys

There be two paths before thy feet
One goes forward, another does retreat.
Yet each is your Fate's mirror face
Time is short, so start the final race
Onward murderer in the sea
She shall look a lot like thee
You will on her back the waters cross
Once beyond, your past is lost

Seek the road for the end of day
Briny smell follows all the way
Last path will take thee through the thorn
Blood changes to stone in the morn

Travel long to find what you seek
A faceless mate that is far from meek
Final words, will you turn away
The choice be yours on a moon filled day

The badger studied the message until the morning sunlight shifted.  A shadow from a passing cloud reminded him that he could not delay some decision.  After he secured the witch's prophecy in his backpack, he exited the building.  Neither the proprietor nor the few guests within the common room tried engaging him in conversation.

Bruno stood on the porch facing the road.  To his left, the way he came.  His eyes stared in that direction for several moments.  The badger gave a snort and stepped off the porch.  When he reached the center of the dirt path, he turned right.

"It's time I stop wasting daylight."

Bruno considered it fortuitous meeting the caravan boss less than an hour after leaving the Inn operated by the witch's kin.  One look at the armed badger and the shrew stumbled over himself doing all he could to hire Bruno.  Once he learned the caravan's destination, he agreed.

After two weeks of hard travel, they reached their destination.  With less than a hundred meters to go, the caravan boss signaled a halt.  Each driver in turn came to a stop; the goats snorted as they shuffled in place. Bruno shaded his eyes as he searched for some explanation for the delay. 

Three armed ferret guards followed a wolf as they approached the wagon train waiting outside the walled city.  The caravan boss strolled up to the wolf and greeted him like a long-lost relative.  They hugged and slapped each other's shoulder in an open display of friendship before they moved to the first wagon.  The two remained inside for a brief time before both rejoined the guards.

Once the shrew and wolf exited the wagon, they approached the next cart in line.  Bruno watched as the three ferrets inspected the cart's cargo.  Items would be moved about and words would be exchanged in hushed voices with the wolf officer, who then conferred with the shrew boss.  Once satisfied, they moved to the next wagon in line.  This routine continued with the cart Bruno guided.

While the shrew who led the caravan examined the manifest under the watchful eye of the wolf, one of the city's guards approached Bruno. He did nothing more than ask for the badger's name and purpose; the ferret guard's manner suggesting such questioning happened so often it became a boring routine.

Satisfied with his answers, the party moved to the next cart.  Bruno made sure nothing had been shifted or damaged when the guards inspected the packed merchandise.  When he saw everything remained undisturbed, he strolled over to the three goats tethered in front.  He gave each a quick pat, which kept them docile. 

Within the hour, the guards hurried back to the front of the caravan while the wagon train boss jogged a few paces behind them.  From Bruno's vantage point, he could see the city's guards enter a nearby building.  When the wolf exited a few moments later, he gave an exaggerated wave.  From the lead wagon, the voice of the wagon train boss bellowed.  Each driver relayed his orders to the next in line and the wagons rolled towards the open gates.  The caravan encountered no more delays as it entered the walled city.

Bruno's eyes tried drinking in all the sights as he guided his cart.  Signs on many buildings advertised merchandise.  Others had wall-sized glass panels that allowed the menagerie of creatures passing an opportunity at seeing inside.  Everywhere Bruno looked, he spotted beasts he heard merchants describe, but had never seen before leaving his homeland.

At long last, the caravan pulled into a fenced-off area.  As each cart came in, a bored weasel would call out the cargo's destination after conferring with the shrew.  The weasel consulted the papers he held while a crew of beasts dashed up to the cart and unhitched the goats.  The wagon train boss pointed at the animals and then to another building.  Bruno accepted the silent order.

Bedding down the goats within the stable took little time.  Bruno then followed the other wagon drivers into another building and waited in line.  A few moments later he walked outside with a heavier purse.  The voice of the shrew boss called.

"Friend Bruno, are you sure I cannot talk you into staying with us?"  The wagon train boss stood at the gate, blocking his exit.  "You have a strong back, a quick mind, and a sharp blade; all are great assets to caravans traveling open country.  And didn't I tell you the truth when I said we paid well?  You would be a great asset."

Bruno flipped his purse in the air before catching it.  "Good fortune smiled on both of us when we met, but I have other plans.  I thank you for the silver and your company on the road."

The shrew's jovial smile melted, replaced by a slight frown.  "Then let me give you some good advice.  Keep your purse hidden and be cautious on the waterfront, if that is still your intended destination.  Pickpockets abound and some ships have oars filled not only with slaves or condemned criminals, but with those who awakened from a hard knock to the back of a head."

Bruno signaled his understanding by moving his purse to an inside pocket where his vest hid its presence.  With a quick wave, the badger left the merchant standing at the corral.  Bruno took but a dozen paces more before joining the throng of creatures beyond the gate.  He followed the flow at a leisurely pace, taking time to examine several shops that caught his interest.

After a long and tiring walk, he noticed the subtle changes of the city.  When he first arrived, the buildings lining the street were small.  As he walked, residential structures dominated the area, along with the businesses that catered to their needs.  Homes gave way to merchant buildings that encompassed an entire block.  Instead of shoppers, he passed workers traveling towards the waterfront or returning to their homes. 

By late afternoon, the waterfront beckoned.  It didn't come close to matching the descriptions others gave him while traveling to the city; it was worse.  Every large building had a sign announcing the name of some warehouse.  Taverns sprouted like weeds, each advertising some local or exotic beverage.  Boarding houses faced the waterfront; many appeared so dilapidated he wondered if they were condemned buildings filled with the city's derelicts.   Instead of an occasional guard making his presence known, squads of armed soldiers patrolled the streets. 

As Bruno strolled by the piers, he dodged the numerous carts rumbling between the nearby warehouses and the waiting ships.  He ignored the brothels and paid little attention to the deafening music that came from every tavern.  The odor of rotting fish, pitch and garbage, along with the scent of the salty air, spices, and perfumes made his nose twitch.

Standing close to the waterfront, the badger found identifying the many merchant ships easy if their aft end faced the shore.  Bruno sometimes had to walk the length of the pier before he knew a particular ship's name if its bow hung over the street.  One such ship's figurehead displayed a black and white fish with red teeth. 

According to the witch, I was to seek a murderer on the sea that looked like me.  Well, if such a fish does exist, it has my coloration.  Judging by the creature's expression, it must be a fierce one.

The badger walked onto the pier.  His route to the ship remained serpentine as he dodged around the many dockworkers.  He approached one otter who supervised those loading the ship.  A quick inquiry had Bruno mounting the gangplank in search of the captain.

When he reached the main deck, he turned aft.  Crew beasts ignored him as they continued working at a frenzied pace.  Bruno approached a set of double doors located halfway between two ladders leading up to the quarterdeck.  With a firm knock, he announced his presence.  A muffled voice summoned him inside.

Having spent the last two weeks sleeping on the ground, the captain's quarters appeared opulent.  The cabin walls were a dark shade of wood, a patina gleaned from many years plying the seas.  Its deep color acted as a stark contrast to the lighter shade of wood found on the ship's deck.  Windows to either side stood open, allowing the many port smells to invade the room.

Dominating the portside corner stood a large, time-worn desk.  All kinds of documents covered it, strewn in a haphazard manner.  Pictures of several otters and numerous ships decorated the walls.

Behind the desk, and with his back to Bruno, sat an otter with a quill.  The fellow ignored his guest for a moment as his pen flew across the paper.  When he finished, he stuck his head out the nearest window and shouted.  A few seconds later, some beast knocked on the door, leaned inside, took the document the otter had penned, and left without speaking.

His work done, the otter faced Bruno.  "You have come at a bad time, sir.  The cargo handlers were late, and I must be gone before the tide changes.  So state your business as we will depart within the hour."

In stature, the otter seemed no taller than most of those Bruno saw running about the dock.  The fellow looked trim, though age caused his features to sag somewhat.  His hazel eyes reflected a keen intelligence and a no-nonsense attitude. His brown fur showed much graying, which enhanced his air of authority even while standing before a badger who towered over him.

"My name is Bruno, and I seek the captain of this ship.  If you are him, I need passage to your next port of call."

"Well, I be Captain Oxbow, and this be my ship, but I'll not take passengers.  I can see no profit in accepting some creature that is more burdensome than perishable cargo.  This is a work ship; I'll not let any of my crew become your servant."

Bruno pointed to a large table on the opposite side.  "Can we at least discuss it?  Perhaps for the right price you would reconsider."

At the mention of price, one of the otter's eyes widened.  Captain Oxbow strolled to the table and sat on a stool.  He waited until Bruno joined him.  Each of them stared at the other for several moments until the otter plucked a pipe from an inside vest pocket.  He sat there enjoying his smoke until a nearby clock tower chimed.

"The Orca is a merchant vessel, not a pleasure ship.  If you come aboard, I expect you to share the rowing duties alongside my crew.  You'll do other duties as I'll not have some beast eating my food without working for it.  Though I hate having somebody new to the sea on my ship, I might if the price is agreeable."

Bruno tried hiding his surprise when he heard those words.  "I thought ships such as yours used slaves or condemned convicts as rowers."

The otter gave a low growl.  "For short trips along the coast, I find slaves efficient, but on this voyage, I cross an ocean.  Chained rowers eat as much as any crew and can be more trouble than pirates or mutineers.  On longer voyages, I prefer a hold filled with cargo rather than rowers.  More cargo means greater profits."

Bruno dug deep into his purse.  Holding his paw above the tabletop, he unclenched his fingers.  Coins danced on the wooden surface and made metallic sounds whenever they touched.  Bruno watched the old otter sweep the coins closer to him.   

The captain shouted and the otter who greeted Bruno at the gangplank entered the cabin.  "We have a passenger, one new to the sea.  He tells me he can row and is willing to work.  See that he has a place to sleep with the crew as we leave as soon as those fools on the dock finish loading our cargo."

Before Bruno stepped outside, Captain Oxbow pointed a finger at him.  "If you be running from the law, or if any inquire about you, I'll not risk my ship, or my reputation as an honorable beast for your safety."  With that threat delivered, the otter returned to his desk.

The otter summoned by the captain led Bruno through a hatch and down a series of ladders to the rowing deck.  When the otter officer entered the area, conversations ceased as everyone moved to their assigned oar.  The crew beast Bruno replaced thanked him as he scurried topside. 

Over the next five hours, Bruno rowed when commanded.  The officer barked orders and the crew did as directed.  When the officer announced they were clear of the harbor, the otters manning the oars shipped them.  As one, they filed out of the room.

Every rower groaned or thanked their crewmates as the new shift slid the resting oars outward.  Bruno forgot about exchanging pleasantries when he examined his paws.  The wooden shafts had rubbed them raw.  In spite of the many seasons working as a farmer on his father's land, he gave a groan as he stretched long neglected muscles.  Since none told him what to do next, he followed the relieved crewmembers as they moved aft. 

The crew climbed one deck up and traveled down a short corridor.  Bruno soon found himself standing in line as others ladled out a generous portion of food.  Never did simple fare ever smell so delicious or taste so good.  Bruno polished off everything given him.  When the otter who sat alongside him mentioned sleep, Bruno decided to go topside.

Daylight had disappeared.  A few shuttered lanterns mounted along the gunnels gave just enough light to illuminate the deck, but did not dispel the surrounding darkness.  Bruno's wanderings led him to the very bow of the ship.  Standing at the point where starboard met port, he stared into the endless sea ahead. 

Bruno studied the inky waves as they passed the bow, each a repetition of the one before it and a duplicate of the ones that followed.  His eyes shifted to the horizon, but sea and sky shared a deep blackness.  Only the constellations distinguished sky from water.

The smell of smoldering tobacco came to Bruno's nose and he turned his head seeking its source.  Captain Oxbow stood next to the badger, his face visible each time the otter's pipe flared like a miniature blacksmith's forge.  "Our ship runs dark in case pirates stalk the area.  In another hour the port city's lights will be below the horizon."

He faced forward, his eyes never turning from the course of the ship.  Bruno wanted to project confidence, but his voice betrayed him with its melancholy tone.  "My future lies wherever this ship goes."

"Darkness upon the high seas can prove a frightening experience for young and old alike.  It can extinguish the very fire from your soul.  Without the benefit of any beacon to guide you, the feeling of helplessness and loneliness can overwhelm one's senses."

A mirthless laughter rumbled deep within his chest.  "I have the prophecy of a witch acting as my guide."

"Then listen to an old seadog.  Charts are good for taking you where you want to go, but sometimes you have to alter course.  The wise captain knows when to do just that.  It might take you longer getting to port, but a ship resting on the ocean's floor does none any good."

"Would you shake your tail child, there's so much to do and you're dawdling in there."

"I have everything I'll need for this upcoming trip.  Why do we need to go to this market together?"

Tassel rapped on the closed door to the washroom.  After the first series of knocks, she waited.  When Tassel grew tired waiting for the mouse to finish preening, she started pounding. 

Kurella rushed outside and tried giving her badgermom the friendliest of smiles.  Stepping past the door, the petite mouse gave a slow spin, allowing Tassel a chance at appraising her attire.  Though the mouse wore a dress that had faded over time, it still held the sharp creases a hot iron highlighted. 

She did nothing more than grunt, pleased she selected her best outfit.  Kurella opened her mouth, her eyes beseeching the badger for approval.  Tassel silenced her by displaying two copper coins in her paw.  The mouse took the offering.

"Jazzin came for you when the tower clock struck the quarter hour."  Tassel smiled when she noticed a slight blush touching the mouse's check.  She watched Kurella dance in place with a worried look as her eyes darted to the closed door.

"Unless your friends grew weary waiting, they're outside.  I expect to see you at the market later so we can shop for a suitable backpack.  I'll not have one of mine moving to a new village dressed like a beggar.  No apprentice healer should look like she needs the charity of others." 

Her gravelly voice held a note of pride as she scrutinized the teenaged mouse.  After finishing her inspection, Tassel dismissed Kurella.  The elder's eyes followed the teen as she raced to the door. 

The badgermom stepped inside the washroom and surveyed the destruction.  Every girl living under Tassel had primped all morning in preparation for market day, so the room received even more abuse than usual.  Tassel hung several dropped towels, placed discarded garments in a nearby hamper, and returned grooming tools to their respective boxes.  Her work done, she beheld a tidy washroom. 

"At least it'll look neat until tonight."  She almost laughed at the thought of a washroom that remained neat.

As she turned, she caught her reflection in the looking glass.  She hesitated.  In height, the female badger might pass as a dibbun on the cusp of adulthood.  Like all badgers, her body had the distinctive black and white markings, but there similarities ended.  Unlike other badgers, she had no tail.  Such a missing appendage masked her moods, and Tassel knew it sometimes unnerved those around her. 

She scrutinized her reflection and shuddered.  Even after so many years, the face staring back came from a nightmare from which she could never awaken.  Her paw traced her disfigurement in slow motion. 

With a conscious effort, Tassel moved her paw away as she adjusted the lay of her dress.  A glance into the mirror before her reflected the image of her back in the looking glass mounted on the opposite wall.  Whenever she groomed her back, the comb bounced over her scars.  Knowing the marks came from the woodlanders she served made them a shame she could hide, but never remove. 

Tassel withdrew a cloth mask she kept in her dress pocket.  With practiced ease, she slid the form fitting cloth over her head.  A flick of her ears assured her that the fabric did not rub against them.

Again, the mirror reflected her ignominy.  The numerous scars about her wrists prevented fur from covering them.  These bare spots, as well as the matching ones about her ankles explained the reason why so many within the Abbey reviled her.  She knew her stockings covered the marks on her ankles, and after she slipped on her fingerless gloves, her confidence returned.

She exited the dormitory and turned down the second floor hallway as she made her way to the office of the Father Abbot.  While she strolled along the carpeted path, her mind played over her intended conversation with the ruler of Redwall Abbey.  Good fortune smiled on her as the father abbot's secretary noticed her arrival and announced her before she reached the door.  The badgermom stepped into the office.

The woodchuck behind the desk laid his quill down and leaned back in his chair.  "Why Tassel, I didn't expect you in here, not on such a beautiful day.  As soon as I finish with these letters, I'm going to wander through the market.  But that's for later.  So, how may I help you?"

Tassel's well planned conversation evaporated like smoke on a windy day when Father Hughnaught looked her way.  "Can I have three silvers?  Kurella needs some things before her departure and today's market is my last chance to purchase them."

"You're not one to belabor any request.  Still, why do you need it from me?  What about your share of the canning?  Wouldn't that give you more than enough money?"

This time the gravelly voice did not mask her anger.  "Loamripper informed me at breakfast today I would receive no payment.  When two certain hares vandalized my garden last week, I lost everything.  Then, after spending yesterday helping with the canning, they cheated me of my share.  That lady mole even said my labor wasn't worth a copper, let alone an equal share of whatever they realized selling the canned goods."

The father abbot's paw played with the quill he had discarded earlier.  "I didn't know."  The silence hung heavy.  "As to who wrecked your portion of the garden, that is conjecture.  Just because our two hare guests had muddy footwear the night your garden was wrecked doesn't mean they did it."

Tassel turned towards the door.  Father Hughnaught called her back and opened one of his desk drawers.  A moment later, the badgermom left the father abbot's office with the requested coins. 

Winter still held the land, but its grip had been broken.  Sunlight offered the potential of warmth, not just its illusion.  The light breeze no longer contained a bite; it carried the scent of wildflowers too long dormant.  Residents and visitors filled the courtyard dressed in lighter garments than those worn but a week earlier, their voices no longer marked by a frosty cloud hovering before their muzzles.

She descended the steps and proceeded to the line of stalls erected by visiting merchants.  The din from many vendors barking out their sales pitches, and the continual haggling of buyers made the courtyard a festive place.  As Tassel drew nearer, her nose detected the aroma of exotic spices and perfumes mixed with the mouthwatering scent of tasty treats.

A glance to her left and Tassel spied the seven ladies she helped that morning.  While most remained seated on the shaded bench, one stood before them speaking in an animated manner.  As she drew nearer, she overheard the mole report how much each would receive.

"Then you did well selling what the winter gardens produced, Loamripper?"

The lady mole pivoted on one foot as she faced the approaching badger.  Loamripper's muzzle rose slightly as she stared into Tassel's eyes and her back stiffened as she stretched to her full height.  The mole's right paw pulled a kerchief from her opposite sleeve and held it before her muzzle, her expression making it obvious that she smelled something most unpleasant.  Her voice changed from bubbly animation to a chill that put winter to shame.

"Our decision is final."  Loamripper glanced behind her and saw the other ladies nodding in unison.  "You'll not receive a copper.  It was our produce the merchants bought; none came from your garden.  We'll not cut our share so a beast living on our charity can squander it on herself."

Tassel's gravelly voice matched the chill of her accuser.  "Aye, this Abbey's charity keeps those orphans clothed, fed, and sheltered.  The coins I earn are used for new garments, which are a special treat for those who must scavenge through discarded items others outgrew.  It allows me a chance at providing something special on birthdays and at the Dibbun Day festival, like the one we celebrated a month earlier."

One squirrel interrupted the verbal duel.  "You would think our abbey provided more funding," the squirrel hesitated, "unless it went elsewhere.  Dibbuns shouldn't be cheated on such a special holiday."

A second mole snapped her fingers.  "I thought that one gift looked familiar."  She turned to the hedgehog sitting next to her.  "Didn't your daughter have that same doll two years back?"

The hedgehog stared at Tassel.  "Cheating a child out of something new must be a common thing for vermin."

Another squirrel gave a dismissive snort.  "Could you expect anything else when you house such nice children with a convicted criminal?  Despite such a poor example, those youngsters know their manners."

"That's a real testament to abbey life," Loamripper said.  "Abusive vermin cannot break a good woodlander, no matter how hard she tries."

The other mole described an incident at last night's dinner where Tassel scolded a child for something she thought insignificant.  The ladies then recounted the local gossip about suspected abuse of the orphans as if the badger didn't exist.  Tassel withdrew.

"I knew this would happen."  Tassel growled under her breath.  "I told the father abbot my working with those ladies would not change their opinion of me.  Knowing how many times Loamripper entertained those two hares, I wouldn't be surprised if they didn't plan the destruction of my garden."

Rounding a row of stalls, the masked badger found a mixed group of older teens sitting on a shaded bench.  Kurella sat among her friends as they gossiped, unaware of her approach.  The mouse, Jazzin, stood behind the girl, kneading her shoulders.  Tassel thought the two mice made a wonderful couple, though she didn't know if the teenaged son of Redwall's champion warrior found the girl more friend than prospective mate.

Like a living shadow, the squirrel Firecrown stood to the right of Jazzin.  As a fellow warrior in training, the two remained inseparable.  Tassel's eyes noted how much of Firecrown's head fur had faded to a light grayish color over the last few seasons.  The top of the squirrel's head remained a bright red, validating the name his parents gave him at birth.  Still, she wondered if even that patch would disappear over time.  The idea of a grey squirrel with such an unsuitable name amused Tassel, which dispelled the gloomy feelings she had but a hundred paces earlier.

A light giggle came to a sudden halt when the female mole sitting next to Kurella noticed the female badger.  As Loamripper's only child, Tassel expected the same degree of animosity from Terranoir, but the girl always treated her with deference.  She did get a bit tongue-tied around elders, and acted a bit too submissive around her parents, but the young mole liked Kurella.

"Need I pull you away from your friends, or did you find a proper backpack?"  Though delivered with a soft tone, the gravel in Tassel's voice made her words sound more like a threat.

Firecrown reacted to the perceived danger by moving to a point where he could intercede if Tassel made any aggressive move.  The squirrel's paw reached for his reed sword.  He focused on the badgermom, anger smoldering behind his eyes.  Jazzin kept massaging his girlfriend's shoulders while shifting his weight away from the squirrel, ready to circle the bench in the opposite direction.

Kurella answered her badgermom, since she must have anticipated the question.  "I found one that is reasonably priced."  Her paw pointed down a long line of stalls.  "We can pick it up now, if you wish."

Tassel noticed how Kurella's calm reply defused the building tension without her even knowing it existed.  Firecrown retreated; he crossed his arms and leaned against a shade tree.  The anger kindled in his eyes snuffed out by his friend's casual reply.

Jazzin shifted his focus back to massaging the girl's shoulder with renewed vigor.  Hearing the girl's response had the warrior mouse in training give a sharp snort.  "You told us you preferred the other backpack, Kurella.  If you let me haggle with that otter lady, I can get it for less than two silvers."

"Two silvers is an exorbitant price."  Tassel's paw dug into her pocket and flipped the requested coins at Jazzin, who caught them without thinking.  "For that much, I expect nothing less than the highest quality.  If you can get it lower, then the four of you can spend the rest celebrating Kurella's departure.  I hope you all enjoy your time together as she leaves in five days."

"We're going too." Terranoir almost whispered.

Before the masked badger could ask for clarification, Firecrown left his post by the tree.  "Her father's help is needed on a construction project at the same village.  Foremole agreed to let Terranoir accompany us.  Jazzin and I will be traveling along as additional guards, though I doubt there will be trouble.  The village is more than a two-day journey from the sea."

Tassel expressed her wishes that the trip would be pleasurable before she returned to the bustling marketplace.  She recalled how many others approached the father abbot with some excuse to join those traveling to Plintar when he made the announcement at last night's dinner.  "That girl is so popular I bet half this Abbey would tag along if given the chance."

She stood by a stall, weighing the options as to which skeins of yarn she should purchase.  She felt another beast tap her on the arm, and she turned.  There stood the father abbot dressed in his traditional green habit, the hood hanging down his back so he could feel the cool breeze ruffle his fur.

"You need not repay me for those coins I gave you this morning.  I collected half a silver coin from each of the other ladies as land rent.  So you see, Tassel, I even made a profit for our poor Abbey."

"And they parted with their money without complaint?"

Father Hughnaught spoke as if he were describing the weather and not the reaction of several ladies denied something they thought theirs.  "They squawked like hens with their head on the chopping block, but eventually paid me when I told them it was to reimburse the Abbey for the money I gave you.  Needless to say, those ladies were not too happy."

Though Tassel made no reply, her mind screamed. That's just great.  Now those ladies will have another reason to resent me.  Is there anything else you can do, Father Abbot, to make my life here any less pleasant?

When the door opened, a metal tab attached to the upper corner struck a brass bell.  The tinkling note echoed throughout the empty shop as it announced a customer.  It rang a second time as the door closed.

From a back room a female vole appeared.  In one paw she held a broom and in her other a dust tray.  She smiled at her guest and swept the floor.  With a quick pace she gathered the errant tuffs of fur and soon had everything tidy.

"You're a bit early, Tassel.  Give me a moment to clean up from my last group of customers."

The female badger stood just inside the furrier shop and swiveled in place.  "I do hope you don't expect me to sit out here where anyone could see my uncovered face."  She paused.  "I think you can understand my reluctance since you know what I look like.  Even my dibbuns have an adverse reaction the first few times I'm unmasked."

Henrietta finished sweeping the last bits of fur into the dustpan and dumped it into a trash receptacle.  "My customers prefer a communal setting, but I can understand your reluctance."  The vole pointed to the store's rear.  "My next three appointments are in an hour and, in the meantime, I'll leave a sign on the door saying I'm closed.  That should assure us privacy.  If some beast ignores it, we'll have the door to the back room shut and I can deal with the intruder without any risk of them seeing you."

Tassel followed the vole to the back room and gave the place a cursory inspection.  The windowless room had two wall length mirrors hidden under a heavy tarp.  Satisfied none could see her, the female badger disrobed and sank into the massive tub resting above a bank of smoldering coals.  After a few tentative tries, she sank into the hot water and let out a contented sigh.

The vole allowed her customer a few moments to enjoy the warm water soaking out all her tension.  Henrietta began rubbing a foamy soap into the badger's pelt.  When she finished, she rinsed the soap out of Tassel's fur and had her stand in a second, but empty tub.  Tassel did not move as Henrietta started her work.  The thick towel felt warm and the vigorous rubbing had the badger purring with delight.

"When one of your little ones said you needed to see me on an emergency basis, I was happy to find an opening in my schedule.  Now I understand why." 

Henrietta stepped back and examined the badger.  With the exception of the bare skin rings around the ankles and wrist, the fur remained winter-thick, but thickness didn't concern the vole.  Henrietta's paw pushed the stained fur against the grain as she inspected the underlying coat.  Her tongue kept a steady clicking as she circled the badger.

"There's no way I can salvage your winter coat; the coloring goes right down to the skin.  Good thing spring is almost here.  I suggest you sit closer to the fire on cold nights and add another blanket to your bed."

Tassel examined the orange streaks staining the fur on her arms and chest.  "A bucket of dye propped over my door doused me when I got up this morning.  It ruined my dress and left me looking like this.  I don't mind saying I thought one of the dibbuns I care for did it, but their eyes told me the truth."

Henrietta laid out her clippers.  "Considering what happened yesterday morning, I believe Markus and Darlow did it.  Those two hares dyed Robertasin's sheep and then scattered them throughout the pasture.  Yarden described it as the funniest thing he saw in a long time.  Imagine red, blue, violet, and yellow sheep wandering around a green field."

The badger did not join the vole's laughter.  "How did Robertasin take it?"

"You know some of the elders here call her 'Thunderhead' because her temper is like a storm cloud when angered.  She sure lived up to her nickname.  Robertasin caught them in the act and tried braining them with her shepherd's crook.  Good thing those hares could outrun one very irate squirrel.  Yarden said he watched that black squirrel chase those two for close to an hour before she finally gave up.  I'll not repeat what my mate said she shouted; I'm too much a lady for such language.  My guess is they saved some of the dye for you."

Henrietta then recounted the Abbey's gossip mill's version of what happened when the hares faced Father Hughnaught just before dinner.  She grumbled about his lack of control; somebody needed to rein in those mischievous teens.  Henrietta recounted the many pranks attributed to the two teenaged hares and how the father abbot did nothing.  The vole stopped her monologue when she noticed her customer's silence.

"I do wish you would stop moping every time I mention my mate's name or that of my toddler.  You make any conversation difficult as I'm always afraid my words will have you acting like one of your youngsters denied a treat."

Tassel shifted in her chair, allowing the vole a chance at trimming another section of her coat.  She kept quiet while the metallic clicking of the scissors continued.  As Henrietta selected a different clipper, the badger spoke in a subdued tone.

"Every beast in this Abbey has a mate, or a good chance at finding one."  Tassel's gravelly voice held no emotion.  "But me, I'm condemned to this Abbey, never able to venture beyond its outer walls, and I can count the number of male badgers that have visited this Abbey on one paw.  Every time I hear those wedding bells, I get so depressed.  I feel like a clay vase that will never know the kiln's fire."

The vole stopped her work, stepped back, and admired her effort.  Tassel allowed Henrietta a moment to make her final inspection.  When she said nothing more, the badger started dressing.  She then placed two large copper coins in a tray by the covered mirror.  The vole tried returning the coins, but Tassel refused.

"Redwall pays you for grooming those under my care.  That payment doesn't cover me.  I'll not accept charity, though I am grateful for the offer."

"Then consider this a favor returned between friends.  If you hadn't stayed with my daughter while I was at the market, I never would have gotten my clippers sharpened."

Tassel pocketed one of the coins as she left the room.  Henrietta retrieved her broom.  Just as the doorbell sounded, she called out to the badger.  "Before you leave Tassel, any word on your request to the father abbot?"

Tassel crossed the shop and exited the room giving no indication of having heard the vole's query.



The brown squirrel stood at parade rest before the massive desk, his paws clasped behind his back.  Just over his head he caught sight of his bushy tail and noticed how the hairs at the very tip twitched.  His mood darkened as he concentrated on the task before him.  His eyes wandered to the large window that dominated the wall he faced.  Sunlight streamed into the room giving it a bright appearance and added warmth. 

Behind the desk sat the current leader of Redwall Abbey.  Karteel remembered the woodchuck had been one of the first to greet him two winters back when his wanderings brought him to this impressive fortress.  Until now, he never had an excuse for visiting the office.  In the past, the squirrel preferred discussing matters informally over a gaming table.

Karteel kept his voice devoid of any emotion as he held his irritation under control.  It would be counterproductive if their conversation turned into a heated shouting match.  He knew words spoken in anger seldom persuaded another to change their opinion.  A calm voice always worked better.

"I remember my words from two months ago, Father Abbot.  With everyone getting antsy confined to the building due to the heavy winter snows, it sounded like a great idea.  You were most enthusiastic, and I was pleased so many of the residents joined the classes I held in the Abbey's basement."

The woodchuck's eyes never strayed from the paper.  "Your idea of training everyone in basic weapon's skills and defensive tactics did indeed help everyone overcome the winter doldrums.  If they don't continue the training now that the snows are gone, I'll not force it.  We are a peaceful Abbey; you knew that when you settled here, Karteel."

The squirrel took a deep breath and let it slide out before replying.  "According to the merchants I talked to yesterday, slavers are active in the regions to our north and west.  Though no community east of the Grand Spur has been attacked, it is best all are prepared.  I'm just concerned about our conversation from last night.  If I am correct, you expect me to train vermin too?"

Father Hughnaught lifted a quill and began writing, his eyes fixed on the material before him.  "I'm not asking you to turn our resident nanny into Redwall's next champion warrior.  Just give her enough attention so she feels confident with her weapon of choice."

Karteel interjected a strong note of displeasure.  "As a matter of courtesy, Father Abbot, could I have your undivided attention?"

The father abbot stopped his work.  He leaned back in his chair, his paws forming a platform for his muzzle.  For the next moment, the two remained in this silent staring contest until the woodchuck shifted in his chair.

"What more is there to say?  You voiced your objections while we played Siege last night.  Nothing you said then has changed my mind.  Tassel asked me before dinner if she could take lessons and even Nivek supported her request.  If Redwall's champion warrior thinks it a good idea, I see no harm."

"No harm?"  Karteel couldn't keep the shock out of his voice.  "You would have me train an enemy how best to defeat us?  I said it before and I'll say it again, if this Abbey ever does come under attack, either keep her locked in a secure place until our enemy is defeated, or kill her.  She's a menace to every honorable beast residing here."

The father abbot's voice remained unruffled.  "You're too inflexible.  She has proven herself trustworthy with the dibbuns I placed in her care.  Though I wouldn't classify her as an enemy, I can well understand your reluctance.  If you think you are unable to act like a professional soldier, name another drill instructor."

"Have you been taking heed to some of our most respected elders?  If even half the tales about her treatment of those under her care are true, she needs no training from me.  As I hear it, she is quite deadly when armed with a willow switch.  Why give her access to a real weapon?"

Father Hughnaught leaned back in his chair, his expression calm.  "Such stories were circulating even before I confirmed my predecessor's decision to have Tassel named Redwall's badgermom.  Each has proven false, though I investigated any that sounded creditable.  I can remember ordering Tassel to have one or two of her youngsters taken to Healer Fazbee, or I had a dibbun sent to the infirmary without her knowledge.  Not a shred of evidence supports the accusations of abuse."

Like any tactician thwarted on one front, Karteel tried another approach.  "Would the Counsel of Elders support your decision?"

The father abbot's voice remained unruffled.  "I understand you made sure they knew about her request.  Think I didn't see you conversing with them after our game?  Before I even had a chance at breakfast, they stormed my private quarters.  Two threatened a vote of no confidence, but that will not sway me.  Such a vote for my removal as the father abbot requires an overt action from Tassel that proves my decision endangered the residents."

"If you insist I go forward with her training, she will find others of her ilk.  Before long this Abbey will be a smoldering ruin.  Vermin will be dancing on our graves."  Karteel could not keep his voice from climbing several octaves, though he kept it low enough that anyone outside could not overhear his words. 

The calm voice of Redwall's ruler sounded more like some beast describing the progress of this year's crops and not somebody in a heated verbal battle.  "Yes, I'm taking a risk, but I believe she will tire of the lessons just like many of the others.  Her responsibilities as badgermom weigh heavily on her, so I doubt she will show much progress.  If you feel so adamant about training her, I'll have Nivek take over when he returns from Plintar."

Karteel adopted a more civil tone.  "I'll inform the sow that her first lesson will be this afternoon."

He marched out of the office and closed the door.  Once outside, the squirrel emitted a low growl.  With a conscious effort, he unclenched his fists.  The sound of another beast taking a deep breath had him turn to his right.  Karteel noticed the secretary staring at him with eyes as big as saucers.  He took a moment and smoothed his shirt, acting as if the red-furred mouse didn't exist.  With the nonexistent dust removed from his tunic, he addressed the lady as if he just noticed her.

"Mark my words Cinnamon.  We shall all rue the day somebody placed a weapon in that vermin's paw."

Within the dark clearing, a fire burned.  Sparks leaped into the sky before they faded into nothingness.  Light illuminated but a small portion of the wide field, yet in that limited space, shapes moved.  The silent darkness became a shroud that morphed the nearby forest into stalking creatures ready to devour any who strayed from the protection of the fire.

A twig snapped.  Heads turned towards the unknown disturbance.  Several of the silhouetted shapes stood.  Paws reached for weapons.  Firelight reflected off the metal surfaces, giving the illusion these weapons now held the power of the flame.

"I say old chaps.  Is there any room at your fire for a squad of patrolling soldiers?  We've been traveling for some time without seeing anyone and it would be jolly well nice sharing your company." 

Out of the darkness emerged a tall figure.  The male hare stood ramrod straight as he entered the light.  He held his paws away from his side.  His camouflaged-colored shirt had no sleeves, which gave his powerful arms free rein.  The matching britches ended above his knees, which exposed muscular legs.

In coloration, the hare's fur displayed two distinctive shades.  Like a line drawn through the middle of his body, the left side showed the off-white shading of dingy sheets.  His right side showed blotches of brown on an otherwise bright-white background.  The fellow's brown eyes reflected the light of the fire, adding a devil-may-care twinkle to his broad smile.

One of the beasts standing near the fire spoke.  "Unless my eyes deceive me, that's the uniform of the Salamandastron Regulars."  The creature approached the hare and extended his paw.

"Right you are, sir.  I'm Lieutenant Snellzen, and we're at your service, at least for tonight.  Do hope you don't mind entertaining guests."  The hare shook the stranger's paw, accepting the test of strength the male mouse initiated.

While the hare squeezed the mouse's paw, another half dozen hares entered the circle of light.  Like their leader, all wore similar outfits, though none displayed a rank insignia higher than Lieutenant Snellzen.  No weapons were drawn, though the hilts of sword or axe rested within easy reach.  One male, whose physique overshadowed the other hares, carried a wooden club capped in metal against his shoulder.  The lone female in their group carried an unstrung longbow over her back along with a wicked-looking blade riding on her hip.

Both warriors released their grips.  Each of them flexed their fingers, satisfied with the draw.  The male mouse beckoned the hares closer.  "Your company is always welcomed.  There's plenty of room around our fire."

A deep rumbling voice responded from the dark.  "It's good to be welcomed by friends."

If the hares appeared tall, the apparition that stepped into the clearing made them the size of dibbuns.  Everyone took an involuntary step back at the unexpected sight of a full-grown male badger.  The handle of a war axe showed above his shoulders and the blade reflected a reddish hue from the fire.  Compared to the hares, the badger's muscular build overpowered everyone.  Those camped at the fire openly stared at the powerful beast.

Though what he wore resembled no uniform, the hares treated the badger with a special deference.  He approached the campsite as if he owned it, never acknowledging the courtesy of those who gave way when he passed.  Though none made threatening moves, four buck hares surrounding the badger held their weapons at the ready.  When the male badger found a rock close to the fire he could utilize as a seat, he took it.  He gave a low groan as his backpack slid off his shoulders.

Lieutenant Snellzen stepped next to the huge badger.  "This fine fellow is Lord Brisson, the eldest son of King Meles.  As heir to the throne of Salamandastron, he will become the next ruler of the Northern Alliance.  You can understand my caution about strangers camped so far from any settlement."

The mouse pointed to himself.  "Then let me offer introductions.  I am Nivek, champion warrior of Redwall Abbey.  Every beast traveling with me is a trusted companion.  All of us are expected by the elders ruling the village of Plintar.  Would you know of it?"

Lord Brisson held his paws out to the fire warming them.  His eyes remained focused on the dancing flames as he offered a response.  "If memory serves me right, it's an insignificant farming community composed primarily of mice and otters, though other species reside in the area and frequent the town.  We saw no reason to tarry there."

"Perhaps for some beast from Fiery Mountain, such a community might not attract your attention.  However, we have important business to conduct there," said the mouse.  Nivek pointed to the mole standing to his left.  "Foremole intends showing those good beasts how to improve their irrigation system."  With a wave of his paw, he ushered a female mouse to his side.  "But the real reason for our trip is to deliver Kurella to the village's healer.  She will be his new apprentice."

For the first time since entering the campsite, Lord Brisson scrutinized each woodlander gathered near the fire.  The badger's brow furrowed when he noticed the female mouse's expression.  "The others seem awed by my appearance, yet I see in your eyes that the sight of a badger has no effect on you.  You must find me a far better example of our kind than what you have at your Abbey, if that female still lives.  Even in the company of badger warriors, my build surpasses all."

The mouse stood tall as she approached the boar.  Two of the hares moved to block her.  Seeing their drawn weapons got nothing more than a contemptuous snort from an unarmed Kurella.  When neither hare backed away, she stood her ground, and challenged the badger eye to eye.

"You are correct, sir.  Redwall has a resident badger, so the sight of one does not enthrall us.  I will admit your size is most impressive, and I'm not talking about your height.  I'm referring to your pride.  Heir to a throne you may be, but your manners are as offish as a spoiled child.  You dare to strut in here as if we owe you some debt?  Intimidating you may be, but I'll not be cowed into acting the genial host to one who thinks the world owes him homage due to nothing more than an accident of birth."

Kurella took two steps away from the future ruler.  She turned her head until her muzzle pointed at the boar sitting by the fire.  "As far as I'm concerned, our badger is a far better example for your kind than the buffoon I see."

Having delivered her rebuke, the mouse circled the fire.  Nivek tried blocking her way, but she pushed aside his restraining paw.  Once she reached the far side of the flame, all watched her lay out her bedroll.  With a minimum of motions, she bedded down for the night, her back to the fire and those attending the badger lord.

Stunned silence hung heavy over the camp.  Nivek pointed to the girl when he spoke to Lord Brisson.  "The female badger you insulted raised her.  She is the only mother Kurella has ever known.  Would you expect no less a defense of a beloved elder?" 

Lord Brisson remained quiet, though his eyes focused on the sleeping form across the fire.  When the badger failed to acknowledge him, the mouse warrior repeated his words.

"There are disturbing rumors of villages being attacked by raiders from the sea.  All the merchants who visited Redwall a few days back told stories of slavers west of your home mountain.  Is there any truth to these stories, or are they exaggerated tales?"

Lieutenant Snellzen answered Nivek's question.  "Those stories are true.  There have been a number of minor raiders, but one particular vessel, The Red Sharkeye, has cleaned out seven villages over the last six months.  Somehow, their captain knows where our forces are patrolling.  They played me like a bloody fool with their latest raid."

The badger replied to the lieutenant's comment without masking his disgust.  "They played us all for fools.  You need not take the blame.  I thought the same as you; otherwise, I would never have been there."

Lieutenant Snellzen picked up where the badger left off.  "Our unit patrolled a section of the coast we thought ideal for sea raiders.  It looked perfect to us.  There were three villages within a day's march, a sheltered cove big enough to hide any seagoing vessel from other ships sailing along the coast, and far enough from any roads that a vermin base camp could remain undiscovered."

"Did they show?" asked Nivek

The hare answered with a bitter snarl.  "Indeed they did.  One morning, we spotted the Red Sharkeye approaching the area.  Three creatures came ashore and prepared a campsite.  I sent runners to every nearby militia unit.  On the fourth night, the vermin began slinking around one of the villages; we bided our time and did not interfere."

"That makes sense," said Firecrown.  When several eyes turned towards the young squirrel, he squirmed where he sat.  "I mean, you could observe and decide what to do later."

Snellzen nodded.  "Our squirrel there has the right of it.  We wanted their ship, not just three lowly crew beasts.  It took five days for our soldiers to gather, and we figured the next new moon would be an ideal time for any attack.

"Two nights before the new moon, we saw the slaver's ship bearing down on the cove; its running lights blazing.  The three vermin crew beasts got in their launch.  I surmised once they reported everything ready, the crew would come ashore.  It never happened.  They recovered the launch, and every light winked out.  When morning came, they were long gone."

Though the rumbling voice of the badger remained low, none could mistake its angry tone.  "Two days later, a runner came into our camp.  The slavers hit a large community to the south, captured all but a pawful of the residents.  They decoyed us into shifting our forces away, which left that village exposed.  If I didn't know better, I would think they knew we were there, and like bloody fools, we took the bait."

"Begging your pardon, but if you're hunting pirates, why are you so far from the ocean?"

Those gathered about the fire became quiet.  Then Snellzen nodded.  "I have heard moles are known for their logical minds, and you live up to that reputation, Foremole.  We got a dispatch from home about bandits camped out in the Barrier Hills, raiding caravans and demanding tribute from some of the nearby farming communities.  The local militia was routed in their last encounter, and I'm hoping a few hares will give them more backbone when next they face these criminals.  I figure it should take about a month to eliminate whoever is responsible."

"As for me," Lord Brisson added, "I'm on a bit of a diplomatic mission, trying to remove a few burrs from the fur, if you catch my drift.  The local ruler has been quite vocal about the lack of help."

Nivek pondered the statement.  "Doesn't that leave this region wide open for the slavers?"

Lord Brisson gave a negative shake of his head.  "Every raid has been west of an outcropping of rocks known as the Grand Spur, a day's march from our mountain fortress.  They know our fleet would catch them if they tried sneaking past us.  The villages north and east of our base have nothing to fear from slavers.  You'll see how true that is when you get yon maiden to her master healer."

The mouse dodged left, a spear thrown by an unseen attacker grazed his hip.  He ignored the minor injury concentrating on the beast before him.  His sword engaged the stoat's axe.  The blade slid along the shaft; a cry of pain, and the mouse gained time as his opponent retreated.  Sweat rolled off Nivek's muzzle, mixing with the blood from several deep cuts.  His voice rang out, calling to all who were near.

"Rally to me.  Rally to me." 

Nivek listened to the screams of the injured and sensed the villager's panic.  The smell of fear blended with blood creating a sickly odor that saturated the area.  The burning buildings illuminated what had developed into a living nightmare.  Shapes flashed in and out of the surrounding darkness as Nivek tried separating friend from foe.

A paw touched his back and Nivek spared enough time to identify who would bother a warrior in battle.  His teenaged son Jazzin stood next to him, his expression devoid of all emotion.  Like his father, he held a sword covered in blood.  Nivek noticed how his son's twitching whiskers betrayed his terror. 

"We fall back," Nivek shouted above the noise of battle.  "We fall back," Nivek whispered as exhaustion took its toll.  The warrior mouse scanned the terrain.  "Has anyone seen Firecrown?"

Jazzin hesitated.  Slavers dragged out those who tried hiding and gathered those separated from the armed villagers.  Both warriors stood too far away to help.

"They captured Firecrown.  I saw them carry him away in chains.  There were too many for me, and I had to protect another family fleeing the area."

The old warrior awaited his next opponent.  His shoulders slumped under the pain of his injuries.  "This battle is lost, son.  I needed Firecrown because he is our fastest runner.   You'll have to go in his place; I'll not trust our future to anyone else."

The mouse turned to his son.  "Find those soldiers we entertained last night and tell them Plintar is under attack.  Without those hares, anyone surviving this battle will be doomed to a life of slavery.  If there is any chance we can turn their victory into defeat, it will only come with the help of those soldiers."

Several vermin raiders started towards them, Jazzin matched his father's stride as both sides drew near.  Then the teen sheathed his blade.  The father spared a few seconds.  Nivek watched his son retreat; then he charged the vermin.  The mouse had to distract the raiders, and that he could do with cold steel and a colder heart.

* * * *

Commander Flashentie awoke.  After a long sleep on the hard ground, he needed a slow stretch to work out the kinks in his back.  Within the shadows of the forest, a dozen other creatures still slept around the campground.

After checking with a nearby sentry, he strolled over to his second officer.  He had no trouble locating the weasel since his russet fur ran darker than the other weasels under his command.  As he approached the officer, he inquired about what happened while he slept.

"Commander, all but one of our scouts has reported.  The others returned an hour ago and things are not as we expected.  I have a bad feeling about this raid."

Flashentie grinned.  "Altac, you always have a bad feeling whenever we're about to strike.  Tell me you're happy; that's when I'll worry."

The weasel glanced around, making sure the sentries were too distant and any beast near still slept.  "Our agent described Plintar as a sleepy little village in the middle of nowhere.  I would hate to see a place she calls lively.  A caravan came into the village just before dawn and now there's a marketplace set up with all manner of beasties running around."

"Excellent," Flashentie grinned.  "Instead of us getting a few river dogs and mice, we just might get us a full mix of creatures.  Best of all, skilled artisans usually travel with merchants.  There's always a demand for jewelers and tailors.  Captain Peggen will be pleased.  Right now, the market needs otters, but conditions can change before we reach Herlystone.  A good mix of other beast will guarantee a profitable venture."

"I don't like it, commander.  Caravans and merchants mean warriors.  That brings me to my other bit of news; another group arrived at the village.  An hour later, a festival started.  It's been going all day."

He ignored his second's dour voice and made his way to the cook's tent.  Flashentie weaved around the sleeping bodies as he followed the smell of hot food.  Once inside the tent, he grabbed a plate and waited until the stoat attending the cooking fire saw him.  His finger tapped the metal dish and the cook ladled out a heaping measure. 

Stepping outside the tent, he searched for an unoccupied space that still promised shade from the setting sun.  His back slid down the rough bark of the tree he selected until his rump rested on one of the exposed roots.  Altac grunted as he found an acceptable spot near the same tree.  While they ate, the other raiders stirred.

"This village, how far away is it?"

Altac's spoon hovered above his dish while his head bobbed from side to side.  When his head movement stopped, he shoveled in the food and gave a quick swallow.  "Plintar is about a two hour walk from here.  These woods will hide our approach the whole way; no chance the residents will spot us.  Between that market, the festival, and the threat of rain, I doubt any beast will be hunting these woods, but I'll have our officers stress the need for absolute quiet."

Flashentie grunted.  "I intend hitting them at dawn.  We leave here right after sundown.  Best we keep an eye on our target during the night and have everyone in position.  Our raiders will hit them an hour before the sun rises while everyone is still sleeping.  Festivals and market days are tiring; they'll be slow reacting.  Maybe we can do some looting, bring back a little extra for our captain."

"Doesn't that make our trip back to the Red Sharkeye tight?  Prisoners seldom move fast and we have to make the beach no later than two hours after sunset the day after tomorrow.  I would hate to miss our ship by an hour or two."

Flashentie chuckled.  "Captain Peggen will wait until false dawn before withdrawing.  If it looks like we'll miss our rendezvous, I'll send a runner back to the Red Sharkeye.  We capture as many new slaves as I anticipate on this raid and our good captain will come back the next evening.  You worry too much, Altac."

Just then the two heard another beast jogging through the forest.  The approaching creature made no effort at concealment.  The cracking of twigs and the swishing of leaves heralded his arrival.  Several beasts placed their meal trays on the ground, drew their weapon as they searched for the intruder.  One ferret strung her short bow, the arrowhead pointing to the source of the disturbance. 

The creature came into sight.  Everyone sheathed their weapons as they returned to their meal.  Some hurled insults at the approaching stoat as they retrieved their food.  The runner locked eyes with the commander as he entered the camp.  The scout did not stop until he stood before Commander Flashentie.

"Sir, I found a campfire half a day's march west of here.  I counted at least a dozen hare tracks plus a warrior badger, judging by the size of his prints.  Their scent is two days old, but they went in the general direction of the village."

His eyes glazed over and he began tapping his incisor with the tip of his spoon.  After several seconds, he pointed at the scout and then indicated the mess tent's location.  Flashentie renewed his tapping.  At last he stopped abusing his tooth.

"The other scouts, did they report any hares or a badger wandering through that village?"

"None reported such creatures within Plintar.  Considering the fighting reputation hares and badgers have, I doubt our scouts would overlook such a vital piece of information.  That village would treat a warrior badger and a contingent of Long Patrol hares like honored guests, parading them throughout the town and showing off their fields."

Flashentie returned to his seat by the tree.  "Something tells me this unit has a specific mission further inland.  Otherwise, they would have paid a courtesy call.  According to our informant, hares seldom patrol this area since they think no raider foolish enough to try it."

"Should we call off this attack and return later?"

"No, we just change the time.  We attack tonight instead of at dawn.  A burning village sends up a smoky beacon during the day.  It would attract those hares the same way rotting meat draws maggots.  The intervening forest and hills will hide any fire's glow and by morning, the village will be ashes.  Those hares will never know we were here."

He summoned his officers and informed them of the change in plans.  The raiders broke camp.  As the sun dipped below the horizon, Flashentie led his force into the forest.

Several hours later, they reached the outskirts of Plintar.  He waited at one end of the village while his raiders moved into position.  Runners reported all awaited the signal.  If not for a lone sentry circling a dozen wagons, Flashentie might have thought the place abandoned.

He pointed to the female ferret kneeling next to him and the guard.  She slid forward and Flashentie lost sight of her in the darkness.  He strained his hearing, knowing what would happen next.  The expected twang of the bow never came, but he saw the unknown guard collapse with a feathered shaft sticking from his back.  Nothing disturbed the quiet night.

Commander Flashentie blew a whistle once.  From three sides his raiders stormed the sleeping village.  Several torches flared, and then flew towards the nearest huts.  Some of the residents inadvertently aided the attackers by opening doors and holding lanterns high, just like he anticipated.

Without warning, everything changed.  Armed figures emerged from two of the huts.  The first raiders entering the town never anticipated resistance.  Flashentie watched as the unexpected warriors dispatched his vanguard raiders.  Instead of a panicked mob, the inhabitants rallied.  Even as the next wave of raiders reached the village, more residents produced makeshift weapons.  Rakes and hoes proved just as deadly as spears and swords.

Commander Flashentie unsheathed his blade.  A red-headed squirrel lunged at him, his sword going straight for his heart.  He responded with a flick of the wrist and redirected the blade away from himself.  Reaching behind the grey squirrel, he yanked hard on his opponent's tail.  Spun around, the squirrel had no defense for the meaty fist that struck the back of his head like a blacksmith's hammer. 

Even as he pressed forward, he spared enough time to watch another raider slap chains around the dazed squirrel's wrist and ankles.  The armed villagers gravitated to the other side of the town, away from the merchant wagons where Flashentie stood.  Screams rent the air as his raiders torched the town.

Two ferrets led a dozen captives towards the preplanned rally point.  Reaching out his paw, he stopped his archer.

"We cannot afford having armed villagers dogging our heels.  If we can take out that mouse, they'll scatter."

The ferret archer nodded.  Flashentie watched her work her way closer to the mouse directing the defenders.  She stepped clear of a burning hut, drew her bow, and launched her arrow in one fluid motion.  The arrow struck the mouse right in the chest and he collapsed.  The villagers hesitated.

The mouse stood.  He yanked the arrow out and threw it aside.  Without missing a step, he slew one raider and injured another.  The other villagers rallied to his side, scattering Flashentie's soldiers while acting as a rear guard for the retreating inhabitants.  He watched another two of his raiders slaughtered and their prisoners escorted to safety.

"By the Eternals, that mouse is wearing armor," he shouted.

The Commander tried locating his archer.  In the light of a burning hut he saw her prepare another shot.  She notched an arrow, stepped clear of the hut, and sent the shaft flying.  Flashentie cheered when the shaft shattered the warrior's skull like an over ripened melon.  The armed villagers withdrew.

Best I cut our losses.  Reaching into his pocket, Flashentie withdrew his whistle.  He sounded two long notes.  In the light of the burning huts, he saw his retreating unit prod a large group of chained villagers past him. 

Flashentie stopped a limping stoat.  "You caught everyone that ran in the direction we wanted?"  Before the stoat could answer, he fired off a second question.  "Where's Altac?"

"That mouse knew the obvious escape route was a trap.  Altac tried distracting him.  He failed."

Cursing, Flashentie trailed his raiders as they pulled out.  In the distance, he noticed two bobbing lights.  He then heard the soft sobbing of prisoners, the clank of chains, and the growling commands of his soldiers.  A glance at the burning village showed no beast followed.

They continued their fast march along the trail.  Prisoners and guards alike panted at the grueling pace.  When all reached a wide clearing, a collective groan arose.  Flashentie gave no time for rest.  He gathered his squad leaders.

"What's the tally?"

A weasel lieutenant stepped forward.  "We took so many prisoners that some remain unchained.  It looks like we did well."

Flashentie nodded.  "And your soldiers, how do they fare?"

The weasel hesitated a moment.  "Our losses were heavy due to those warriors.  We lost one in ten from every unit, and a quarter of our remaining soldiers have serious injuries.  The guard on the south side never returned."

Flashentie growled.  Officers jumped to obey his orders.  Tired prisoners and raiders alike voiced their objections.  Everyone moved north at a fast pace.  At the rear, several soldiers worked at hiding their trail.

Mumbling under his breath, he pushed to the forefront.  "Now we're in a race.  Only reason somebody would go south is if they knew those hares were traveling in that direction.  Last thing I want to do is tangle with the Long Patrol and some badger warrior."

Commander Flashentie wiped the misty rain off his face.  A quick glance at the rolling grey clouds overhead indicated this shower would not abate until late afternoon or evening.  He tried cinching his foul weather coat tighter, but the wetness soaked him to the skin.  Such discomfort soured his mood.  In spite of this, he still greeted each sentry by name before moving on to the next beast on watch. 

At last he turned to the weasel who had dogged his heels since he started his inspection.  "Well, lieutenant, you did a fine job keeping our captives under control.  Anything you want to report before I grab a quick meal?"

"Our scouts spent the night laying down a false trail that should take anyone following us further west.  They also reported our actual trail remains well hidden.  An expert tracker would have a difficult time finding us.  Thanks to this constant drizzle, even our scent will vanish within an hour."

"Did I make a mistake promoting you?  Tell me you're not that arrogant.  These rains have been far too light.  Anyone with a sharp nose should detect something.  And if you have forgotten the obvious, these prisoners are going to leave a powerful scent trail regardless of this weather since they are doing nothing to hide it.  It all comes down to who is better, the beast tracking us or our efforts at masking so many smells."

The weasel came to a halt when he heard the note of disapproval.  The fellow outlined the precautions he took covering their retreat while insuring no prisoner escaped.  Each time the officer mentioned something, he grunted.  In spite of his overconfident attitude, Flashentie admitted his new second covered every possible contingency.  When he spied the cook handing out rations, he tried leaving, but the lieutenant had one more thing to report.

"I assigned a scout to watch the area where our real and false trails diverged.  If somebody sees through our deception, we'll have plenty of warning.  I told the scout he should remain at his post until mid afternoon.  Traveling alone, he'll be at the beach by nightfall with time to spare."




While the two vermin conversed, Firecrown continued to slink around the bodies of the exhausted slaves.  Whenever the fox came to a standstill, he drew close.  If the rattling of his shackles attracted the attention of any raider, he fell flat on the ground mimicking a restless sleep.  Once the fox and his weasel escort walked beyond his hearing, he made for his two companions.

Near the center of the herded captives, Firecrown approached several creatures that acted as if they still slept.  His friends reconstructed each conversation overheard from the raiders during the previous day and night of travel.  They reexamined each detail, and rejected those considered exaggerations, while Kurella wrote everything else.

Kurella read her notes; a deep frown etched into her features.  "Fine, we have a lot of useful information, but what do we do with it?  No sense trying to hide this much paper.  Unlike the vermin in our Recorder's tales; these are diligent about clearing our back trail.  Besides, if the rains continue, my pages will become nothing more than mush once exposed to the weather."

Another voice interrupted their whispered conversation.  As one, the youths turned towards the source.  An older female squirrel rested a few feet distant.  Her ears kept swiveling as she maintained a low voice.

"What information you kids have gathered might be valuable, but you'll never be able to pass it along."

Firecrown gave the elderly squirrel a dismissive snort.  "I'm the fastest tree jumper in all of Redwall.  I get into the woods and they'll never catch me."

The elder's voice came across as condescending while she stated the obvious.  "These guards keep all the squirrels close to the center and away from trees.  Besides, with your shackles, you'll be too slow.  Fortunately, when they caught me, they didn't have any more.  You get me to the forest and I'll guarantee delivery of your message."

Terranoir, a female mole no older than him, placed her paw on his shoulder.  "The elder knows nothing about you, but she speaks with wisdom.  Listen to her.  While you followed that fox, did you notice if any of the raiders were armed with a bow?"

Firecrown covered his face with his paws while sounding a low growl.  He looked at the female mole, addressing her in a less than civil tone.  "Anyone ever tell you changing boats in mid stream can lead to trouble?"  After a short pause, he faced a silent Terranoir.  "Leave it to a mole to devise riddles when actions are needed.  But to answer your question, I didn't see any bows while I shadowed that fox."

Terranoir's voice showed she either missed the rebuke or ignored it.  "The elder is unfettered.  Since these slavers have no bow beast, once she reaches a tree, she can outrace any spear or sling stone.  We need a way of distracting the guards at the right moment."

A series of loud voices intruded on their conversation.  From the outer edge, several of the raiders began rousing the sleeping prisoners.  These beasts did not hesitate using a swift kick or a less than gentile prod with the butt end of a spear as they moved through the exhausted captives.  Despite the moans and groans, they were herded to the center of a wide trail.  The grey fox pointed off in one direction and everyone started jogging.

Kurella folded the pages and slipped them into an inner pocket.  Another paw squeezed her shoulder just enough to catch her attention.  Terranoir leaned closer while keeping an eye on the nearest guards.

"The elder said she has a leather bag that should keep those pages dry.  Give them to her."

With nothing more than a faked sneeze, Firecrown caught the attention of the adult squirrel.  He pointed to a long strand of trees bordering the trail.  The elder opened her blouse and exposed her leather purse before nodding.  A few whispered words and the teens worked their way to the outer edge.  Firecrown jogged behind one guard while the elder paced him.  He risked a quick glance behind him at Kurella, who indicated her readiness.

Firecrown gave the signal.  Kurella stepped in front of the guard and fell to the ground.  The guard, unable to stop in midstride, tripped.  When the second guard turned, Firecrown tackled him.  The elder squirrel launched herself at the nearest tree, her claws scrambling for a solid hold.  Before anyone could stop her, she climbed beyond questing paws.

Pandemonium broke out as guards began herding the remaining captives away from the disturbance.  Other guards released spears, but they fell short as the old female reached the tree's upper boughs.  Some tried racing to the next tree, but she outdistanced them.  The forest loomed ahead and in a few seconds, the slavers would lose sight of the fleeing squirrel.

Firecrown's whispered encouragements died when he heard the distinctive twang of a bowstring.  He watched in horror as the elder tumbled out of the tree.  He heard the snap of the branches as the escaping squirrel fell in some bushes, but could not see where she landed.  After a brief pause, a female ferret approached.  In one paw she carried a short bow, while she held the severed head of the elder squirrel in her other.

Propping the head on a nearby branch, the archer faded back into the forest.  The grey fox marched through the cowering prisoners until he came muzzle to muzzle with the teen squirrel.  He gave no warning before driving his knee into his gut.  Flashentie lifted him by the nape of his neck until his nose touched the teen's ear. 

"No beast has ever escaped me.  A few fools tried, and you saw what happened.  If anyone else makes such an attempt, you'll wish for a quick death.  Trust me when I say I'm one who always keeps his word when it comes to threats."  He released the teen who continued retching from the rough treatment.

The guards made no other retaliatory moves against either Firecrown or Kurella for their actions in the attempted escape.  Instead, they prodded them to the front of the pack before herding the remaining captives down the appropriate trail.  Both teens kept silent as they quick-marched down the indicated path.  At the next rest stop, Terranoir joined them, two otter teens following at her heels.

"We still have one more opportunity, and these two have a plan."

Firecrown glanced at the mole, her two companions, and the back of the fox leading them.  He felt his hackles rising.  "I'll do whatever it takes to help."



Commander Flashentie paced his new second in command as they raced towards safety.  While he ran, he tried recalling the face of his long-time partner, Altac, but it remained a blur.  He remembered how the weasel thought every raid too dangerous.  Yet Altac's concerns honed his strategy as it forced him to consider unforeseen alternatives.  Together, they forged an unbeatable team.  This time, Altac's fears proved valid.

He knew the more prisoners one took, the greater the chance for an escape.  He recalled how otters always darted to the nearest stream and squirrels to the highest tree.  With no water nearby, he hedged his bets on a break for the trees.  When the slaves passed the severed head, whatever fire filled their eyes vanished like morning fog.

Just then, he heard running footsteps.  When Flashentie turned, he spotted the ferret commanding the rear guard.  The fellow jogged closer before matching his pace.

"The scout I left by the false trail just returned.  You were right, sir.  The villagers reorganized and followed our trail.  This rain slowed them down, but they're armed and looking for blood.  Think one or two of their hunters led the others and they took the bait.  They followed the false trail westward."

The Commander expressed his irritation.  "So why did the scout leave his post?"

"Sir, an hour later, another group came from the direction of the village."  The officer took a few deep breaths before he continued.  "A young mouse traveled with more than a score of hares and a male badger.  One hare sniffed out the true path.  When he told the badger, he sent two hares down the false trail and had the others await their return."

The commander cursed.  His mind worked on the logistics as he considered the turn of events.  Commander Flashentie turned to his underlings.

"We will reach a sharp bend in the trail very soon.  First squad, drive the prisoners to the next clearing, which should take you about an hour.  Second squad, hold along the tree line." 

Then he turned to the officer commanding the rear guard.  "Send two of your warriors down the path.  Delay anyone they meet and then have them join second squad.  Once we secure the prisoners at the next clearing, I'll lead everyone through the forest.  When those hares attack, second squad will become the anvil to our hammer."

With a renewed sense of confidence, the slavers drove their prisoners harder.  None tried covering the evidence of their passage.  When the raiders passed the fork in the road, all of the beasts assigned to second squad entered the forest.  As the others passed them, the commander nodded his approval as the raiders prepared a barricade.

Every beast now ran.  Guards bullied the villagers.  If any shackled beast proved too slow, a sword ended their race.  Chains were removed from the dead and placed on any prisoner who still remained unfettered.  By the time they reached their destination, everyone collapsed, gasping for each breath.

Commander Flashentie allowed only a few moments rest.  Water bags passed from one prisoner to another as each took a quick drink.  Guards took whatever rations could be scrounged from backpacks.  Groans from everyone evidenced the grueling pace.

Two officers jogged over to him.  Before they reached Flashentie, he led them a safe distance beyond the hearing of the other soldiers.  He issued new orders.  The two officers stood there too stunned for any retort.  Then the ermine commanding the first squad found her voice.

"My unit can control these prisoners while everyone else eliminates those hares."

Using a voice more befitting a vexed mother, Commander Flashentie repeated his prior order.  "Everyone will make for the beach in ten minutes.  If second squad can delay those hares just one hour, we will have everyone back aboard the Red Sharkeye, which is all that matters now."

"But ... but ... but sir, the second squad will be exterminated to the last beast," stammered the female ermine.

"As far as I'm concerned, second squad became expendable once those hares saw through our deception.  Given the choice between returning to the ship with a large number of slaves, or being killed while facing the Long Patrol and some battle crazed badger, I cannot believe you prefer dying."  Commander Flashentie watched the lady's jaw drop.  "If you prefer to remain with second squad, I'll not interfere.  The fewer who return, the bigger the profits for the rest of us."

The ermine allowed one paw to fondle her ear for several seconds.  When she stopped, the shocked expression had changed to an avaricious one.  "I'll raise a mug of grog in their honor when we get back to the ship, Commander."

"Keep 'em moving.  We don't have time to waste," Commander Flashentie growled.

Nightfall came and with the moon obscured by clouds, the raiders had no choice but to slow.  Fallen branches remained hidden in the shadows and nobody wanted to fall.  If a soldier fell, his comrades cursed him or an officer kicked him until he regained his position.  If a captive fell, they had to scramble back to their paws before the rear guard passed.  The raiders left no living beast behind.

With the path so narrow, the soldiers maintained their vigilance lest their lone squirrel try a repeat of an earlier escape attempt.  If Firecrown stepped towards the outer edge, the slavers drove him back with the flat of their swords.  They allowed no opportunity at escape.

Another turn on the dark trail and the running beasts found themselves funneled onto a wide and sandy beach.  The exhausted slaves collapsed in a heap when the guards ceased their constant prodding.  Tongues of both captives and guards hung out as everyone panted.

From several bushes along one side of the clearing, seven sea rats moved onto the beach.  Unlike the raiders who wore green uniforms, the sailors wore a motley collection of garments running from a dingy white to a flashy gold color.  The one wearing a dark outfit that blended with the moonless night called the fox by name.

"We expected more of you and a lot less of them.  So what happened?"

Commander Flashentie shook paws and glanced back the way they came.  "Long story short, Jark.  We hit the village at the same time some caravan decided to visit, which explains why we have so many captives.  Unfortunately, the villagers put up a good fight thanks to several wandering warriors who happened by at the time of our attack.  And that's not the worse part.  Just tell me Captain Peggen is sitting offshore, otherwise we'll have a score of Long Patrol hares and one blood-wrath badger as uninvited company real soon."

Jark shouted instructions to the other rats.  Five of them raced to the far side and removed the camouflage from a dozen launches.  The last rat returned with a shuttered lantern, which Jark lit.  The sailor walked to the water's edge and flipped the shutters up and down at a rapid pace.  When he finished, the rat doused the flame.  A moment later, two dim lights flared to life some distance offshore.

Commander Flashentie paced the beach as everyone prepared for departure.  "Hurry it up; we get these launches more than ten paces from shore and no beast can grab us.  Under fifty paces and we need only worry if one of those hares is a marksman with a bow.  Get beyond that and the dark will hide us."

Prisoners boarded first.  With the dejected woodlanders seated, several raiders climbed aboard.  Oars were shipped and the vermin pulled together.  A dozen paces from shore, they awaited the arrival of the other launches.

Flashentie raced to the shoreline.  His paw snagged his lieutenant's shoulder and he stopped him from loading the slaves.  "Keep that troublemaking squirrel with the red head and his mouse friend together.  I want those two on my launch where I can keep an eye on them.  Make sure the otters remain seated in the middle, I don't want to lose such valuable cargo."

The weasel lieutenant's eyes scanned the collection of prisoners yet to be loaded.  "I'll chain that female mole to them.  She'll do anything she can to remain dry.  Anyway, I hear river otters hate salt water since it bothers their fur."

Commander Flashentie hesitated when he heard something in the forest.  He noticed how the sound of snapping twigs had every raider redoubling their efforts.  He stood by the last launch, his muzzle alternately pointing to the forest and the distant lights floating offshore.  As the last prisoners were loaded, he grabbed the red-headed squirrel's lapels.

"You have caused me a lot of trouble on this raid and I intend seeing you get what you deserve." 

When the squirrel spat at him, he used the back of his paw and struck the prisoner hard across the muzzle.  He felt something wet on his arm and that brought a satisfied smile to his lips.  Commander Flashentie climbed into the launch, sitting in the bow where he could watch the prisoners and observe the now deserted beach.  Each stroke of the oars widened his grin.

* * *

During the forced march, Firecrown kept dragging one of his feet despite the harassment he received from the guards.  If he passed a bush, his paw would bend a branch.  Though he suspected his efforts would prove little help to those tracking the slavers, he did what he could.  Ever since the returning guard announced the Long Patrol had seen through the raider's deception, they no longer bothered hiding their tracks.

When Terranoir proposed an escape, he felt apprehensive.  Her plan relied on the innate talents of others.  Firecrown chaffed at the idea of putting his reliance on somebody he didn't know but had no choice.  The guards remained too vigilant for any escape effort while they crossed the forest.

Things began going wrong the moment they reached the beach.  With all the prisoners clustered at the shore, Firecrown lost contact with his friends.  Guards loaded their captives aboard the longboats by grabbing the nearest prisoner.  With so many creatures running about, it proved impossible to locate either of his companions or the two otters he met.  Just as two stoats seized his arms, he heard the grey fox call.

"Bring that one to me."

Spitting into his capturer's face proved nothing more than a futile act of bravado, but the fox's reaction made a bloody muzzle worthwhile.  Then Firecrown smiled when he noticed who sat in the longboat.  Kurella sat next to him on the first bench occupied by captives.  Two rows behind and between the two otters she recruited sat the mole Terranoir.  Hope surged until he saw the chain running between the otters and mole. 

Firecrown listened to the longboat as it scraped across the sands.  He rocked with the boat as the vermin climbed aboard.  He considered trying to tip the launch, but realized his shackled wrists would weigh him down.  With no alternative but to endure, he remained seated.

The rhythmic grunting and the sound of the oars rising and falling depressed him.  Each stroke became another lost opportunity at freedom.  Somehow this reality conflicted with the many tales he remembered of the Long Patrol arriving just when all hope seemed lost.  The grinning fox sitting in the bow said it all; they were beyond rescue.

The vermin put their backs into rowing.  In the dark, Firecrown could not tell if they moved since he found no point of reference.  After what seemed like hours, a bright light appeared.  Though he knew the launch moved, his eyes told him it was the light that approached while they remained stationary.  The bow turned towards the light like a moth drawn to a candle's flame.

Each longboat made for the illuminated patch of sea.  As they approached, he spied members of the crew moving about the deck.  Prisoners climbed up netting dropped over the ship's railing.  The launch crews fished out any who fell into the water.  When a captive reached the top of the netting, the vermin aboard the ship would grab them.  Once emptied, the launch rowed further down the ship where winches lifted the craft.

Then it was their turn.  The boat bumped into the wooden side and two of the slavers grabbed the netting.  Another raider passed a key to the captives, instructing them to remove their shackles.  The grey fox made a motion with his paw and every woodlander eye followed his pointing finger.  Firecrown listened to several captives moaning at what the squirrel considered an easy climb.

"Don't even think about escape.  If you fall in, swim towards the ship.  The tide is against you and the beach is on the other side of this ship.  Any beast swimming away will be shot."

A glance upward confirmed the presence of archers sitting on benches suspended over the side.  Firecrown blurted "Looks like you covered every possibility."

"Indeed we have squirrel."  The fox's laughter angered Firecrown.

As the prisoners grabbed the netting, Firecrown whispered to the two otters.  They relayed his instructions to the mole and mouse.  A simple command from the fox sent the five beasts scrambling up the netting. 

When the five reached the top, one vermin crew beast grabbed the mouse Kurella.  Her aggressive side asserted itself and she sunk her sharp teeth into the vermin's arm.  On the other side of the netting, Firecrown launched himself into the midriff of the vermin waiting for him.  He then threw himself at the feet of two sailors and rolled into them.  With the guards distracted and the nearest sailors floundering, he hoped the otter twins had a clear path.

The squirrel spared a momentary glance at the unfolding drama.  The two otters crossed the open deck area at full speed.  Before any of the crew could react, they dove headfirst into the inky ocean.  The other woodlander captives attacked whichever vermin crew beast stood close.  Pandemonium broke out aboard the raider. 

A large stoat grabbed a spear as he followed the teen otters.  He stared down into the black waters, his arm pulled back ready to throw.  When Terranoir cleared the ship's side, she raced across the deck and jumped onto the sailor's back.  Both toppled into the ocean. 

Firecrown regained his footing, his back against the mast.  He yanked two nearby belaying pins free.  Lines screeched as the rigging sagged under the released tension.  Crewmembers scrambled for the errant lines, bumping into any standing in their way.

Everywhere he looked, he saw brawling beasts.  With a serviceable weapon in his paws, Firecrown charged into the nearest group of vermin sailors.  His first swing connected with a sailor's head, which left whichever beast he struck lying on the deck.  He had no time to verify if the rat lived.  He roared out his battle cry as he charged another vermin sailor.

Kurella dumped a nearby bucket of water on the deck. Two ferrets racing towards her crashed head first onto the slippery surface.  She swung the empty bucket like a mace, just missing the head of a charging stoat who tackled her.  The two went down in a tangle of arms and legs.  Several raiders pounced onto the mouse and the fight ended. 

A rope coil hit Firecrown's legs from behind.  He crashed to the deck with his feet entangled.  Three sailors tried to subdue him, but he fought with grim determination until the crew pried the belaying pins from his fists.   

The woodlander uprising ended.  Sailors and raiders alike herded the fighters to the ladder propped open near the cargo hold.  Both Firecrown and Kurella stood by watching the other captives descending.  The crew held onto both until a familiar face approached.

"Again you have caused me trouble with your futile antics," the grey fox growled.

Just as the fox pulled back his fist, another raider shouted.  "We're missing one crew beast and three prisoners.  It's those two otters and female mole that were in your boat commander.  I don't see them in the hold and they're not on deck."

Commander Flashentie forgot about him as he rushed to the opposite side of the ship.  He stood at the railing, his back towards them.  When the fox spoke, Firecrown shuddered. 

"So we have escaping prisoners; you know what must be done."

A male otter stood before the badger and his hare entourage, his paws resting on his hips.  The fellow shook his head when the badger spoke.  Jazzin and Foremole sided with Lord Brisson, which angered the villagers.

"These raiders know how to fight, best we exercise a little caution while trailing them," said Lord Brisson.

"With all due respect," the otter replied, "it's not your people held captive.  You can 'exercise a little caution,' while we free our friends."

The otter then rushed down the indicated trail; a dozen armed villagers followed.  The hares started down the same path, but at a slower pace.  An hour later, the villagers staggered back.  Several of them nursed a sore shoulder, or held an injured arm close to their chest.  None acknowledged the badger as they retreated.

Lord Brisson called Lieutenant Snellzen to his side.  "It seems these raiders made a stand against the villagers.  Though their numbers would be welcomed, we just might have a better chance at freeing the prisoners without them."

Lieutenant Snellzen nodded.  "Those hot-headed villagers may have done us a favor.  Since we were not there when the slavers attacked, I'll wager those vermin scum think nobody will follow.  My unit will give 'em a good taste of steel when we cross swords."

"I suggest you curb your enthusiasm for battle, lieutenant.  Our primary goal is freeing the captives.  It will do no good if the vermin use the prisoners as hostages or kill them in their rush to escape."

Jazzin overheard the two discussing tactics and stepped forward.  "Foremole and I are warriors; we can help."

Lord Brisson glanced over to the young mouse and the older mole as they continued down the trail.  Both had a determined expression on their face that dared him to dismiss them.  They kept their paws close to their sheathed weapon while each scanned the forest for unexpected trouble.

"Your blade may have been blooded and yon elder has every reason for charging into the fray, but I doubt you have the skill these hares have.  This squad is a well-trained team of professionals.  Though your help is appreciated, it isn't needed."

Foremole spoke before Jazzin could voice a retort.  "We have our reasons for going into this fight, but we also have the wisdom to follow orders.  Two more such warriors can only increase our chances at success.  Are you so petty that you fear we will steal the thunder of your victory?"

Lord Brisson recoiled from the mole's words as if they were a physical blow.  He cleared his throat and glanced at the hare lieutenant standing behind the mouse and mole.  He caught the slight head bob.  "My only concern is for the hostages.  If you can follow orders, I'll welcome your help."

With that issue settled, the warriors continued down the trail at a faster gait.  When they came to the site of the skirmish between the villagers and the slavers, everyone slowed as they scanned the immediate area.  Several hares examined the numerous tracks while others reconstructed the battle.

"It appears they ran into two fighters who were more interested in scaring their opponent than a sustained engagement.  I'll wager they waited here a few minutes before they rejoined the others."  Lord Brisson nodded as he listened to Lieutenant Snellzen's calm summation.

The hares dispersed so each could cover the advance of the hare to his left or right as they trotted down the wide forest trail.  Jazzin and Foremole flanked him as they followed behind the hares.  Weapons remained sheathed to facilitate travel but paws always remained close.  Every ear swiveled in an attempt at detecting the presence of vermin or their unfortunate prisoners. 

An hour passed and the soldiers exited the woods.  On the other side of the glade, they found the severed head of a squirrel staked on a tree branch.  The hares disbursed until they discovered the body.  Two of the hares carried it to where the head had been mounted like a grizzly trophy. 

"We can bury the body later" said Lord Brisson.  "Best we move out on the double and catch up with these fiends before they make good on their escape."

Everyone moved forward at a fast trot through the heavy forest.  Around another bend in the trail, the hares came to a meadow.  As the vanguard reached the halfway point, one hare let out a loud scream.  Another hare snagged his injured comrade by the shoulder and retreated.  Several more sling stones whizzed past the hares forcing them to seek cover.

"Jolly good thing those vermin didn't have any archers," quipped Lieutenant Snellzen.  "A broken shoulder can mend.  Don't think that chap would have survived an arrow in the same spot."

Lord Brisson surveyed the area.  "Those vermin are dug in pretty solid.  Any chance we can go around them?"

"We'll lose too much time circling them instead of taking the direct route through this forest.  What bothers me is why they would hold here when they could push to the sea and be there by sunset."  The hare stroked his chin as he stared at the vermin's fortifications.  "Unless those blokes knew we were coming this way.  If it were me, I would have a unit in the forest and hit us from the rear when we attack."

Jazzin tapped the hare's shoulder.  "Foremole and I can scout these woods.  If we find anything, we'll report back."

Lord Brisson nodded.  As the older mole and his young mouse friend melted into the forest, the hare warriors remained vigilant.  They moved closer to the dug-in vermin, but kept under cover. 

Each hare awaited the start of the assault.  Snellzen raised his paw.  Before he could lower it, Jazzin returned.  Crouching by Lord Brisson, the mouse made his report.  "Nothing, absolutely nothing has been in this forest other than us for at least a month.  If this is a trap, there's nobody waiting to spring it from our rear."

Lieutenant Snellzen considered Jazzin's words; then rubbed his paws together in anticipation.  He relayed orders for the attack.  Ears flattened and whiskers twitched as each soldier awaited the command.

"Give 'em blood and vinegar," shouted the officer.

The hares initiated their frontal assault.  Steel met steel.  The vermin held and Lord Brisson ordered a retreat.  Four hares nursed injuries that left them unable to rejoin the fight. 

The Lieutenant rallied the others as they prepared for another charge against the slaver's fortifications.  Before Snellzen could issue his command, Lord Brisson called out to the vermin, asking for a parley.  Several hares grumbled, but complied with his orders.

A large stoat stood, though he kept close to a wide tree trunk.  "There's nothing to discuss badger.  If you retreat, we will not pursue.  That's our best offer."

Brisson's laughter shattered the silence that followed the stoat's audacious offer.  "I'm thinking you expected another force to hit us from behind while you entertained my hares.  You've been deceived; nobody is hiding in this forest.  If there was such a force, they would have attacked us by now."

The stoat's muzzle pointed down for several moments.  When he raised it, the bravado had disappeared.  "We know the fate of slavers; better to die taking as many of you as possible."

"I am Lord Brisson, heir to the throne of the Northern Alliance," he shouted.  "Surrender and I will have you sent to a penal colony.  Ten years if we don't recover the prisoners, three if they are freed.  You have my word on it.  Decide.  Do you prefer death or a chance at life?"

The forest stood in total silence, even the leaves seemed to stop rustling.  Lord Brisson stared at the vermin's barricade, waiting for some reaction to his offer.  As time passed, Snellzen prepared for his next assault.  The hares moved as close as they dared; weapons shifted, catching the waning sunlight.

Three sheathed swords flew from the barrier.  Another six weapons fell onto the path separating the two sides.  The stoat who had addressed him stood, his paws held away from his body.  Eight others followed his example.

Leaving the prisoners guarded by the injured hares, the others moved out at double time.  Once again the warriors jogged down the trail as they raced towards the ocean.  Darkness deepened with the setting sun and still the soldiers pressed forward.

The lead scout charged across a deserted beach.  He splashed into the ocean until the water reached his chest.  The hare lifted his metal studded club and smashed it into the waves that pressed him backward.  With every splash the hare cursed the shadowy outline of the launches floating beyond his reach.

Close behind their scout, the hares reached the beach.  Lord Brisson's paws snatched the bow another hare carried in a backpack.  He strung it in one motion while preparing an arrow.  He drew the bow until it threatened to snap in two.  He sighted along the shaft at the withdrawing boats.  A paw knocked the arrow off the string and he glared at the hare officer.

"They might be in your range sire, but there is as much chance of you hitting one of the captives as there is of you killing a raider."

Lord Brisson threw the useless bow onto the beach and bellowed in frustration.  He added his taunts to the insults hurled by the partially immersed scout.  Lord Brisson stared into the inky darkness.  Just as his labored breathing slackened, lights flared to life.  The vessel remained an indistinct silhouette to those standing on the beach.

Though he knew their mission was doomed to failure, he could not give the order to stand down.  A glance at the other soldiers confirmed their reluctance at withdrawing.  As long as the vermin ship could be discerned, everyone remained rooted to the spot.

A light arched high into the sky and landed on the water.  There a fiery flower bloomed that illuminated the nearby waters.  Three more such fires flared to life.  Just as the fourth one faded, the high-pitched wail of some beast shattered the silence.  The flames shifted to another part of the blackened ocean.

"What in bloody blazes is going on out there?" one hare said in a hushed voice.

"Some beast must have gone overboard and is making a swim for it," another hare answered.

Foremole, who stood furthest from the water, spoke.  "The merchant caravan had a family of otters carving jewelry.  Maybe they dove overboard."

"If they did, there's no way we can help them."  Frustration tinted his words as another scream echoed over the waters.

One flaming arrow arched high into the sky where it burst into a new sun that showed those standing on shore the raider's ship.  In the brief light, all saw the distinctive blood-red sails and the two high masts that divided the ship.  Even as the light faded, the name of the raiding ship, The Red Sharkeye, appeared in bold lettering along the bow.

Just before total blackness again engulfed the sea, a third scream rent the air.  The sound of synchronized oars rising and falling drifted to shore.  Even as the frustrated hares stood helpless to intercede, the vessel receded.  When the ship moved beyond the range of the sharpest ears, everyone prepared to withdraw.

Lord Brisson retreated from the water's edge.  Their defeat had each beast dragging their paws, reluctant to leave even when staying would accomplish nothing.  Then the lone doe froze in place while her ears swiveled.  Soon two more mimicked her actions.  The soldiers advanced to the water's edge while the others watched with growing anticipation.

Jumping up and down, the doe exclaimed "There! There! There!"  With every hop she held her arm straight out pointing with her sword.  "A voice.  I hear a voice."

Lord Brisson never hesitated.  He plunged into the dark waters.  From the beach, several hares shouted out directions.  With powerful strokes, he cut through the water.  Then he too heard the voice.  Lord Brisson homed in on the mournful cry and discovered a struggling female mole.   Without the hare's exceptional hearing, the sea would soon have claimed this one.

Grasping the lady's blouse in his teeth, Lord Brisson fought the tide as he towed the mole towards the safety of shore.  Her low moans gave him all the encouragement he needed.  Desperation gave him strength as he raced for shore battling both the tide and the frigid waters.  Once his paws touched bottom, he cradled the female in his arms.  Even in the darkness, he knew the seriousness of her injuries.

When Lord Brisson shouted to those on shore that he held an injured female mole, Foremole pushed through the crowd to the water's edge.  "Terra, Terra, you're safe now," he shouted.  Foremole clicked his sharp digging claws together as he awaited the arrival of his daughter.

The injured mole stirred.  Her eyes widened as she stared into the face of her savior.  She reached up, pulling hard on his ear.  Lord Brisson felt the girl's muzzle caress his ear.  He remained standing in waist deep water as the mole spoke.  So weak was the girl that her voice came out as a mere whisper.  Had she not placed her muzzle so close, he would have missed much of what she imparted.  Then she shuddered as a bloody cough wracked her frail form.

Lord Brisson lowered the still warm body of Terranoir onto the beach.  The hare medic approached, but stopped when he saw him.  No doubt the medic knew the girl's fate by his expression.  Foremole pushed every beast aside as he dashed to his prone daughter's side.

"Wake up girl.  This be no time for sleep" moaned Foremole.

Lord Brisson placed a paw on the grieving father's shoulder.  Foremole's tear-streaked face turned towards him.  "Be off with you," he snarled.  "I saw her speak with you and now she plays at sleep.  She will speak to me, not you stripedog.  Not you."

"Your daughter has departed for Dark Forest."

"No.  She lives.  She fakes sleep to anger me," sobbed Foremole.  "Give me a stout switch and see how fast she awakens." 

Foremole clung to the lifeless body of his daughter and wailed as he rocked back and forth.  Every so often, he would plead, threaten, or entice the girl.

Lord Brisson again approached Foremole.  "We will help you bury your daughter, sir.  She has done us a great service.  I will honor her in whatever manner you wish."

"Then permit me to return her body to Redwall," Foremole sobbed, his voice still filled with anger and contempt.  "There my wife and I can visit her grave; for our lives ended as well when she left for Dark Forest.  So keep your bloody honor, badger, and I will try to forget my daughter thought it far more important to speak to a stranger than her kin."

Lieutenant Snellzen followed Lord Brisson a few paces from the others.  "Sire, that fellow had no right growling at you.  Your position as heir to the throne demands respect."

Lord Brisson watched the other warriors consoling Foremole.  He kept his voice low as he spoke to his officer.  "Grief has a father speak in anger; I can forgive that."

He then pointed to the others standing on the beach.  "Send our fastest runner back to that dead squirrel we passed, Lieutenant.  According to . . . ."

"Her name was Terranoir," said the hare.

Lord Brisson nodded.  "Terranoir, the squirrel's purse holds valuable information.  If we are lucky, we may learn something useful.  All we need is confirmation from those prisoners."

"There wasn't an officer among them," Lieutenant Snellzen said.  "Even their commander was a lowly grunt ordered to hold at all cost.  I doubt they know anything useful."

Lord Brisson glanced back at the distraught father who still pleaded with his dead daughter.  "Our chances are slim, but I'll not let her death be in vain.  I have every intention of pursuing her clues and finding that ship.  This I swear."










Comments? Questions? Insults? (http://redwallabbey.com/forum/index.php?topic=2275.msg92783#msg92783).

The dining hall bustled.  Residents filled their trays with choice fare prepared by the cooks before finding a seat at one of the many tables.  Animated conversations added a background hum as friends and family exchanged pleasantries.

At one table, Tassel attended to the orphaned or abandoned young placed in her care.  As Redwall's badgermom, she knew today's remarks focused on either final grades or summer plans.  She heard several mention the upcoming swimming party, celebrating the successful conclusion to another school year. 

Sarweed, a mouse who would soon become an elder, spoke in a low but plaintive voice.  "Please don't come over here."

Tassel turned her muzzle towards the mouse.  "Let me guess, Markus and Darlow?"

She groaned when Sarweed gave a quick head bob.  Ever since those two hares arrived, the peace and tranquility Redwall enjoyed morphed into a wistful dream.  Both hares delighted in springing practical jokes.  At first, their pranks provided everyone an occasional light moment of amusement.  As their antics became more annoying, the residents no longer excused them as playful jokes. 

Tassel sensed the change.  Conversations quieted.  Half finished plates remained untouched though each dibbun held their utensils at the ready.  The badgermom turned.  The two hares stood like sentries on either side of her chair.

As brother and sister, they shared the same brilliant white coloration.  Yet each had distinctive markings.  Markus showed a patch of grey fur on an exposed belly as well as one under the rolled-up sleeve of his right arm.  Darlow had two thin brown streaks that reminded Tassel of twin snakes crawling up her long legs. 

Tassel checked their attire.  Markus wore a matching shirt and trousers that had as many wrinkles as a newly plowed field.  Both his vest and shirt remained unbuttoned, which left the upper half of his body exposed.  She would never tolerate such a disheveled appearance from any of her youngsters.  At least Darlow took pride in her appearance.  The doe hare wore an immaculate yellow sundress that displayed sharp creases.

After viewing the two teens, Tassel returned to her breakfast.  "If the two of you are joining our table, there's plenty of room at the far end.  I suggest you hurry or your food will become cold."

Markus leaned down, his voice just loud enough so those at the table could hear him.  "We have such great news."  Tassel caught the insincere inflection.

Darlow drew closer.  "Oh yes, such wonderful news it is too.  Because of slavers roaming about the countryside, we are remaining at the Abbey until the end of the next school year."

"Excellent.  I do hope your time will be," Tassel hesitated, "enjoyable."   

"More to the point, mum, is how enjoyable we can make it for vermin scum like you."

All of the children reacted to the hare's implied threat.  The two older males stood with their paws clenched in fists.  Though the youngest male remained seated, he bared his teeth and hissed.  Even the six females set dignity aside as they too rose in defense of their elder.  A light rap on the table caused them to hesitate.  The children returned to their meals as the two laughing hares moved to another table.

* * *

"Are you that stupid or are you just a senile sow?"  Karteel screamed. 

He stood so close the air from his voice would have ruffled the female's fur if she wasn't wearing a cloth mask.  Karteel was well aware no beast liked anyone invading their personal space, which was why he did it.  Such tactics helped him train many raw recruits in the past, and he saw no reason for changing his methods. 

"No, you're not stupid.  That would mean you had some brains in the beginning."  He stepped back a pace, hoping the disgust he felt registered on his face.

Karteel backed up another three paces.  He barked out a cadence.  With each number, the badger changed positions, her reed swords moving to his commands.  The pace increased.  Without interrupting the rhythm, Karteel lunged at Tassel striking her chest with his reed sword.

"You're dead.  Drop your guard just once and those brats you care so much about will be in an unmarked grave.  Try it again."

Once more he counted.  When he had the sow badger moving faster, he made his thrust.  The badger's sword deflected the killing blow and Karteel retreated as the next count had Tassel's sword slashing at his head.  Twice more he tried piercing her defense and each time a reed sword parried his blade.  He ordered the badger to stop.

"Maybe there's hope for you yet."  For the first time since their private practice sessions started, he smiled.  "Try it against a live opponent."

Karteel charged the masked badger, his reed sword cutting through the air.  Tassel blocked it and initiated her attack.  The crack of dry reeds filled the air as the two continued their duel.  Neither fighter held back as they circled.  He retreated and stopped their fight.

"That will be enough for today; you're making excellent progress.  I would dread being the vermin fiend that faced you. dear lady."

"Don't you mean woodlander?  If she ever does use a real weapon, those inside will have more reason to fear this vermin than any foe scaling the walls."

Both student and teacher faced their unexpected observer.  Markus, a buck hare of fourteen summers, left the shade of a nearby tree.  He swaggered towards both fighters, but kept his eyes focused on the badger. 

"Best you leave her no better off than a raw recruit.  That way she will prove no danger to others she would betray."

Badgermom Tassel placed her paws on her hips.  "Markus, you should be in school, not wandering about the Abbey.  Even our father abbot would have some objections to you skipping classes."

Markus rolled his eyes.  "You must be joking.  My sister and I have the highest scores of any student.  And since today is the last day, where's the harm?  All teachers ever do is hand out report cards and discuss the upcoming year.  We'll hear the same speech on the first day of classes."

"So you figured interrupting my training session acceptable?"  Karteel marched up to the hare until he stood between his student and Markus.  He continued to advance until his nose touched the hare's.  "If you think yourself the better fighter, I can find you some practice pads and we can spar.  So far, all you have demonstrated is a glib tongue; let's see you back it with actions."

That had the hare laughing.  "It would be no contest.  With my father in the Long Patrol, he made sure I received the best training possible.  I stopped practicing with reed swords two summers back."

"If you have no intention of demonstrating your skills, why are you here?" Tassel snarled.

"I saw you at your fun and games and decided to come and watch the incompetent trained by the reluctant.  I must say you do provide a most enjoyable show.  I'll have to invite my sister; maybe we can sell tickets."

Karteel opened his mouth, but the Badgermom spoke first.  "That you do not respect me, I can accept.  That you would insult our instructor is going one step over the line young fellow."  Tassel took a step towards the young hare.

Markus moved a pace backward.  "It will take more than words to convince the father abbot that whatever punishment you think proper, be imposed.  Even if you didn't wear all that heavy padding, I think I can outrace you."

Karteel turned his back on the hare.  He walked over to a bench and unfastened his padding.  The sweat-soaked gear fell to the ground, leaving a heavy musty smell.  Karteel rubbed his chest with a towel as he dried the perspiration.  A paw tapped his shoulder.  When he turned, there stood Markus. 

"As I said, fighting you wouldn't be very entertaining, but I might be willing to take on your student.  Such vermin deserve a good whack or two."

Karteel considered the hare's offer.  Unlike most of the Abbey residents, Tassel took an intense interest in learning the proper use of her weapons.  Her skills needed honing, but challenging somebody with more expertise would be an excellent test.  He glanced at Tassel.

"Practice pads will reduce the blows, but I would dearly love trying to raise a welt or two on that hare."  Tassel twirled her two reed swords as she took a defensive stand.

He handed Markus his reed sword and pointed to his discarded padding.  Markus took the reed sword but declined the equipment.  "No need for such rubbish.  She couldn't hit me if I stood still."

The instructor shrugged his shoulders.  Both duelists eyed the other as they awaited the signal to begin.  Karteel explained the ground rules, which caused Markus to drop his sword and place his paws over his ears.  Tassel changed her stance, her paws again resting on her hips.

"Where's the fun, the challenge?  I would enjoy something of a side wager with yon vermin lady, if she has the nerve."

"If you're proposing a deal, it better end with my fanning your furry bottom when I win."

"Agreed." responded the laughing hare.  "Since you have established the stakes to our little contest, I shall set the venue.  What say we face off with these reed swords on the low scaffolding by the east wall?  If you can knock me off, I am all yours, dear lady." 

The hare's syrupy-sweet voice grated on Karteel's nerves.  Though he anticipated her reply, it pleased him hearing his student accept his terms.  The three of them ambled over to the east wall.

Moles had erected the scaffolding to repair some damaged bricks.  With Foremole still in mourning over the recent death of his daughter, it remained in place even though the moles finished the work several days earlier.  The structure consisted of seven sections, each with five different levels wide enough for three creatures to stand.  When Markus and Tassel climbed onto opposite ends, the frame wobbled.

"Last week's rains left the ground soft, so neither of you should be injured when you fall."  Karteel shouted to the two fighters.  "I'm sure it's sound.  Foremole isn't one to let his crew work on something that isn't safe."

Markus sat on the middle level eyeing the masked badger.  His one leg swung back and forth as he leaned against the support pole.  "This is going to be a jolly good show.  I'll wear you out running up and down this thing while you move about like a fat slug."

Tassel removed her padding and dropped it over the side.  "I'm getting tired of listening to such an arrogant windbag.  Once I have you cornered, you'll prefer a firm spanking to the thrashing I can give you with these reed swords."

Karteel gave the signal.  Badgermom Tassel assumed a defensive posture as she eyed the hare.  Markus remained seated.  Neither fighter made a move.  Tassel relaxed.  Markus studied the reeds he held while he hummed.

"I can wait."

Markus stopped plucking at his reed sword.  "To the contrary, it is I who can wait all day.  School will be letting out in four hours and you want to know how those brainless blunders of yours did."  The hare gave a slow stretch.  "If you want to win this duel, you have to come to me."

The badger advanced.  She passed the first section and still the hare rested.  Tassel passed the upright marking the start of the third section.  The platform listed and the supports wobbled.  Tassel shifted her position closer to the wall.  Markus leaned against the far support, the reed sword dangling from his paw.

Tassel stood next to the support at the end of the third section.  The boards beneath her feet moved.  The structure groaned.  Markus twirled his sword like a bandleader's baton.  His attention focused on catching the reed handle as it spun in the air. 

Karteel watched his student pass the next post.  The badger reached the center section of the scaffolding.  A series of loud popping sounds disturbed the peace.  Instinctively Karteel stepped back.  The popping gave way to a loud shriek as the central section swayed.  Planks from the upper levels tilted.  Tassel lunged for the nearest vertical support as the upper levels collapsed.

The post Tassel held leaned away from the wall.  The planks slid off the scaffolding.  As the wood shifted, Tassel lost her balance.  One paw snagged the nearest metal beam while her body hung suspended in the air.  The vertical support shrieked as it tore away from the wall.  The badger fell, landing in a muddy puddle.  The central three sections collapsed atop her.

Karteel stepped closer to the jumbled pile of wooden planks and metal girders.  He stopped.  A gloved paw reached up and pushed one of the boards to the side.  Karteel froze in place as she issued a mighty roar.  Pieces of the destroyed scaffolding flew in all directions as Tassel freed herself.

Judging by the sound of her voice, the badger's patience had reached its breaking point.  Her paws flicked off the dirt still clinging to her fur while her garments remained coated in mud.  She stepped clear of the wreckage, shaking her fist at the laughing hare.

"You cheated.  You sabotaged the platform."

"This time I cannot take the credit.  My sister Darlow came up with the idea.  You could say she rigged the rigging.  According to our agreement, the first to fall off this thing lost.  Since I'm up here and you're in the mud, I win." 

Once Markus climbed down his section of the scaffolding, he tossed the reed sword at Tassel's feet.  "Or will you, like all vermin, go back on your word?" 

Karteel worked his way closer to his student.  Together, the two listened to the hare's laughter as he walked away.  He offered his paw to his student as he led her towards firmer ground.  The badger never ceased muttering words unfit for any lady.

The badger's muzzle turned in the direction of the retreating hare.  "One of these days those hares will go too far.  When they do, even our father abbot will not stop me from doing what I must."

He nodded.  "Let me know when that day comes.  I for one would appreciate seeing that one put in his place."

Since his arrival in this new land, Bruno followed the witch's instructions.  Melody said, "Seek the road for the end of day," which led him into the setting sun.  He believed her prophecy referred to the road he took since he could still detect the smell of brine on the wind as she had foretold.  Then he came across a patch of thistles on both sides of the road that kept him walking throughout the night.   

When the thorny plants gave way to clover, Bruno took the next path leading away from the ocean.  At first, it remained nothing more than a meandering dirt trail that eventually led him to a small farming community.  From there, he discovered a stony roadway that remained hard on the feet but dry despite the heaviest rains.  He continued following the serpentine road as it took him further inland.

As the night sky lightened, Bruno leaned forward in a muscle-relaxing slow stretch.  He gathered his bedding and packed everything as he had each morning since leaving the port of Ferretsville.  His questing paws snatched the last of his rations.  A swig of water drained his canteen.  Finished with what passed as a morning meal, he looked up and saw how the constellations had faded with the coming dawn.

"I'm wasting daylight.  I better find someplace soon or I'll be hungry come morning."  Bruno muttered to himself as he buried last night's fire.  His paw checked his broadsword, making sure it slid in and out with ease.  He started up the hill.

Bruno crested the hill.  What he saw made him want to dance with joy.  In the distance, he spied a red structure.  His eyes traced the road as it wound through the valley.  Though he lost sight of its course once it entered the forest, he hoped it passed the unknown fortress.  Bruno maintained a brisk pace now that he had a definite destination.

"Every place I've seen has been made of thatch or wood, and none of them were painted.  If that structure ahead is made of stone, its color will match the witch's words."  His speed increased while he whistled a merry tune.

An hour later, Bruno came upon a true oddity.  In the grassy field bordering the road he saw sheep.  Unlike those of his homeland, several displayed a light tinting.  The closest one appeared blue, while its grazing neighbor showed a hint of pink. 

"Now what manner of beast is that?"  Bruno stepped off the road and made for the nearest animal.

He came within four paces of the targeted animal when a stone cracked into the rock by his foot.  Bruno reached for his sword, his paw moving like a hummingbird's wing.  Standing at the ready, he gazed about him, searching for his unseen attacker.

"You'll not find anyone down there badger," called a feminine voice.  "If your intentions are honorable, sheath that blade before I decide to bounce a stone off that thick hide of yours."

Bruno homed in on the source of the voice.  In a tree just to the left, a female squirrel stood.  Her natural black colored fur blended into the shadows, making her almost invisible.  She balanced on the lowest branch while her sling spun around at a slow pace.  Judging by her confident stance and the accuracy of her last shot, Bruno believed she could make good on her threat.  He moved in an exaggerated slow manner, sheathing his blade.  Bruno then kept his paw by his side, as far from the sword's hilt as possible.

"Forgive my reaction, but you did startle me.  I am a stranger in these lands and I have never seen blue sheep.  Where I come from, they are either white or tan."

The squirrel ceased twirling her sling and hung it on her belt.  "The same is true here.  A pair of pranksters dyed their wool two months back.  Fortunately the colors didn't set and has faded over time." 

Bruno laughed.  "It would be easier speaking if we didn't have to shout across this field."

The lady squirrel descended from her lofty perch where she retrieved her Sheppard's crook.  Despite her smaller size, she had the swagger of a warrior who knew she held the stronger position.  When she drew closer, Bruno noted her brilliant green eyes as she stared at him.  She maintained a guarded pose, the crook held like a quarterstaff.

"I am called Robertasin.  These sheep belong to my family."

"I seek information regarding the large red structure I spotted this morning.  Can you tell me more about it?"

"Indeed I can," replied the squirrel.  "That's Redwall Abbey.  If you follow along the road you left, you will come to a wooden bridge that crosses a wide stream.  It leads to the Abbey's main gate."

After thanking her, Bruno started back the way he came.  Just as he stepped onto the stone path, he called out to the squirrel.  "Until I met you, everyone seemed bewitched by badgers.  Why were you so hostile?"

Robertasin leaned upon her crook.  "Badgers seldom travel beyond the boundaries of their clan's territory.  When they do, others will try currying favor.  Such powerful friends are always welcomed in a land where vermin bandits still roam."

"That explains why others treated me as if I were some high ranking dignitary, but not your reaction."

"Since Redwall has a badger living within its walls, I am quite familiar with your breed.  I see nothing mystical about your kind as others might."  A sly smile crept across her face.  "Besides, what value is a shepherdess who will not protect her flock from strangers?"

"So, there are badgers within this Abbey you speak of?"

Robertasin snorted.  "There is but one badger within those stone walls.  I suggest you travel the road past the Abbey to a place where many of your kind live.  They would welcome a stranger who wants to join their community."

The lady squirrel turned her back on him and strolled towards the far side of the meadow.  "As for me, these sheep need to be moved to greener pastures."  Without another glance at Bruno, she prodded the sheep away from the road he traveled.

By early afternoon, Bruno reached the bridge Robertasin described.  At the end of the path the open gates to the red stone fortress beckoned.  As he drew nearer, Bruno came upon a guard sitting by the gate.  The old hedgehog may have held a spear, but all he fought was the onset of an afternoon nap.  He passed under the archway unchallenged.

Bruno paused inside the inner courtyard of Redwall Abbey.  He observed several squirrels resting under a large apple tree talking with a pair of voles in an animated, but genial exchange.  The laugher from two river otters standing by the main gate overpowered the conversation of the mice ambling past him.  Every beast within the Abbey grounds seemed to share the same festive mood.

Yet an indefinable something about the place bothered Bruno.  After some thought, he marked the cause of his consternation.  Not a single child could be found.  While his mind pondered this strange phenomenon, his meandering placed him near one group of lady hedgehogs who did not notice his presence.

"My two dibbuns seemed to be having a hard time in school.  Oh they did fine with their lessons, but their letters make me think they were homesick.  I know they will be so happy classes end today and they can spend some time with us."

The swirling crowd pushed him beyond the lady hedgehog.  "No wonder so many elders crowd the courtyard," Bruno mumbled.  "I'm wasting daylight; best I find whoever is in charge."

Just as he stepped out, he bumped into two moles.  Everyone exchanged apologies and introductions.  When he learned the moles resided here, he took the opportunity to ask for assistance.  One mole pointed out the main building, but hastened in the direction of the gate when his mate pulled his paw.

Bruno entered the large building, hesitating in an expansive foyer.  His nose detected the savory aroma of hot food coming from a side room as noisy as any tavern's common room.  Corridors on both sides of the foyer led down hallways with closed doors in an otherwise empty building.  Recalling Foremole's directions, he climbed the marble steps to the second level and turned.

He heard the raised voices of several creatures.  Bruno moved closer to a door just to the left side of the stairway.  His ears detected the angry tone of one beast within the room.  His curiosity brought him near enough that he could distinguish the conversations emanating from the room.

"Keep your filthy paws off me you vermin sow," yelled a male voice. 

A distinctive female voice answered with an authoritative tone.  "I believe in age before beauty.  So, by virtue of one year, you will go first."

After a short pause, the same male voice screamed out.  "My parents have expressly forbidden you to touch me.  You will release me at once."

Bruno opened the door.  He entered a room as noisy as a steeple when the bells tolled.  To his left, Bruno heard a second female's somewhat muffled voice demanding her release.  A chair propped under the doorknob kept her imprisoned within a closet.  The unknown female accentuated her commands with a continual pounding from within. 

The owner of the female voice he first heard from outside the room sat on the bed with her back to the doorway.  She wore a simple grey dress with matching fingerless gloves, and a tight-fitting bonnet of the same color.  Since she had her back to Bruno, the female remained unaware of his presence.

The second occupant had his posterior facing up while lying across the female's legs.  The large female had pinned the male's arms despite his struggles.  While she maintained her hold, she endeavored to remove his trousers.  Though the creature's arms were well secured, the final outcome of their titanic struggle had yet to be determined.

Bruno reached out and grabbed the female's shoulder.  He spoke in a firm voice that demanded immediate compliance.  "If the boy's parents have told you to keep your paws off, then you must release him.  Do it now."

In one fluid motion the female creature dumped her captive to the floor, spun around and punched Bruno hard in his chest.  Before he could recover, the beast before him became the embodiment of a demon.  Bruno fought to restrain the maddened beast.  After taking several hard knocks, Bruno latched onto one of the female's arms, pinning it behind her.

"Cease your struggles lady or ..." Bruno lifted her elbow upward, causing the unknown beast sufficient pain that she howled.  "Persist, and I will snap your arm off and beat you with the bloody end."

Just as Bruno subdued the female, he heard a chair topple behind him.  A door creaked open and running footsteps drew nearer.  Bruno had just enough time to identify the two other creatures as hares before they joined the fray.  Never in his wildest imaginings did Bruno expect such an assault.  He lost his grip on the female and it became a four-way brawl.  It took considerable effort on his part subduing the female a second time while shielding her from the efforts of the two hares. 

The male hare aimed a high kick at the restrained female.  Bruno blocked the foot and then pushed the off balanced male into the female hare.  Both tumbled, landing hard on the floor.  Bruno sat on the bed atop the elder with one paw gripping her elbow.  He formed a fist with his other paw.  The two hares, eyes wide, hesitated. 

"No doubt this is something the Father Abbot needs to know," Bruno growled.  "All of us will go to his office this instant."

"Kurella, wake up.  Something's happening outside."

Firecrown prodded the sleeping mouse.  He got nothing more for his troubles than a muffled grunt from his companion.  She squirmed a bit and moaned, but remained dead to the world.  He reached out his paw; it hovered above the girl's shoulder.

He paused.  Both of them had spent ten hours rowing the Red Sharkeye through the night.  If she could sleep in the bowels of a ship despite the putrid smells, he would let her.  Soon enough the guards would return and they would be rowing again.  He leaned back against the curved side of the ship.

In the dim light, he could make out a creature advancing in his direction.  The clinking of shackles overpowered the low rumbling grunts, wheezing and snores from the other inhabitants.  When the beast crossed the center section, Firecrown recognized him as the rower who replaced him last night.  The hedgehog lowered himself to the deck wiggling between him and another sleeping oar slave.

Until now, the two never had reason to speak.  With the hedgehog sitting next to him, Firecrown had a chance to scrutinize the beast.  He displayed an even mixture of black and white tipped quills trimmed close to his downy white fur.  The grey fur on his muzzle and around his eyes obscured his face in the low light.  If not for his white forehead, Firecrown could almost imagine the fellow with no head.

"About two hours after I relieved you, the crew had us ship our oars."  He hacked, searched for an open area of deck, and spat.  "We're in a harbor.  Best you rest for what is about to happen."

Firecrown nodded.  Thanks to the hedgehog's comments, he understood what had awakened him.  Strange how fast he got use to the routine sounds of the vessel in motion.  Sitting in the slave hold, his ears couldn't detect any sounds from the rowing deck above him.  If he did not know better, he would think the ship deserted.

"Our captain is a sly old rat, no doubt about it.  He breaks his captives by having them serve on the oars.  When we get somewhere needing slaves, he will have us taken topside.  If you're lucky, some vermin scum will buy you."

"You sound like you've been through this before."  Firecrown turned his head towards his uninvited guest.

"That I have squirrel.  The first time, I had the same fire I see in your eyes.  I'm here with a bit of friendly advice.  Spitting in the face of the captain's best customer kept me in this living hell.  The second time we went topside, the buyer thought I had too many scars.  I learned my lesson.  Since then, I've been on my best behavior."

Firecrown never got a chance to respond.  A number of feet pounded the deck above their heads.  He listened to the clanking of keys by the grate that separated them from the oars.  The release of the lock tolled like a mistuned bell.  The door squealed as it swung open.  Firecrown had just enough time to see the legs of some vermin crew beast before the hedgehog's paw pulled him down.

"Act like you were sleeping" the hedgehog hissed.  "Don't go up until they force you, but don't resist.  As the last ones out, we'll be in the front row.  We stand a much better chance of surviving as slaves on some estate than as rowers with an oar chained to our paws."

They didn't wait long.  The guards pushed and prodded the captives from the farthest end as they worked towards the ladder.  The noise and activity woke everyone.  The guards had most of the hold cleared when the hedgehog bullied his way into the line leaving him where he sat.  A moment later, the guards rousted him and his mouse companion.

Once out of the hold, the crew shackled him to a chain with nine other rowers.  A quick check behind him confirmed Kurella's presence.  Two crew beasts used belaying pins as clubs, prodding everyone to the stairwell.  From there, they climbed three decks.  For the first time since coming aboard the ship, Firecrown saw sunlight.  He shielded his eyes from the glare and reveled at the warmth.

A large pine martin leaned across the railing from the quarterdeck, staring down at the captives.  He continued his visual inspection as the crew formed the slaves into neat lines running from port to starboard.  Nobody spoke or moved for several moments.  A sea rat came alongside the pine martin.

"I told you we had an excellent haul, and I'm giving you first opportunity.  Every one of them is in prime condition and ready to do your bidding."

The pine martin snorted.  "Don't try pulling the sail over my eyes, Captain Peggen.  Those beasts will be on the auction block in another week if I don't take them.  Whichever ones you don't sell, I'll see when you stop here next time, assuming they live that long."

Captain Peggen remained silent.  Again the pine martin stared at the collection of slaves standing on the decks.  The fellow tucked his hat under his arm and descended the stairwell to the main deck while the captain followed.  They strolled up each row.  Sometimes the pine martin pushed or prodded one of the slaves as he made a closer inspection.  Firecrown almost bit the pine martin when he tried inspecting his teeth, but remembered what the hedgehog said.

With their assessment finished, the two ascended the stairs.  Though Firecrown stood in the first row, he couldn't pick up what the two vermin said.  They haggled for some time until the pine martin withdrew a large purse.  Even from his vantage point, the glint of sunlight reflected off gold and silver coins as they passed from the pine martin to Captain Peggen.

The sea rat summoned one of the crew.  The stoat hustled down the ladder and rushed aft while several others fell in step with him.  The sound of chains dragging on the wooden deck broke the silence.  Firecrown watched as other slaves disappeared down the stairway. 

Something grabbed his leg.  Looking down, he saw the stoat insert a key into the shackle.  A loud click heralded his release.  Two paws seize his shoulders and pull him aft.  Firecrown wanted to drive his elbow into the guard's stomach once the sailor released him, but remained docile.  When the last string of slaves returned to the hold, twelve woodlanders remained, including Kurella and the hedgehog Firecrown spoke with earlier.  The sound of wood striking wood drew his eyes back to the pine martin.

"Welcome to the island of Vratadoe in the Tamagoran Archipelagos.  Once this ship leaves, understand all hope leaves with it.  For those assigned to toil on any of our many islands, quash any thought of escape.  None have ever succeeded.  We are so far off any established trade routes that we remain unknown to most of the world."

Vermin sailors herded the slaves to a rope ladder hanging over the side.  One by one the slaves climbed down to the raft floating alongside the ship.  The pine martin came last.  He shouted a series of commands sending the craft towards the beach.

His first view of the island of Vratadoe quashed Firecrown's escape hopes.  The wide beach contained no vegetation and the high hills appeared devoid of life.  If not for the many wooden huts lining its shore, the squirrel would believe this place nothing more than a deserted isle.

The pine martin led everyone to a large building at the center of the compound where a number of creatures stood.  At the urging of the pine martin, each new arrival approached a waiting clerk who made a notation in his ledger.  Then with a dismissive wave of his paw, the slave shuffled outside toward a waiting guard. 

Firecrown approached the ferret clerk who looked over the rims of his glasses while writing in the ledger on his desk.  He snapped his fingers and a female vole stepped forward.  She hustled him out the door so fast he had no chance at learning the fate of his friend.

"My name is Splinters, and I am the slave overseer.  That means I can give you an order, and you must obey.  Refuse the orders of any taskmaster, and you could be feeling leather across your back, from me or one of the guards.  If you obey, life here can be very pleasant."

"I thought you were some willing servant, a creature broken by these fiends."  Firecrown spoke in a contemptuous tone.  "Now I see you're as much a slaver as the vermin that captured me.  Best you keep your distance vole, one way or another, I intend making life for our taskmasters just as miserable as they make ours."

Unlike the voles he knew back at Redwall, this one stood before him unclothed.  Her only adornment being a sash she wore over her right shoulder.  For her part, she stood in front of him as he completed his examination oblivious to her lack of clothing. 

"Is there a reason why you would be naked," Firecrown asked.

"These islands are tropical, and our masters prefer us this way."

Firecrown's response had the female shake her head.  At that moment, the vole's eyes reminded him of his mother whenever he did something not to her liking. 

"The Fates must have decided I needed a challenge.  Such an attitude will only lead to trouble.  I just hope nobody else is harmed by your foolhardy actions."

Splinters led him up a long narrow path until they crested the summit.  He could not believe what his eyes beheld.  Instead of the bleak landscape he expected, the valley showed cultivated fields and an orchard.  Near the center, the sun reflected off water.  Distracted by the stark contrast between the beach and the valley, Firecrown almost missed the vole's monologue.

"To the east, there are deep mines where we extract iron.  On the north side of the mine entrance, are smelting and casting plants where pig iron is made.  Our village is located on the south side of the mine's entrance.  There are several artisans crafting things the masters sell or trade with outsiders.  For example, I happen to be an excellent furniture maker.  I use wood shipped from another island and build whatever my masters deem saleable."

As Splinters spoke, a male squirrel approached.  Firecrown initially mistook his light brown coloring for dirt.  Up close, he realized his mistake.  Never had he seen a squirrel with such a fur coloring.  Any lighter and it would match the color of harvested wheat.

The lady vole handled the introductions.  Firecrown almost laughed when he heard the other squirrel's name.  It may have lacked imagination, but it did match his coloration.  Splinters asked the other squirrel to show their newest worker to the bunkhouse.

After the lady vole left, Dusty reached out his paw. The two shook.  Dusty squeezed his paw and Firecrown accepted the challenge.  The two engaged in this silent test of strength for a few heartbeats more before they released their grips.  Firecrown fought the urge to flex his fingers, but smiled when he saw the other squirrel do it.

Dusty rested his paws on his hips, his expression matching a drill instructor upon seeing his latest batch of recruits.  "You're a strong one and should do fine when you go digging for the iron.  Stick with me, I'll show you everything you need to know about this place." 

"So you're my guide.  In time you can show me where I will be staying.  For now, I need to know more about where I am." 

Over the next two hours, Dusty gave him a rundown on his new home as they meandered through the valley.  He pointed out the many workshops where skilled workers crafted the tools needed or those things ordered by their masters.  Dusty spoke about the processing plant where they smelted iron.  He went into great detail regarding the deep mines that buttressed up to their camp.

"What about guards?  I haven't seen many."

Dusty surprised Firecrown by his response.  "The ferrets who run this island allow a unit of thirty stoats to guard this valley.  Most watch the mines, or the smelting plant.  The rest are off duty.  Very few ever patrol the region."

Firecrown came to a sudden halt.  "We outnumber these vermin slavers by more than ten to one and nobody ever considered rebelling?  Wouldn't you like to be free to go or do whatever you wanted?"

Dusty's scowl startled Firecrown.  "I have lived here all my life and never have I heard anyone even suggest such a crazy thing.  We may outnumber the guards here, but have you considered those down on the beach?  There are over a hundred trained ferret soldiers there.  None here are foolhardy enough that they would oppose such a military force.

"If you're honest, even you served some master back at your old home.  One can move away, but all you do is change masters.  Better the threat of the whip and a full belly than the illusion of freedom and starvation."

Firecrown stared at Dusty and wondered how so muscular a creature would willingly submit to these vermin.  He told his companion about his home and how everyone worked together helping each other.  While they meandered through the slave compound, Firecrown tried to explain how all united against slavers.  As he spoke, he hoped the spark of freedom could be fanned to a brilliant blaze here.

"You have one talent friend that may enable you to fare well here," said Dusty.  "We are always in need of a good storyteller; somebody that can entertain us with their vivid imagination.  Come the end of shift, while all are eating, let's hear more about your homeland and this warrior mouse, Martin.  If your other tales are as amusing as the one you just told, we might have a hard time keeping you in our cabin.  Everyone will want to hear more of your fantastic yarns."

"Please tell me this is the last one." 

The ferret clerk looked over his glasses and stared at the mouse standing before his desk.  Though he said nothing more, Kurella detected the irritation in his voice.  She might have reacted to such ill manners, but the clerk addressed his comments to the pine martin behind her.  Kurella had a feeling the ferret clerk wouldn't remember her beyond this moment.

"Be happy that old sea pirate is such a greedy rat; otherwise you would be processing another dozen new workers."

The clerk grumbled about having to select which supervisor needed the last worker.  He wrote in his ledger for a few seconds before turning to them.  "You see there is only one left; decide among yourselves which of you will take her."

Kurella watched the assorted collection of beasts gathering together as they talked.  She just wanted a chance to rest.  When the slavers captured her, she ran.  Aboard the ship, she rowed.  Now she stood in a room where a dozen beasts examined her like a bug under a glass.

At last, one beast stepped forward.  A wildcat approached the clerk; she stood to the side of his desk.  The clerk made a notation in his ledger, closed the book, and joined the pine martin as they departed the room without a word.  The mouse followed the beckoning wildcat out the same door she had entered.  Kurella stared at the other door, her tired mind wondering why she didn't use it like the other captives.

They traveled in silence back to the waterfront.  While the wildcat prepared a canoe, the Red Sharkeye departed.  Oars lifted and fell in unison.  Within her mind, the sound of the drum and the crack of the whip crowded out all other thoughts.  Even though she stood on a dock, her paws still felt every grain of wood within the oar's handle.

A heavy paw on her shoulder broke the spell.  The mouse tried clearing her mind as she joined the wildcat.  Kurella sat at the bow staring back at her new companion while the wildcat paddled the canoe at a leisurely pace.

Though Kurella had never before seen such a creature, she knew of them.  Based on an old story from the Abbey's past, she compared what she remembered with the reality sitting before her.  She found her tawny coloration and size matched those from the story.  The way her muscles flexed when she paddled explained why others saw such creatures as fearsome warriors.  With each stroke, Kurella noted the scars on the wildcat's paws.

"Somebody had you declawed."

The wildcat's methodical strokes missed a beat and the canoe drifted.  "How did you know?"

For the first time since the slavers attacked, Kurella smiled.  "I'm an apprentice healer; at least I was before my capture."

"Don't tell others.  Keep that to yourself."  The wildcat's eyes widened and her head checked the waterway for other boats.  She relaxed, her massive paws resting on the crossed oars.  "Healers tend to be troublesome as slaves.  Keep your talent hidden until I find out how our masters would react to such news."

Whatever sense of power Kurella felt evaporated as the wildcat resumed paddling.  She shifted in her seat until she saw nothing more than the sea and sky. 

"Let me introduce myself," said the wildcat.  "I am Snarllyn.  This sash I wear designates me as a taskmaster.  Though I am as much a slave as you, I do hold some authority."

Kurella responded without thinking.  "A vermin slave?  I didn't know such a thing ever happened."

Snarllyn nodded.  "I'm the only slave woodlanders would classify as vermin on all these islands."

This peaked Kurella's curiosity.  "It seems strange seeing a vermin beast as a slave."

The wildcat hesitated for several strokes of the oar.  "At one time, I was a high ranking soldier of the Chovian Armada.  During one arduous campaign, I ran across a most unusual plant.  Its aroma and flavor was a narcotic that became an addictive craving.  The euphoric feeling it afforded helped me endure the pressure of battling our enemies.  I needed just a little of the plant at first, perhaps no more than once a day.  However, the longer the war lasted, the more of this herb I craved.

"My addiction became so great; I neglected my duties.  Like a foolish kitten, I abandoned my post one night and indulged my habit.  Our enemies counterattacked while I was missing.  Because I wasn't at my assigned station, the enemy infiltrated our base.  Every beast under my command died."

Kurella sat for a moment while the sound of a dipping paddle replaced Snarllyn's voice.  "So what happened next?"

"My superiors stripped me of all rank and sentenced me here.  They even told my family I died in battle so none would come looking for me."  The wildcat shook her head; she then snorted.  "Though I no longer can satisfy my cravings, there are times when I swear I can still smell and taste that plant, even after all these years."

Their journey carried them pass several islands.  Kurella examined each in turn, but found all of them uninviting.  Soon the pace changed and the canoe turned.  When the boat bumped into the pilings, Snarllyn jumped from her seat to the dock showing a lithe agility Kurella envied.

While the wildcat secured the canoe, Kurella gazed upon her new home.  Compared to the first island, this place looked like paradise.  Where the other island had no plants, this one had some greenery surrounding a collection of thatch huts. 

On the other side of the huts, she stood in place, shocked by the contradiction.  Even the cultivated fields outside the Abbey's walls paled in comparison.  Everywhere she looked, woodlanders labored in lush gardens.  A few waved in their direction, and each time, Snarllyn would shout back some greeting.

Kurella tried reconciling the reality before her.  All of these creatures had to be slaves, yet they worked without prodding.  It didn't match up with the numerous stories told back at Redwall Abbey about those condemned to a life of slavery.  She wondered if these woodlanders realized the means of escape now floated at the end of a pier.

Snarllyn continued walking several paces before she stopped.  The wildcat rejoined her as the two observed the many creatures working the field.  When the wildcat spoke, it startled her.

"Our masters need few guards around our homes.  After all, where could one go?  Every island around here is part of the Tamagoran Archipelagos.  Those leaving one island will just find themselves as a slave on another.  With such small boats, who would challenge the open ocean?  Any storm would sink your craft."

"I swear you must be a mind reader," said Kurella.

"You think you're the first creature from beyond our islands that has ever come here?  Every new slave has asked the same questions.  Some are just more direct."

With a gentle prod, Snarllyn led her pass the fields.  Their path meandered uphill, growing steeper as they ascended.  A strong breeze from the surrounding ocean blew around them, and despite the tropical heat, they shivered as their sweat dried.  Both stopped near a flat rock and the wildcat pointed towards the coast to the right of them.  She identified the large diamond mine that extended deep within the mountains of this island.  Next she singled out a series of bamboo pipes running down the side of the hill.

"Those pipes carry water from the one source on this accursed desert island to the living quarters, the gardens and the mines.  Without it, we would all die.  The tropical breezes that caress this island carry no moisture.  All the other islands south of us have drained the clouds dry.  So one either digs as a miner or works as a water provider.  Given the choice between fresh air and a sunless pit, I'll take an open sky."

They resumed their climb for another hour before they reached the summit.  On what Kurella now perceived as the northern side of this high plateau, she saw a series of thatch covered open-air floors that didn't even qualify as huts since they provided no privacy.  They did nothing more than protect the occupants from the searing heat of the tropical sun.

A large log building dominated the plateau.  Unlike the simple huts down on the beach, this building appeared solid enough to withstand any weather.  Compared to the buildings she had seen, this place could pass as the manor house of some powerful dignitary.  Once again the wildcat proved herself a mind reader.

"That structure houses the guards assigned to this area of the island.  It might have better accommodations, but you'll not want to ever go inside.  They have a special room reserved for those they think need a private lesson on manners.  Any slave might walk into that place, but I've yet to see one come out under their own power.  Most need help getting back to our village while the unfortunate ones are thrown over the side." 

Snarllyn led her beyond the building where a dozen large wheels turned.  Inside each, three creatures marched to the rapid beat of a drummer.  As the wheel turned, it lifted a series of buckets attached to a long chain from deep underground and tipped them into a large cistern.  From there, the water flowed in different directions by a series of pipes.  Kurella marveled at the ingenuity.

"Meals are served walkers before they mount the wheel.  Your shift will begin in another two hours and every wheel has a crew of five runners and two drummers."  The two watched the water wheels constant turning as Snarllyn described the work routine.  "Every half hour the walkers move one slot to the right.  That means you are on a wheel for ninety minutes and off for one hour. We call the three slots morning, noon and night.  We refer to the time as a wheel day.  Ten days equals one shift.  After the third shift, your crew is sent down to those huts for five days."

"You mean we have time to rest?"  Kurella could not hide the incredulous note in her voice.  "I can remember Mother Tassel saying slaves always worked."

"None will force you, but those on leave are expected to help with the gardening.  Its how we supplement the rations our masters provide us."  Snarllyn snorted.  "After you see what passes as a meal, you'll work hard tending those fields."

Kurella noticed how the other slaves stared at her.  It made her feel like a cockroach crossing an open room in daylight.  She expressed her unease to the wildcat.

"It's your garments.  No slave wears clothing since our masters fear we will hide something from them."

She examined herself.  She lost her sandals while running across the beach.  Her stockings she discarded on the ship when the beast sleeping next to her puked on them.  She remembered tearing off her hem as a bandage for another rower.  Kurella tried brushing off the filth from her tattered dress; her fingers discovering several ripped seams.  The garment was beyond redemption; she pulled it off and dropped it to the ground.  Odd as it seemed, Kurella felt cleaner having discarded her attire.

Time seemed to pass all too fast and Kurella soon found herself waiting to mount the wheel.  The drummer sitting before it slowed the pace.  Before the wheel stopped, Snarllyn approached with a short piece of cord.  Her adept fingers formed it into two loops.  The wildcat placed one loop over her head like a noose and then grasped the mouse's tail.  Snarllyn threaded it through the other loop and tightened it.

"That cord will keep your long tail from getting caught in the wheel spokes.  At full speed, that can be fatal.  The shrew you replaced committed suicide by jumping off his perch.  I have also seen others executed by being bound paw and foot then thrown on a wheel.  Such a death is long in coming as the guards will keep the pace slow.  I pity the runners forced to kill a fellow slave."

At that moment, the wheel slowed almost to a standstill and the drummer commanded everyone to shift.  Kurella entered the contraption and grasped the long handlebar that rose from the central axis.  The drummer began to set a slow beat.

"Keep in step with my drum, and you will not slip from your perch."  The lady hedgehog stared at Kurella, her eyes boring into her.  "Listen to nothing but the sound of my drum and you will make it through another day."

Kurella had just a few seconds to notice she shared the wheel with a pair of female otters before the rhythm of the drum became too fast for her to do more than watch her step.  She continued running in place in time to the hedgehog's drum.  When her three shifts ended, she shuffled off to the nearest unoccupied platform, grateful for the straw pallets.  Kurella no sooner laid her head down then she fell into an exhausted sleep.











For the enjoyment of others, I ask that you make any comments here (http://redwallabbey.com/forum/index.php?topic=2275.msg92783#msg92783).

The large room felt like it served more as a functional worksite or a formal meeting room.  A massive oaken desk dominated the space, which allowed easy access to any of the many journals stacked on the ceiling high bookcases.  Sunlight streamed through the large window, which kept the place bright and cheery.  A long sofa faced the desk, placed there for the comfort of visitors. 

Bruno leaned against its right armrest.  On the opposite side sat the masked female he fought earlier.  Each time he glanced her way, her brown eyes would acquire a slight pink tinting.  It unnerved him whenever he looked at the faceless head.  He tried picking up her mood, but without a tail or other visible clue, he had to rely on her continual low growls.

The unnamed female never left the sofa once Bruno ordered her to remain there.  She crossed her arms as she leaned into the backrest.  Her right pawed fingers drummed her upper left arm.  Sometimes the female twitched her black ears; otherwise, she made no further movement.  He tried getting some comment from her, but she refused dignifying him with any form of recognition.

Each hare grabbed a chair and moved it as far away as the room allowed.  Like the unknown female, the buck hare planted himself in his chair and refused to budge.  He mimicked the creature on the sofa by crossing his arms but did not drum his fingers.  He kept his eyes focused on the empty chair behind the desk, though he did occasionally turn his head towards the sofa.  Whenever he did so, his growls matched those of the unknown female.

Once the doe hare moved her chair next to the male, she sat as long as it took to take three breaths.  She then launched herself from the chair as if the seat turned to fire.  She stormed towards the masked beast with clenched fists. 

"I will not tolerate another brawl," said Bruno.  "Force my paw, and you'll wish I hadn't."

Again, the female hare sat, but she did not stay put long.  This time she stomped across the room and confronted him.  After engaging in a short staring contest, the female pivoted on her heels.  She paced from her chair, to the corner of the desk to a point near him, and back.  The doe completed this circuit four or five times, and sat.  After a few minutes, she repeated her agitated movement.

"Hey sis, would you give the rug a rest?  The way you keep marching around this room, I'm getting exhausted just watching you.  That old woodchuck will get here when he does.  You pacing like a prisoner awaiting his execution will not get him here any faster."

"Maybe you can sit there like a fat frog on a water lily, but not me.  If I don't keep moving, I'll tear into that vermin beastie.  I have never been so humiliated in all my life."

For the first time since they entered the room, the masked beast spoke.  She may have whispered, but her gravelly voice still carried. 

"You deserve a lot worse than what I would have given you, Darlow.  I just wish this brute hadn't stopped me before I gave your brother a good lesson on proper manners."

Darlow spun around on one heel and faced the masked female.  The doe hare giggled.  She remained in that pose for several seconds before she addressed her brother. 

"Did you hear her, Markus?  That piece of vermin filth thinks she can teach others how to behave.  I have a better chance of getting water to flow uphill."

The female hare again commenced her travels around the room.  Since the masked female's last comment, Darlow giggled whenever her eyes locked onto the unnamed beast.  When her path took her towards the sofa, her face became hard while her nostrils flared.  Each time she halted before Bruno, Darlow balled her fists as her eyes bored into his.

Bruno tried calming Darlow whenever she stopped her agitated walk, but she always responded with a dismissive snort before she repeated her now established pattern.  He stared at the mantle clock resting on a bookcase shelf as the minute hand concluded its second trip around its face.  Markus made no further comment as his eyes followed his sister. 

At last the outer door opened.  The male woodchuck entering the room wore a deep green habit with its cowl resting across his back.  Darlow ceased her pacing when she saw him.  Bruno watched the fellow stroll behind the desk as if nobody else occupied the room.  He removed his outer garment and hung it on a coat rack next to the window.  The woodchuck continued to stand with his back to the room for several seconds, ignoring the two hares calling him by name.

The woodchuck sat behind the desk and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.  "It is on days like this that I think my elevation from chief cook to Father Abbot a cruel joke."

He shifted his chair, drawing it closer to the desk.  He sorted through the material lying atop his desk.  Throughout this time, the occupants kept quiet as they watched the woodchuck.  After folding his paws on the desk, he gazed at the four beasts in his office.

"An important matter required my attention at the infirmary.  It seems our resident glassblower, Mister Scrimmith, suffered a serious injury.  One of our residents claimed you two," and here he pointed at Markus and Darlow, "may have been responsible.  I find it hard believing either of you would deliberately injure an elder, regardless of the provocation."

"If he got hurt, it wasn't our doing."  Darlow returned to her chair before she continued.  "We just let a lot of hot air out of that conceited otter's ego.  Couldn't stand his constant carping about him having the best pelt of any creature, otter or otherwise."

Markus nodded.  "Our prank worked like a charm.  While my sister distracted him, I threw a bucket of roofing tar onto him.  Way he carried on, I'm sure you could hear him bellow all the way to Fiery Mountain.  Bet his fur isn't the envy of every beast now."

Both hares laughed.  The masked beast jumped off her seat, taking a step towards the two hares.  She returned to her seat without uttering a word when the woodchuck first pointed at her and then the sofa.  The Father Abbot's expression never changed as he watched the two hares.  Bruno opened his mouth, but Father Hughnaught's look silenced him.

"You do know roofing tar has to be heated before it is applied?  It's too hard in its natural state.  Our roofers use boiling oil to soften it.  When you threw the hot tar on him, the liquefied pitch soaked through the fur onto his chest.  Some splashed onto his back and legs.  His pelt has been ruined and it will be at least a full year before it gets long enough to be seen in public."

Markus grabbed his sister's paw, pumping it with vigor.  "Another successful mission completed sis."

Darlow snickered.  "I imagine that otter will be spending the next day or two cleaning his fur and a week in hiding.  Do him good to learn a little humility."

The father abbot said nothing as he listened to the two hares.  When Markus and Darlow quieted, they leaned back in their chairs as if they attended an informal function.  Both wore a smug expression even Bruno ached to erase.

"Your practical joke worked quite well.  Healer Fazbee removed all the affected fur, which ruined the appearance of his pelt.  That's a minor inconvenience I can forgive."

Father Hughnaught turned his head.  Bruno found his expression remained unreadable while he stared at him.  Completing his visual examination, the abbot leaned back in his chair.  He placed his paws in his lap.

"You must think me an inhospitable host dear sir.  After sitting through this mess, I still have not asked your name or your purpose in coming here.  My regrets, sir; official duties require I settle this matter first.  Would you prefer waiting outside my office until I finish?"

He settled into the sofa's plush cushioning.  "My name is Bruno and I have traveled a great distance.  Telling my story will take time.  Perhaps we can speak of it in private after this matter is concluded?"  Bruno glared at each antagonist in turn.  "It seems I too am involved in this dispute and am curious how it will unfold.  Perhaps I can stay if there is no objection."

None of the three antagonists spoke.  The father abbot waited another moment before turning his attention back towards the masked beast. 

"Tassel, I hear you have gone against my expressed orders regarding these two.  According to witnesses, you took matters into your own paws.  One elder told me you beat these two senseless before carrying them off to your quarters."

The masked female nodded.  "The account you heard exaggerates what happened.  I couldn't just stand there and watch these two arrogant teens continue their rampage through our Abbey.  I saw what Markus had planned and tried stopping him, but I wasn't close enough.  After the otter got hit with the pitch, they saw me.  I gave chase.  Fortunately, the tower they tried entering had been closed for repairs.  Once I had them by the ear, I took them to my quarters.  They did a lot of screaming and hollering, but except for a pair of sore ears, unharmed."  The female faced Bruno.  "If this interfering buffoon hadn't stopped me, I would have given those two just a taste of what they so rightfully deserved."

Bruno listened to the exchange before he raised his paw as if requesting permission to speak.  The others looked his way; the hares smirked.  When the woodchuck acknowledged him, Bruno described what he witnessed and why he did what he thought appropriate.  While he relayed his version of events, his voice remained devoid of any emotion.

"You heard Markus correctly" the woodchuck said.  "When these two first came to our Abbey for schooling, their parents insisted that our resident badger keep her paws off them."

Bruno's jaw dropped.  His eyes widened as he faced the masked female sitting near him.  "Badger, this one is a badger?  Usually my nose can detect the fairer sex, but I must have been distracted during our scuffle."  Bruno laughed.  "I must say you are a feisty one, dear sow.  Never have I fought so worthy an opponent."

The father abbot rapped his desk until Bruno fell silent.  The woodchuck turned to where the two teens sat.

"Dousing our glassblower with pitch made him feel as if he was afire.  His frantic efforts as he tried quenching that fire resulted in him tumbling over the stairway wall and into the courtyard.  Five of our residents carried him to the infirmary.  They said his pain had him fighting them every step in spite of the severity of his injuries.  I waited outside the examination room while our healer did his work.  I spent my time composing the words I would speak to his mate if he died; his injuries were that serious."

Neither hare reacted.  Father Hughnaught shook his head, his disappointment evident.  Bruno listened to the lady badger as she emitted a low growl, though she never moved from her spot at the far end of the sofa.

"You were both most fortunate; he will survive.  Mister Scrimmith broke both legs and his right shoulder due to his fall.  The boiling oil caused second-degree burns wherever it touched his skin.  Healer Fazbee tells me his injuries will keep him in agony for much of his recuperation time.  This will be one summer our resident glassblower will never forget."

When the father abbot finished describing what happened to the otter, Bruno noticed how the two hares appeared unconcerned by his suffering.  Darlow then broke the ensuing silence when she jumped out of her chair and marched to the woodchuck's desk.  She stood there for several seconds shaking, her face displaying her anger.  Then she gave full vent to her emotions.

Darlow roared.  "That vermin badger attacked another beast.  She did so without any justifiable provocation.  She must answer for her crime and I demand justice."

The female hare put one fist on her hip and pointed a wagging finger at the masked female badger.  She advanced on her target, but hesitated when Bruno shifted his weight forward as if he intended intervening once again.  Darlow's muttered several vile comments about Tassel as she moved next to her brother.

The Father Abbot's eyes focused on him.  The voice reminded Bruno of a judge issuing his verdict.  "Tassel has indeed committed a serious offense against you when she assaulted your person, sir.  Her actions cannot be overlooked if you seek justice against her.  Regardless of my opinion, her fate is now in your paws.  Say the word and I will enforce the law as it pertains to our resident badger."

Even with the cloth mask hiding her face, the female badger's stiffened posture betrayed her emotions.  Her sharp intake of air when the Father Abbot decreed he would surrender her to whatever law governed this land, concerned him.  The paws that rested in her lap shifted.  They gripped the seat cushion so hard it ripped.

Tassel proffered her regrets for striking him.  Throughout her abject apology, Bruno detected a quivering voice filled with genuine fear.  Even his nose caught the whiff of her emotional distress.  Tassel spoke a few more words; then her muzzle pointed down to her chest.  She kept that pose as she cried, her tears staining the fabric covering her face.  Once she had her emotions under control, she continued.  When she finished, he smiled at the masked badger who sat with her muzzle pointed at the floor. 

"I'm inclined to believe Tassel's actions against me were more frustration at handling these two than any deliberate desire to attack me.  I'm thinking her apology sincere and I accept it as such.  I see no reason taking this matter further."

Father Hughnaught nodded.  "Then I declare the incident closed.  No further action is warranted, though her poor conduct shall be noted in the Abbey's official record."

The father abbot's declaration left both teens frozen into a stunned silence.  Like mirrored images, each hare had their mouth hanging open.  That momentary lull ended when Markus found his voice.  His words reverberated off the wall.  The hare's reaction duplicated that of his sister, Darlow, when she charged the masked badger.

"You canna do it; the law is the law.  She forfeited whatever protections the court granted her when she committed her crime.  The law demands satisfaction.  That vermin badger must face woodlander justice regardless of what that other badger said.  You cannot accept a verbal apology."

The woodchuck smiled.  He remained silent until Markus ceased his tirade.  When he did speak, the father abbot did so minus the bombastic tones the two hares used.  He kept his voice so low Bruno almost missed his reply.

"And you forget my word is the law within these walls.  Your badger king has no power over us; I can ignore his decrees without a second thought.  My ruling is final."

Bruno's eyes rose at the mention of a badger king, but then his mind returned to the heated debate.  The two hares continued arguing Tassel's fate while the aforementioned female listened, their words flying back and forth like arrows fired by opposing armies.  Father Hughnaught raised his paw.  The room fell silent.

"I have full discretion to either enforce your king's version of the law or to apply my own judgment regarding Tassel.  I choose the later.  Need I remind you two that I have always accepted your apologies in the past?  If I am willing to do so for you, I shall extend the same courtesy to her."

Darlow walked over to her brother's chair.  When she faced the Abbot, the doe's expression reminded Bruno of a starving beast eyeing a banquet.  Darlow shifted her gaze and glared at Tassel.  Her predatory expression intensified.  She lowered her voice, though the harsh edge remained.

"Dismissing that boar's charges might be seen as magnanimous, but it's all for naught.  She escaped judgment for her actions against him, but not us.  Unlike that fool, we are not so forgiving.  You might say she did nothing more than pinch an ear with me, but you cannot ignore what she tried to do to Markus."

The buck hare's eyes brightened.  "How right you are, sis.  She had her paws all over me and would have done me physical harm if not for that boar's timely arrival.  If I take this to any court within the Northern Alliance, her fate is sealed.  One letter to our parents and they will have the Long Patrol laying siege to this place until she is surrendered to them."

Darlow bounced in place.  "Imagine how much fun it will be seeing that vermin badger brought to justice.  As the injured parties, we'll get to see her sentence carried out."

Markus and his sister discussed the wording of such a request while they stood side by side.  Everyone then stared at Bruno when he laughed. 

"And what will you do if I denied witnessing anything?  I'll say I caught her before she did anything more than force you and your sister to her room.  Something tells me those same judges will take a dim view of your actions against a certain otter if this abbey's healer testifies.  I suggest you reconsider, or it might be you facing whatever your king calls justice."

Father Hughnaught leaned back in his chair with a pleased expression.  A quick check on the two hares showed them in a whispered discussion.  At times, they faced Bruno before they returned to their private conversation.  Markus returned to his seat, his face reflecting his frustration; Darlow snorted as she slammed her fist into the palm of her other paw.  Tassel's paws now rested in her lap.

"Are you aware I received a letter from your parents this morning?  Now I know they told you about staying here until the end of the next school year, but did they say anything else?"

Father Hughnaught chuckled at their reaction to the sudden change in topics.  Two shaking heads confirmed neither hare knew their parents discussed anything with the father abbot that involved them.  The feral grin on the father abbot's face shocked Bruno.

"When your parents first broached the subject of you staying longer several months back, I expressed my misgivings.  After a series of letters explaining your antics here, I got this reply.  Darlow, do you recognize your parents' script?"

Darlow nodded as she accepted the letter.  Bruno saw her lips moving as she read.  Darlow's facial expression displayed a radical change.  Her eyes doubled in size.  Her ears went from rigid attention, to half-mast, to flat down.  The paw holding the letter dropped to her side.  Her whispered one-word reaction to the letter could be heard by all. 

"Impossible."

Markus stepped to his sister's side and snatched the letter from her paw.  Darlow never moved.  Now the buck hare read his parent's letter.  Like his sister, first came the bulging eyes, then the flattened ears.  He lifted his eyes from the paper, shook his head as if to clear it, and then reread the message.  For a second time he lifted his eyes and Bruno noticed how his face shifted from shock to disbelief.

"They must be daft.  It's the only possible explanation.  I mean, seriously, they couldn't.  No, they wouldn't do it, not ever." 

The father abbot then asked Bruno to pass the letter down to Tassel.  She opened the letter, shifting the paper until sunlight fell across the page.  The mask over her face disguised her reaction as she read it. 

Tassel placed the message back in its envelope.  She stood.  She took a few steps and stopped opposite Bruno; their eyes met.  When Bruno did nothing, she crossed the room to the father abbot's desk, but kept as far from Darlow as possible.  Father Hughnaught accepted the envelope without making any further comment or explanation.

The masked badger moved to the side of the desk and stood closer to the father abbot.  Tassel turned so she could focus on the two teens.  She enunciated every word.

"Well, well, well.  It appears two more furry bottoms are all mine.  My original intention was to give each of you a firm spanking.  Afterwards, I would plead with Father Hughnaught regarding a more befitting punishment.  Now that decision is mine alone."

Both hares shivered as if a winter wind chilled them to their very marrow.   Brother and sister stared at each other before turning to Father Hughnaught.  Both, in near perfect unison, pleaded for a second chance.  Bruno watched the growing terror manifest on their faces each time they looked at the masked badger.  Then Bruno saw how the father abbot's face registered pleasure at the hare's distress. 

Tassel rubbed her paws together when the father abbot made no further comment.  "Let me see if you are as good at your studies as you claim Markus.  Can you define the term leashing as it was used before the formation of your union?"

Markus recited the definition as if he read it from a book, without any emotion.  "It was a form of punishment used in several kingdoms prior to our unification.  Any beast sentenced to the leash became the property of another.  Part of the punishment required the prisoner to remain silent at all times unless given permission to speak.  The duration of a prisoner's sentence rested with the court and fluctuated based on the crime committed.  The handler could abuse his slave without fear.  The only limitation is that any further disciplinary actions not kill the prisoner.  Our king outlawed its use since those sentenced to the leash suffered too harshly for minor offenses.  He also called such a punishment demeaning to the beast put on the leash."

"I would not call nearly killing another beast a minor offense, and I see nothing demeaning about a punishment that I see as befitting the crime committed," said the female badger.

She turned to the father abbot.  "As soon as we leave here, Markus will follow me to the infirmary.  I will administer the kind of sound thrashing he has earned.  Afterwards, Markus will become the leashed servant of Mr. Scrimmith.  Rest assured I shall enforce whatever further punishments that otter decrees.  The duration of his time as a leashed beast will be until the healer declares the otter fit.  I'll not allow his mate to care for him when the one responsible can do it."

Tassel turned until her muzzle pointed at Darlow.  "I have a special punishment in mind for you, girl.  Tell your classmate Gaddie that an hour before the dinner bell, in the second floor meeting room, somebody is going to get a sound thrashing.  Say nothing more."

Darlow's eyes began to tear and she spoke in a husky whisper.  "That hedgehog is the biggest gossip in the whole Abbey.  If I tell her that, every classmate I know will be there." 

Badgermom Tassel continued speaking as if Darlow hadn't interrupted.  "Return to your quarters, pack everything, and bring it to the Dormitory.  I'll have a bed made ready by the time you get there.  At the appointed hour, go to the second floor meeting room.  I will give you the same walloping your brother received.  Anyone wishing to watch you get what you deserve may do so with my blessing."

Huge tears coursed down Darlow's face as she collapsed into her brother's embrace.  For a moment, both hares tottered.  The doe asked for mercy as she promised she would mend her ways if given another chance.  Bruno could tell her imploring voice did not affect Tassel.  The father abbot kept silent.  The two exited sobbing.

Once the door closed, Father Hughnaught asked Tassel what disciplinary action she believed appropriate.  Bruno couldn't hide his shock.  He found her suggested punishment far too cruel and brutal.  Yes, they both deserved a harsh punishment, but not what she intended.  Bruno interceded on behalf of the departed teen hares as he asked for leniency. 

Though Tassel said nothing, Father Hughnaught agreed.  The father abbot reduced the severity of their punishment by half.  Bruno added his objection, but his words went unheeded.  Tassel left the office when the woodchuck dismissed her.  Bruno knew the two hares rightfully deserved a harsh punishment, yet he pitied them.

The father abbot's secretary entered the room once Tassel had departed.  She carried a steaming teapot in one paw and two settings in the other.  With a minimum of wasted effort, she poured two cups and then withdrew.  Father Hughnaught thanked Cinnamon as she closed the door.

Once she left the two alone, Bruno sipped the tea.  While the two of them enjoyed their drink, he relayed the details of his adventure.  Throughout his rendition, the woodchuck said nothing more than offer an occasional prod whenever Bruno faltered.

"From the time I passed your sleeping guard, you know what happened.  I regret our first encounter would be ...."

"Trying?" offered the father abbot. 

Bruno nodded.  The woodchuck smiled, which caused him to laugh.  The father abbot placed his cup on the corner of his desk next to Bruno's empty one.

"No doubt you have decided that the final line about a faceless mate refers to our sow badger?" 

Father Hughnaught must have read Bruno's disgust.  The father abbot grinned back at his discomfort. 

"Forgive me for teasing you.  I believe the prophecy refers to an unknown female at your ultimate destination.  As Robertasin said, if you travel down the main road another three days, you'll come to Brockwood Hall, the location of a small badger clan.  Last summer I journeyed there, and I can tell you they have far more sows than boars.  A fine fellow like you should find himself the target of every unattached female.  Were our roles reversed, I think I could cover that distance so fast my paws would never touch the ground."

"You make a strong argument for my pressing onward.  I do know that vixen witch mumbled something before she spoke that last passage, but she garbled her words.  Considering what Tassel intends for those two teens, I rather favor finding some female with a more compassionate heart and not one etched in stone."

"First impressions can often be misleading.  You know nothing about those two hares.  For the last six months, Markus and Darlow have tried the patience of every creature living within this Abbey.  Whenever their behavior strayed beyond proper bounds, I protected them.  My faith in their parent's belief that they would settle down turned out wrong and that almost cost someone's life.  It seems my indifference only encouraged them to escalate their antics."

Bruno did not hide his disgust.  "You support her abuse?  I would not have believed Redwall could be so barbaric." 

"I admit our badgermom's idea of discipline can be quite harsh when dealing with the worse kind of irresponsible behavior.  She has never employed such stern measures before today.  Every child living with her is well behaved."

"Understandable," Bruno snorted.

Father Hughnaught rose.  He glanced out the window.  The woodchuck's eyes widened as his head turned from the window to the bookcase on his left and back.  The abbot grabbed his habit, threw it on, and rushed to the door. 

"Cinnamon is right; that mantel clock needs to be repaired.  Instead of the leisurely stroll I planned, we must hurry.  As hard as Tassel can be, she is the exact opposite when the circumstances are more favorable.  Will you join me so I can prove we at Redwall are not the barbarians you think?"

Bruno shrugged.  Father Hughnaught led the way as the two backtracked Bruno's original path to the Abbey's front door.  They crossed the courtyard as fast as the crowd allowed until they entered a nearby strawberry grove.  Bruno kept to the middle of the path as the high trestles, now in bloom, continually brushed his head.  Once they entered the flowered path, the crowd disappeared. 

The woodchuck led him down several rows until they reached a long bench.  He sat on one end and patted the bench next to him.  Bruno accepted the unspoken invitation.  From his vantage point, Bruno could peer through the foliage to a set of closed doors across a grassy field.  Father Hughnaught pointed to them, as well as the many occupied benches scattered halfway between their hiding place and the building. 

After a short wait, the woodchuck tapped his shoulder and pointed off to the side.  Bruno turned his eyes in the direction indicated.  Tassel approached.  She crossed the open field, looking in their direction.  Bruno almost ducked until he realized the female badger had no idea he sat behind the flowering wall.

She passed close to many of the elders gathered.  Some ignored her passing while talking with their neighbors.  Most ceased their conversations until Tassel went beyond them, their expressions reflecting disapproval.  Bruno also spied quite a few elders who changed directions in order to avoid her. 

Tassel settled on the far side of a long bench warmed by the sun.  One already occupied by a contingent of female woodlanders.  The others gave the sow a withering glare, rose as one and moved.  They did not disguise their feelings, but made it clear they did not welcome the masked female's presence.

"It appears Robertasin was right; this sow's reputation keeps any honorable beast at a distance."

Father Hughnaught never got a chance to offer a response.  The tower clock chimed the hour.  A great hush fell over every elder gathered.  All eyes turned towards the closed doors.  Nothing stirred and Bruno found himself caught up in the anticipation.  Time slowed to a snail's pace.

Without warning, the two doors slammed open as if a battering ram had hit them from the inside.  As they parted, a virtual flood of dibbuns of every age bolted from the interior.  The momentary silence shattered as youthful voices squealed in delight.  From every bench the gathered elders waved.  Once the living flood hit the ground, each child raced to an expectant parent.  It took no great powers of insight to tell which students did well and which would be dreading the reunion.

Two female voles hesitated at the doors, scanning the schoolyard.  They made like two arrows in flight straight to the masked female's side calling out "Mother T."  In quick order, they were joined by an otter, one hedgehog, two woodchucks and a mouse.  Tassel greeted each of them by name but implored them to wait. 

While Bruno watched, a grey streak zipped through the crowded courtyard.  A young squirrel seemed intent on doing everything he could to catch the lady badger's attention.  She kept shooing him down as her eyes locked on the open doors.  The exodus faltered as the number within the building dwindled.  Just as Tassel stood, a male hedgehog approached their group at a quick trot.

From his vantage point, Bruno could observe everything without fear of detection.  Thanks to the profusion of blossoms, even his scent remained unnoticed. 

Bruno felt confused.  He knew what she planned for the two hares.  He expected these children would display some fear of the masked creature.  Instead, like all children in a loving family, they strived hard to curry her favor.  Each child tried catching her attention by displaying their latest achievements. 

Tassel tried maintaining a sense of order without much success.  Instead of snapping a virtual whip, she reveled in the chaos her gaggle of young charges created.  Her demand for report cards had her youngest forcing his way to the front.  The small squirrel jostled everyone else aside in his zeal.  The masked female took his report card first, but placed it near the end as she administered a gentle verbal rebuke.

"Flashfoot, I have no intention of viewing your report card first.  You will just have to wait your turn." 

Hearing this from Tassel made the squirrel even more anxious as he bounced from foot to foot, his unrestrained impatience apparent.  It did not help when the other children laughed at his obvious failed efforts to go first.  Several of the older ones pulled the small squirrel by his bushy tail until they had him as far from the masked badger as possible.  The child redoubled his efforts at reaching the front.  At no time did Tassel show any sign that she observed their jostling. 

In spite of himself, Bruno smiled.  Midst all the revelry, Tassel commented on every report card.  Sometimes her gravelly voice sounded a hint of disappointment when she expressed her expectation for a higher score.  Yet each child got praised for completing the school year with a passing grade.  Everyone kept close, an air of expectation energizing them.

Finally, Tassel announced Flashfoot's name.  The poor fellow pushed and shoved the older ones standing between him and the masked female.  Bruno saw these youngsters had turned their blockade into a game, but allowed the grey squirrel through when Tassel called his name a second time.  Flashfoot rested his chin on his paws while planting his elbows on the badger's thighs, staring into the masked face.  His long bushy tail repeatedly snapped up and down, like a long banner in a stiff breeze.

"Let's see now.  Lots of C's so it's apparent that you passed too."  Bruno could hear her delight when she told the boy how proud she was of his first year in school.  Then Tassel gave a deep sigh as she continued.  "According to this, your behavior has not been exemplary.  You need to settle down in class.  What say I make you sit here all day instead of going to the swimming party?"

Tassel lunged at the squirrel as he dodged her outstretched paws.  The older ones tried hemming him in, but he ducked between them in his efforts to avoid the masked female who never left her seat.  Even Bruno could see this as nothing more than a game.  After a short battle, she conceded victory to the squirrel.  The two ended their show with a warm hug.  Throughout the entire escapade, the others laughed and clapped in merriment.

She motioned the last child to her side; Tassel placed the hedgehog on her lap.  From where he listened, Bruno could hear the concern in her voice.  "This isn't too good a report, Tabeston.  Your teachers have given you several D's and said they wouldn't advance you without some additional school work over the summer."

Every child hearing this pronouncement seemed crestfallen.  The younger ones began crying.  One girl moaned about the cancellation of their swimming party, which led to a round of sharp rebukes from the others gathered around the seated badger.  Bruno saw none appeared as dejected as the object of their scorn.  Tears flowed from Tabeston's lowered head.

"Hey now," Tassel's soft voice intoned.  "The teachers did say they would pass him if he agreed to some extra tutoring.  You all know how good a student he can be.  Why several of you would never have passed your studies without his help."

Bruno's thoughts mirrored the confusion all the children showed.  He leaned closer to the father abbot who had not moved since the doors first opened.  He whispered in the woodchuck's ear, watching the others in case his voice carried to them.

"Is this the same female I met in your office?  Her actions are so different you would have no trouble convincing me there is a second masked creature in your Abbey."

Father Hughnaught said nothing.  He held his finger before his muzzle imploring Bruno to stay quiet.  When the father abbot pointed to the bench, the boar listened to the masked badger.

"Since everyone is expected to advance next year, do you see any reason why I should cancel the swimming party?"  Everyone's face brightened.  "Return to the Dorm, change into your casuals and grab a towel.  I will meet you at the swimming pond in an hour or two.  Tabeston, you stay here."

Most of the children raced off leaving the two at the bench.  A female mouse remained standing at the far end, watching the others.  Bruno saw the crestfallen face of the girl as she approached.  She reached into the pocket of her dress.  The masked badger accepted the proffered document.  Like a beached fish, the mouse opened and closed her mouth without a sound uttered.  Tassel's paw rested on the mouse's shoulder.

"I know how much you miss her, Sarweed.  I knew her calling as a healer meant cutting her schooling here short, but we always expected her to return." 

Bruno saw how the words affected the mouse.  The girl did not cry, but her woebegone face carried the same emotional message.  The mouse nodded.  She turned and wandered off in the same direction as the other children, but at a more dignified pace.

Tassel watched until Sarweed rounded the corner of the building.  As for the young hedgehog, his eyes stared at the ground.  Tears tracked down his face.  Tassel reached into a pocket, which held a kerchief.  One paw lifted his muzzle while the other dried his fur.

"I don't blame you for this poor report card.  I know how much honest effort you put into your studies."  When the young hedgehog tried to say something, Tassel shushed him.  "Healer Fazbee said you needed spectacles, but I feared slavers would capture you just like they did Kurella.  Now I have no choice; you're going for a pair of eyeglasses.  Once your vision is corrected, I'm betting you will pass with high marks."

She set Tabeston down, kissed his forehead, and sent him on his way.  Now that she was alone, Tassel again reached into her pocket and drew out the document Sarweed gave her.  Tassel read it.  Afterwards, she crushed it in her paw and threw it on the ground.  Tassel stepped away and then changed her mind.  She retrieved the paper, smoothed it, and placed it in her skirt pocket with the others.

"Would you know what that is all about?"  Bruno asked Father Hughnaught.

"Four months ago, raiders struck Plintar.  They killed Foremole's daughter when she tried to escape.  They captured Kurella and a friend from the Pine Tar Tribe of squirrels."  Father Hughnaught furrowed his brow as he spoke.  "After that raid, our warriors joined the king hunting down those slavers.  We were most fortunate the Pine Tar Tribe's warriors agreed to protect Redwall.  I just wish we had more of them available."

Bruno watched Tassel leave the schoolyard.  "Do me a favor; deny her an escort for the child."

Father Hughnaught's eyes widened.  "You would have me deny that child his sight because of your dislike for Tassel?  Before you call her cruel or us barbaric, try checking a mirror."

Bruno saw how deeply his earlier comments about Tassel affected the father abbot.   The badger pointed at the retreating female while he acted as if he missed the rebuke.

"Tell her you cannot afford to put this place at peril, which is the truth.  I will tell her I volunteered to escort Tabeston.  That way, everyone is satisfied.  You keep your guards here and the child will have his glasses."

Father Hughnaught stared at him while one finger tapped the side of his muzzle.  The fact that the old woodchuck voiced his agreement informed Bruno that in his way, the father abbot apologized for his earlier remarks.  It seemed only fitting he do the same.

"I am having second thoughts about that sow.  Perhaps I shall delay my departure for the badger clan you mentioned until I have sated my curiosity."

Seeing the crowded schoolyard almost deserted, the two hidden observers retraced their steps through the maze of strawberry trestles.  This time Bruno inhaled their fragrance.  For just a moment, he no longer walked through a strange land.  He stood within his orchard at the peak of spring.  A gentle paw grasping his arm broke the nostalgic memory.

"I assume you'll be needing guest quarters?" 

Bruno blushed when he realized the abbot must have asked him the question twice.  His face had that patient look some of the ladies back home got whenever they interrupted one of Bruno's longwinded discussions about farming.  He nodded.

"We can house up to a hundred during the school term.  Our reputation as an educational institution has every village and nomadic tribe within three day's travel applying for an opportunity to send their young to our Abbey's school.  Once classes end, the housing units stand vacant.  If you are still here next school year, we will need to find you permanent quarters."

Father Hughnaught led Bruno to a building next to the Abbey.  The sound of brooms scrapping hardwood floors greeted them as they entered.  While the father abbot searched for the innkeeper, Bruno stood in the foyer.  With the exception of the wide picture window above the door, the interior appeared very utilitarian.  He marveled at its design and how sunlight turned the whitewashed room into a brilliant rainbow of colors.

The father abbot returned, accompanied by a lady shrew.  With no more than a hasty farewell, he exited the building.  The lady beckoned Bruno towards a short counter next to the stairway.  After circling behind the barrier, she reached under it and lifted a large book. 

Bruno accepted the proffered pen and added his name on the line below the shrew's finger.  The lady secured a key and again circled the counter.  A moment later, she stood next to Bruno.

As the shrew preceded him upstairs, she delivered a well-rehearsed speech about the rules applicable to all guests.  Bruno chuckled, catching the shrew off guard.  Then she recalled her words.  Both stood midway up the stairway as the lady daubed at her eyes, her body shaking with mirth. 

"My word; you can tell I've been here far too long when I treat honorable elders like undisciplined dibbuns."  Bruno shared the funny moment while he waited for her to regain her composure.  The female shrew started her speech again, leaving out the rules, or the consequences if broken.

"The rooms are empty since all the nonresident students have returned home for the summer.  The one I'm giving you is clean.  I know because I just finished it."

Near the end of the corridor, they stopped at a closed door.  The shrew unlocked the room, placed the key in Bruno's paw, and then stepped aside.  Once Bruno's foot crossed the threshold, the shrew again delivered a speech she must have repeated countless times.

"A fresh set of bed linens is in the top drawer of the closet to the left of the bed.  Lamp oil is replenished once a week.  Wash area is three doors down to the right.  Firewood and kindling for hot water is available, though we expect you to replace whatever you use for the convenience of others.  We have soap or dipping solutions, should you so desire.  Inquire at the front desk for anything else you may need, such as a tailor or laundry service."

After the shrew withdrew, Bruno examined his room.  Other than the bed and closet, the furnishings consisted of a wooden desk, an oil lamp and a stool.  Everything sized for a child.  A quick test of the bed proved this as his ankles extended over the edge.

A sharp knock interrupted his inspection.  Upon opening the door, the same female shrew greeted him.  An older male stood next to her.  Before he could voice any inquiry, the older male ran a cord from the badger's hip to his heel.  With a flick of his wrist, he whipped the cord around Bruno's waist, grunted, and then retreated down the hallway.

"Give me an hour and I'll have proper accommodations.  I'm sure your bed is too small and my nose tells me you'll need clean garments."

"It's that noticeable?" 

Bruno marveled at the lady's efficiency while they discussed laundry service.  From behind the washroom door, he passed what he wore to the innkeeper.  He then enjoyed the luxury of a hot bath for the first time since leaving home.  Bruno stepped out of the tub feeling better than he had in days.  After wrapping a towel about him, he padded back to his room.

In the time he spent bathing, the old bed vanished, replaced by a larger one.  Although it made the room a bit cramped, Bruno found it functional.  Though he did not favor the color of the new garments, they did fit.  Refreshed, clean and sporting a new outfit, Bruno went outside looking for the swimming pond.

He found many helpful residents who offered him directions.  Then the constant babble of young voices drew him pass a small orchard.  As he circled the edge of the pond, he spotted the exuberant children as well as a fair sized contingent of elders resting along the grassy shore.

Tassel sat cross-legged by the water watching about thirty children laughing and splashing.  Bruno approached Tassel from the rear, watching her caution one dibbun about straying into deep water.  She seemed unaware of his presence until a diapered boy, perhaps two years of age, pointed at him.  The masked female turned.

"You have children this young to watch?" Bruno inquired.

"He resides in our nursery.  Once Firelog becomes a dibbun, he will move into the Dormitory.  Our nanny thought being together would do both of us some good."

Tassel pulled the hedgehog closer and started kneading the fur on his chest.  The youngster flopped onto his back as he wiggled closer to the masked badger.  Another quick rub and the boy closed his eyes. 

"He seems quite happy remaining where he is."

"So he does, at least while I'm rubbing his belly.  Toddlers can be such a pawful.  They have a tendency of getting into mischief faster than lightning flashes."

Since the female made no objection to his presence, Bruno reclined on the grass next to her.  Tassel kept her attention focused on the water, her head swiveling from left to right as she observed the action.  An awkward silence stretched.  Bruno pondered what he should say to this lady without success.  Tassel did not make it any easier as she refused initiating any conversation.

"Father Hughnaught told me about your problem, Tassel.  I offered my services and he accepted my help.  Tomorrow morning, I'll escort Tabeston wherever he needs to go for those spectacles."

Without turning away from the pond, Tassel answered in a harsh voice Bruno never expected.  "If you are hoping for a favor in return, think again.  I can still hear that buck's howling for mercy as I gave him what he earned.  I have no intention of doing any less to the girl when it is her turn."

Bruno had forgotten Markus faced his punishment soon after leaving the father abbot's office.  Then he recalled what Tassel said to Darlow.  Her voice left no doubt she would do no less to the girl. 

"We seem to have started off less cordial than I would like.  Perhaps we could start over again.  If for no other reason, we can learn more about each other while traveling with the boy."

"I remain here." 

Bruno hoped she could find another to watch over the other children for the few days it would take.  Tassel's dogmatic answer left no room for discussion.  That option died before he could voice it.  Instead of the three of them, he would have only the child as a traveling companion.

Bruno tried maintaining his smile while Tassel's eyes bore into him.  He found it unnerving, staring at another badger that remained unreadable.  Bruno watched the masked female's eyes first reflect hostility, but then they softened a bit.  He waited, hoping she would grant him some sign the animosity she must have for him had diminished.

The masked female turned aside as she roused Firelog.  She placed the sleepy tot on her shoulder, gave a grunt, and stood.  Tassel scanned the pond for a moment before turning her back on the frolicking horde of dibbuns.

"I need to return this one to the Nursery.  Once that is done, I have another duty to perform, one involving Darlow.  If you wish to be helpful, see if you can maintain some order here."  As she started to walk away, she paused.  "Join our table at dinner tonight, perhaps we can begin afresh.  It would be wise learning more about the beast taking one of mine on a long journey."

By the time the bells tolled the next hour, the last two youngsters exited the pond.  The otters darted across the field alongside another, but older male.  Now that the children had abandoned the pond, Bruno made his way back to his room.  There he groomed his fur in anticipation of dinner.

A brisk stroll and he stood at the very doors to the Abbey.  Before he touched them, they parted from within.  Father Hughnaught stood there, startled by his sudden appearance.

"Good, I didn't have to hunt for you.  Dinner is about to be served.  Will you join me Bruno?"

"Sorry, Father Abbot, Tassel invited me to her table.  You will excuse me this one time?" 

"So our resident badger has asked you to join her?  Well, there will be other opportunities if you should decide to remain at Redwall."  With that, the Father Abbot stepped back and beckoned Bruno inside.

Together they entered a room the woodchuck identified as Cavern Hole.  Long tables filled the place, most occupied by diverging groups of woodlanders.  Bruno trailed the father abbot until he spied the masked female.  He weaved his way around several tables while dodging residents carrying heaping plates of food.

Since he approached her from behind, she gave a slight jump when he spoke.  Tassel repeated her invitation to join her table, though it sounded more like an order than an offer.  While taking his seat, a young female woodchuck approached them pushing a cart filled with food.  The girl's head swiveled from Bruno to the masked female.

"We have a guest joining us Nassella," said Tassel.  "Please go back for another place setting after serving the rest of us."

Nassella distributed the various food dishes before she returned to the kitchen.  By the time she returned, everyone had started.  Like the other children, she said nothing to him.  As Bruno ate, he noticed how each dibbun would either gaze at him or Tassel before returning to their meal. 

Bruno nudged the hedgehog sitting next to him.  When Tabeston looked up, he kept his voice serious.  "We will be traveling together for the next few days.  Can I rely on a brave spikedog like you to watch my back?"

Several children tittered.  The tension vanished.  Bruno entertained the youngsters with tales from his homeland.  The dibbuns spoke of their life at the Abbey.  Tassel remained silent.  All too soon, everyone finished.  Tassel's voice ended all conversations.

"By tradition," the masked badger said, "I give everyone a free day after school ends.  Kitchen duty is mine."

The youngsters rose as one.  Each gave the masked badger a quick word of thanks as they left the table.  Bruno watched as some of them raced out while others went at a more sedate pace.  He gave the dining hall a quick glance, noticing how most of the residents had already departed.

"Your work would go faster if I help you Tassel." 

"We must gather the dirty dishes, remove the soiled table linens, and sweep the floor.  If you prefer doing that to meeting our residents, I would be most grateful."

For the next hour, they worked in silence.  Bruno followed Tassel into the back as she carried the last bundle of dirty tablecloths.  When she turned to leave, Bruno snagged her arm.  His grip remained firm, yet gentle.

"Those little ones speak quite highly of you.  Perhaps we can share some time together, learn more about each other.  I think we might even find it a pleasurable experience."

Tassel did not look at Bruno, yet her voice sounded so bitter.  "Other males claimed my status here at Redwall didn't affect them.  They gave me hope for happiness.  Each has gone faster than they came.  So spare me any more heartache."

Badgermom Tassel wrenched her arm free.  She exited Cavern Hole.  Bruno stood for a moment before he followed her to the Abbey's common room.  It took him a few moments locating the young hedgehog he spoke with at dinner.  Bruno beckoned the boy closer.  When Tabeston approached, he knelt on one knee so the two could gaze eye to eye.

"Tomorrow morning boy, you and I are going on a long trip.  By the time we return, you will have told me everything you know about Badgermom Tassel.  And I do mean everything."

Tabeston gave an audible gulp as he looked into Bruno's resolute eyes.

He stood in an alley watching the building across a darkened street.  The one lantern hanging by the door provided scant illumination since the city's lamps remained untended in this part of the seaport.  A stiff breeze from the harbor swirled down the deserted street caused the overhead sign to creak as it swung back and forth.  The badger, standing to his left, faded further into the alley's shadows.

When the badger moved, eight other hares altered their stance.  Each soldier patted his weapon.  One shifted his crossbow off his back, his finger stroking the loaded bolt.  Another gripped his short sword.  The badger remained silent.

Major Eytomin maintained his position halfway between the badger and his squad.  He crept forward until he stood by the badger's side.  Now, he leaned far enough into the street that he had an unobstructed view of the Cozy Den Inn.  Nothing moved.

When he drew closer, the badger whispered.  "I do wish you had been with me at Plintar.  Together, we would have stopped those slavers."

"Politics," he said.  "Your title gave you the clout needed to get things done in another noble's court.  However, the Long Patrol remained at base.  If the king sent us, it would assign far too much importance to bandits camped in the mountains.  Nobody anticipated slavers raiding east of the Grand Spar."

"Still," growled Lord Brisson.

"Begging your pardon, sire, but we cannot stay out here much longer.  In another two hours, it will be dawn.  An hour later, the tide goes out and any crew beasts will be rushing back to their ship.  If you wish to keep this a clandestine operation, we must take action soon."

The badger nodded.  "For three months we've tracked down several leads.  A disgruntled army clerk, a greedy merchant, a disreputable thug, and a blabbermouth dock worker, all of them eventually leading us here."

For the first time that night, Lord Brisson gazed at him.  "I had hoped our quarry would be here so we could finish this once and for all.  No such luck.  You know the plan; signal me when all is secured."

Without replying, Major Eytomin snapped his fingers and pointed across the street.  Each hare rushed the Inn.  Weapons merged with paws as they stood outside the closed door.  One soldier began a silent count while holding his arm up.  The others watched that soldier as if he didn't exist.  He entered the tavern alone.

The outer entryway funneled patrons through an inner set of double doors.  He pushed through and took a step to his left.  A chair creaked as a burly wharf rat advanced.  His paw shot out so fast the rat never got a chance to challenge him.  He squeezed the bouncer's neck.  The rat's eyes rolled up and he plopped back onto his chair with a groan.  The rat made no further effort to rise. 

Major Eytomin spared enough time to give a quick glance to the counter at the other end of the room.  The mouse stationed at the desk never changed her position.  She continued flipping cards onto her counter, ignoring everything else.  He extinguished the candle sitting by the door, which plunged the doorway area into darkness.  No reaction.

He entered the common room.  He crossed the floor, noticing how patrons hid their faces in the shadowy booths.  Their conversations ceased whenever his eyes passed over them.  By the time Major Eytomin scanned the room a second time, customers gathered whatever gear they carried and hurried for the door.  By the time he reached the far end of the common room, every patron had departed.  He leaned onto the counter, feigning a casual stance.

The weasel barkeeper greeted his newest customer with the standard litany he heard whenever he entered any inn.  At no time did the fellow make any move closer to his newest customer.  Instead, he became engrossed with polishing the tankard he held while standing as far away as the counter allowed.

"What be your pleasure, good sir?  Our fine establishment has an excellent array of food, drink, and accommodations if any or all please you," offered the weasel.

"What I seek is the owner of this fine establishment barkeep.  Where is Madame Sultakka?" 

Despite the low lighting, he knew by the weasel's dismissive expression he had no intention of complying.  His retort just confirmed it. 

"Don't come in here issuing orders as if I'm some beast that can be enthralled by a uniform.  The Long Patrol has no authority in this city, not without one of our constables in attendance.  So until you come back with one, order a drink or leave, rabbit."

The blade flashed through the air shattering the glass tankard.  It also yanked the dingy washcloth out of the weasel's grip.  Both blade and dishrag were now embedded in a wooden post several feet beyond the startled weasel.  Major Eytomin flipped another knife out of his uniform sleeve with a casual motion before hiding it once more.

"Be very careful with the word rabbit, or I might take it as a personal insult.  One I will enjoy settling with you in quick order.  I carry a message for Captain Peggen.  If that name doesn't bring the owner here, I will hunt her down.  Needless to say, I can handle any trouble you care to send my way as easily as I did your bouncer." 

The weasel glanced at the dark alcove where he expected the bouncer.  Major Eytomin suspected the barkeep guessed the wharf rat's fate when the fellow didn't respond to the altercation.  His assumption had the weasel moving at a near run to where the mouse sat. 

He remained at the bar and made no effort at listening to their private conversation.  The mouse disappeared into a back room at a casual pace while the weasel returned to his station.  As he crossed the room, the barkeep kept both paws visible.  When the mouse reappeared, she grabbed her jacket and fled the inn without a backward glance.

Several moments passed before a lady shrew exited the same room the mouse first entered.  Her eyes strayed to the counter where he first noticed the mouse.  The officer's exceptional hearing detected the shrew's tongue clicking.  She strutted into the common room.  Though her hips came no higher than the tabletops, she carried herself like a high-ranking noble attending a diplomatic function held in her honor.  Her whole demeanor shouted she held the high ground and knew it.

"Alright rabbit, you have my interest with that bit of name dropping.  Before you say anything else, what say I first direct your attention to the second floor railing?  There you will see seven sea rats.  Make one false move and ....  Need I say more?"

"Madame Sultakka, I am Major Eytomin, commanding officer of the First Badger's Paw Division of the Long Patrol."  He paused a moment, gauging her reaction.  She either did not know, or did not care.  "Before you go making any more meaningless threats, perchance you would like to recheck that second floor railing?"

The lady shrew, glanced up at the second floor balcony in a bored manner.  If he had to guess by the way Madame Sultakka's jaw dropped, her confidence shattered faster than the weasel's tankard.  He knew the railings supported seven beasts, all armed with crossbows.  However, seven steel-eyed hares wearing the uniform of the Long Patrol had replaced the rat bouncers she anticipated. 

Major Eytomin called up to them.  "Any problems?"

An eighth hare leaned across the second floor railing, waving her paw as if she spotted her lover.  She held no visible weapon.  The doe couldn't suppress her wide grin when she answered the officer.

"Some of these sea rats proved a bit thick-headed when we asked them nicely for their weapons.  We convinced them to take a nap.  Should we wake them now or let them get their beauty rest?"  The doe turned her head for a second before she faced the officer.  "Judging by their looks, they should sleep until next week."

Major Eytomin chuckled.  "Convince them to leave and send them off with my blessing.  Once they go, let me know when you have this cesspool evacuated."

Four other hares joined the doe.  A few moments later, doors banged open.  Shouts and screams, both male and female, ruptured the quiet.  Next, the sound of many feet echoed through the room as the occupants raced down the wooden staircase leading to the inn's exit.  The door Major Eytomin used banged open as the guests departed.  The noise diminished until an eerie silence replaced it.

Madame Sultakka's slouched as she watched her fleeing guests.  She turned towards the barkeep, but the weasel had slid out from behind the counter, his paws held high in surrender.  When Major Eytomin pointed to the door, he bolted. 

He glared at the shrew.  He stood no more than a pace away, the officer let his words roll off his tongue with studied civility.  Yet his clenched fist held a short distance from the shrew's nose emphasized his true feelings.

"As you can guess, I am no friend of your Captain.  Do forgive our deception, dear lady; but how else could we get a cockroach like you out in the open?"

Just as the shrew opened her mouth, the female hare who spoke earlier made a noisy entry.  The doe said nothing as she moved to the far end of the room.  She feigned disinterest as she rested her rump on a nearby tabletop.  Two more hares moved to the opposite side flanking the shrew.  Major Eytomin waved his paw.  One hare on the second floor balcony lowered his crossbow.  The private sounded a long sharp whistle. 

Seconds later, Lord Brisson made his appearance.  The badger maintained a hard expression as he moved into the common room.  He reached over his shoulder and unlimbered his war axe.  The badger approached a support column near a now deserted table.  Lord Brisson swung the double-sided axe at the wooden support post wrapped in its metal sheath.  His blade cleaved the post in two as if it were a sapling instead of something as wide as any hare.

The badger approached Sultakka, his eyes turning a shade of red like a banked fire brought back to a fiery glow.  Sultakka quivered.  Her complete change in attitude did not go unnoticed by him.  Lord Brisson spoke in a conversational voice anyone else would have thought congenial, but Major Eytomin knew better.  He recalled how the lower Lord Brisson's voice became, the greater his anger.

"Everyone, leave this building.  I will speak in private with this filthy shrew."

Although he flanked the badger, he almost missed his words.  Major Eytomin protested, but kept his voice just high enough for the badger.  "Sire, your safety is my responsibility.  You might have the rank, but your father is king.  His orders supersede yours."

The male badger never broke eye contact with the lady shrew.  "You honestly think this insignificant insect can harm me?  Search her and check the room for any weapon if that will make you feel better, but I will not have you interfering when I question her."

Sultakka protested when the female hare's paws patted her down.  As she stepped away, the badger's voice purred at an even lower level.  Major Eytomin recognized such a voice as the prelude to an explosive temper that rivaled any volcanic eruption. 

"For now, I seek information.  Madame Sultakka, you can either give me what I want or I can allow the law here to persuade you to give it to me later.  It's your choice."

Major Eytomin waved the other members of his squad to the door.  He hesitated there as he counted.  When the last two hares appeared, he stopped them.  Without breaking eye contact with the badger or shrew who now sat at opposite ends of a table, he ordered both to guard the rear exit.  The major waited until his ears detected the sound of the back door closing before he withdrew.

Outside the Cozy Den Inn, the hares waited.  Major Eytomin worried about leaving Lord Brisson alone and unprotected even though he knew the shrew had no weapon.  Sunrise came.  Orders not withstanding, he decided if the heir to the throne did not come out when the town's clock struck the hour, he would go inside and be damned the consequences.

The town's clock tower chimed the hour.  As the last note fell silent, he stirred from his post outside the door.  His paw grasped the latch and pulled the door open.  He signaled the others to enter, but none moved.

Before he could voice his command, Lord Brisson greeted him.  Major Eytomin fell in step behind the badger as he crossed the street.  The other hares remained at their posts. 

"Have you any orders, sire?"

"Send one soldier to the Count apprizing him of our situation.  Extend my apologies for not delivering my message in person, as time is short.  When the clock strikes the next quarter hour, you are to torch this place.  Allow no one to fight the fire.  They can protect the other buildings, but I will have this vile place purged from the memories of this land."

"And what are we to do with Madame Sultakka?  Is she to burn with the building?  Is it wise invading Count Delupo's territory, harassing his citizens, and destroying his capital city without some explanation?"

"To answer your questions, I gave the shrew safe passage out the back way.  As to the rest, you do tend to exaggerate our actions, major."

He stepped before the badger.  "I'm a soldier, not a politician.  Yet I know one can sometimes be deadlier than the other.  All I'm doing is suggesting you make a peace offering to this old sea dog pirate.  You either smooth his hackles or allow him some way of saving face.  We came here unannounced and did something he might consider an act of war.  If our roles were reversed, wouldn't you be howling mad?"

The badger's mouth opened and then snapped shut.  He scratched the side of his muzzle while his eyes took on a distant glaze.  His paws dropped to his side and he faced the deserted building.  Lord Brisson remained in this pose for some time before he spoke.

"Very well, advise Count Delupo we will rebuild this inn to his specifications at our expense.  We will make any monetary restitution he thinks these surrounding businesses deserve due to our disruption.  Full documentation of our actions and the reasons behind them will be provided within two weeks.  If he is still not satisfied, tell him to take it up with my father.  Once that building has been reduced to ashes, we return home."

Firecrown leaned against the nearest rock, gazing up at the early sky.  He marveled at how the moon had gone full cycle without him noting each phase like he did before his capture.  He pulled the cord from around his neck, his fingers tying another knot.  Firecrown refastened his necklace and draped it over his head.

"Back home, the Elders of our tribe often scared dibbuns with tales about the horrors that awaited evil squirrels in the afterlife.  Their stories cannot compete with the reality of these mines.  Hellsgate couldn't come up with a better punishment.  Squirrels should be racing through treetops, not burrowing under rocks like moles."

"Will you cease your griping for just one shift," another voice growled.

"I have got to get out of here, Dusty.  For a while, I hoped for rescue.  That's gone.  Now I'll settle for escape, one way or another."

Dusty stepped in front of Firecrown, blocking his view of the sky.  Once again, he gave his companion a visual examination.  Dusty had the lightest brown pelt of any squirrel Firecrown ever saw, and the physic of a badger warrior.  Yet, the fellow accepted his role as a slave without a second thought.

"Listen, friend, things would go easier if you accepted your role here.  Do I have to remind you what happened after your first day of work?"

Firecrown shuddered.  He remembered it in all too vivid detail.  He tried rallying the other slaves into revolting against their masters.  The other slaves laughed, so he took matters into his own paws.  He disrupted the carts, plugged the vents, threw rocks at any passing guard, and disabled the lift.  At the end of his shift, the guards cleared the mines and herded everyone back to their barracks without the expected evening meal.  He felt vindicated when the vermin guards avoided him.

Beyond sight of the guards, the other slaves expressed their displeasure.  Others might consider a brawl less dignified than a battle, but Firecrown learned numbers proved just as important.  He tried keeping the dozen woodlanders off him without success.  Feet connected as did tooth and claw.  By the time Dusty rescued him, one eye remained swollen shut and every part of him ached. 

He dared not go anywhere alone as his companion slaves had long memories.  Dusty warned him, either work hard or there would be a repeat of his first lesson.  One he might not have the time, or the desire, stopping.  Firecrown gave up his dream of leading a slave revolt.  Strange as it sounded, these woodlanders accepted their subservient role without considering any alternative.

A loud bell clanged.  Firecrown stood in line and marched forward.  Just outside the cave's mouth, one stoat guard first checked off each slave's number on a tally sheet before he handed out whatever tool they needed.  The next guard then sorted the workers into teams.  As each team entered the cave, the last guard read off a location.  The routine never varied, only the assignment.

Dusty's meaty paw pounded Firecrown's back.  "Talk about bad luck; we have the newest drift shaft this time.  We had better hope it's as rich a vein as the geologist think, or we'll not meet our quota.  I for one don't want to miss another meal."

Before Firecrown could say anything, Dusty yanked his hat away from him.  In the glow of a hanging lantern, Firecrown saw his companion's glare.  A moment later, he felt the hat slapped into his open paw.  Firecrown slipped it back on.

"You need a harder hat if we keep drawing the newest drift tunnels.  Tonight, soak your hat again in resin and let it dry.  Once it does, it will keep your head safe, unless you like rocks bouncing off your thick skull."

Dusty said nothing more as they moved deeper underground.  At the very bottom of the mine, his team followed the main shaft to the end.  Once past the shored-up area, they crawled into their assigned drift tunnel.  Blackness deeper than any night surrounded him while he followed the sound of the slave in front.  A brighter light up ahead indicated they would enter a cavern where all could stand.  The team commenced working.

The crew swung their picks while pushing the loosened rock behind them.  Since Firecrown held a shovel, he had the job of loading the bags while another crew transported the rocks to the crushers.  Time became an endless series of bags being filled with whatever the others hacked from the wall.

Time passed, adding to his misery.  He noticed a light moving in their direction.  Firecrown knew it had to be a guard as they kept their lamps so bright.  The stoat entered the drift shaft carrying another dozen ore bags.  He threw them on the ground while pushing an otter forward.

"This one is too weak for crusher duty.  Give him your shovel and take his place."

Firecrown did as told.  He crawled through the drift shaft to the main tunnel and followed the guard to a level higher than the cave mouth.  Crusher duty involved lifting a heavy piston and letting it fall on the ore.  The pulverized rock filtered down to the carts other workers pushed to the smelter.

The guard watched him lift the heavy piston and drop it several times before leaving.  Firecrown did this exhausting work until the sands in an hourglass emptied.  The slave who relieved him would turn the glass over before taking his place.  The backbreaking routine never varied.

Another rest period came, and Firecrown shuffled away from the pounding shaft.  As he leaned against the rock, he felt a rush of fresh air.  His eyes wandered upward until he found its source.  He gave a nervous giggle.  Unlike all the other vents he passed, this one had no bars.  It drew him like a magnet.

He squirmed inside.  His nose detected the flow and he followed it.  His paws stopped at the wooden turbine blades and pushed until the ventilator fell off its shaft.  Firecrown crawled out.  He found himself standing atop a hill out of sight of any mine guards. 

The cool, fresh air revitalized him.  He shaded his eyes in the bright sunlight.  A trail led from where he stood right down to the water's edge.  Then his heart leaped with joy.  An unguarded boat floated alongside the dock.

Moments later, Firecrown inspected the small vessel.  Like a providential dream, the craft had provisions and a full cask of water.  Best of all, it reminded him of the ones back home.  One beast could handle this vessel without much difficulty.

Seconds later, Firecrown pushed the boat clear of the dock.  Lessons learned two summers back while helping several otters came back.  A twist of the tiller and the bow swung away from the shore.  He reeled in the line, lifting the sail and secured it.  With an audible pop, the wind filled the sail.  He glanced behind him, drawn by the angry shouting coming from shore. 

Several vermin screamed while they raced towards him.  As the distance increased, Firecrown laughed at the guards standing at the dock.  One shook his fist, and shouted obscenities, which he ignored.  For the first time since his capture, Firecrown felt in control.  He continued tacking into the wind until he lost sight of the frustrated slavers.

When he got beyond sight of land, he turned the craft until the sails filled.  Like a hawk, leaping into the sky, his ship flew across the waves.  After nightfall, he searched the heavens for a familiar constellation.  A slight adjustment to the rudder and for the first time since his escape, he relaxed.

"South is as good a direction as any."

Five days later, he ate the last of his food.  The next day, he exhausted his water.  The ship sailed on, driven by his determination.  The sun's relentless glare and heat added to his discomfort.  He pushed southward.

The following morning a sail appeared.  He ignored it.  By afternoon, the speck along the horizon became another vessel.  Before the sun set, Firecrown could see the crew of vermin working hard to close the distance.  With the onset of darkness, he wondered if he could lose his pursuers by altering his course.

Hope died with the sunrise.  The other craft drew even closer.  Another hour passed and the two vessels bumped.  Half a dozen sea rats boarded the ship he hijacked.  Firecrown fought, but they outnumbered him.  Soon, ropes bound him as they reclaimed their wayward ship.

The ferrets who ruled the island made Firecrown's return to captivity an event for everyone to witness.  His flogging did not break his spirit as one guard learned the hard way when his paw came too close to his nose.  The vermin beast howled when Firecrown sank his teeth in the fellow's arm.  They forced him into his punishment cell, which took the full effort of almost half a dozen guards.  By the time they closed the door, each guard nursed a fresh cut or bruise.

Firecrown examined his cell.  He stood inside a simple iron box devoid of windows that sat on stilts as high as his fisted paw.  Ventilation came from the space between the top of the cell and the four walls.  He found the opening wide enough that his fingers could poke outside, but the sharp edge had him sucking blood dripping from shallow cuts.  Without protection from the tropical sun, the air inside the box soon became stifling.  Before the guards closed the door, they strung his tail through a hole in the back wall and attached a clamp.  It restricted his movements within the box.

Just when he thought the temperature could get no higher, Dusty opened the door.  A glance over the other squirrel's shoulder revealed a tropical sunset that gave Dusty's wheaten-colored fur an orange hue.  With the door open, the stiff breeze turned his sweat into an icy chill.  Dusty handed him a dipper of water, which he savored.

"I'm not sure what hurts more, my back or my tail.  Is there any way you can release that clamp?"

"Consider yourself lucky.  Your first day started late since the guards wanted everyone to know escape is impossible.  Usually a prisoner is flogged at dawn and is in the box well before noon.  Come tomorrow, you'll find the metal sides can burn the fur right off your hide if you touch them."

"So how long will I be in here?"

"Three more days.  I hear the guards have a betting pool going as to which night I'll find you dead.  The workers have the same wagering going on in every barracks.  Don't disappoint me; I said you would walk out under your own power."

An hour before dawn, Dusty returned.  Firecrown kept flapping his arms trying to keep warm in the unexpected chill the night brought.  Dusty passed a dipper of water and a piece of fruit to him and waited until he finished.  Firecrown shivered from the cold as his fellow slave closed the box door.

As the new day progressed, so did the heat.  Whenever Firecrown slouched, his body touched the metal sides scorching his fur.  Standing in the middle of the punishment box offered no relief as the heat made him lightheaded.  If his concentration faltered, the searing pain he got from whichever wall he touched jolted him back to reality.

On the last night, Dusty again opened the door.  This time the brown squirrel threw a bucket of water on Firecrown before offering him a dipper from a second.  Firecrown leaned against the still warm metal and slid down until the clamp on his tail made its painful presence known.  He moaned as he stood upright.

"Your sentence ends tomorrow at sunset.  The guards will release you then.  Unless you like it in there, don't give them any trouble.  I hear a few are hoping you'll put up a fight so they can have an excuse to pound you into rubble."

Too weak to reply, Firecrown nodded.  He leaned back as he finished his water ration, savoring the dissipating heat.  All too soon, the winds would have him shivering.  Dusty accepted the drained dipper and stepped out of sight. 

He gazed at the stars as the foreign constellations took shape.  His nose sniffed the wind, savoring the smell of the ocean breeze.  He closed his eyes while visions of home filled his exhausted mind.

Dusty's voice startled him.  His head a lot clearer with the water and the cooler temperatures, he tried replying with a chipper voice.  His throat betrayed him with a croak that would embarrass a frog. 

"If you don't care about the consequences to yourself, think what your foolhardy actions have cost others.  You have been here more than three months and have caused far too much trouble for us and our masters.  Others are wondering if a good storyteller is worth it.  Some think a fatal accident might be necessary, and I'm very close to siding with that faction."

The spark of freedom within Firecrown's breast flared to life.  It gave him the power to speak.  He just wished he could see Dusty's reaction.  He described himself as a warrior fighting the noble cause regardless of its cost to him and embraced that role.

"I had everyone's best interest in mind when I escaped.  One day I'll get away and when I return, these vermin will rue the day they made us slaves.  Freedom is worth any sacrifice."

Since Firecrown could not step beyond the doorway of his cell, he didn't know if Dusty heard him.  As the silence stretched, he wondered if the voice he heard belonged to the other squirrel or his weakened mind.  He jumped when Dusty's voice cut through his musings.

"You claim you had our best interest in mind when you made your escape, yet you care only for a heroic image none here find appealing.  What you call resistance, our masters call rebellious.  They have taken their frustration out on Splinters.  Your foolishness has condemned her to the oars, a fate she doesn't deserve."

Firecrown leaned against the cold metal, his mind sharper than it was when Dusty opened the door that first night.  He recalled all the troubles he caused and how the female vole tried reasoning with him.  Whenever they argued, which happened almost every day, he treated the lady with contempt.  Tears welled in his eyes.  As a warrior, he accepted the consequences of his actions when it concerned him alone.  When he learned about Splinters, it affected him far more than he ever imagined.

Somebody grabbed his tail.  Whoever had it gave a hard pull that slammed his healing welts against the unyielding metal.  For a second, he feared his tail would not remain attached to his body.  His vision swirled when the back of his head bounced off the wall of his cell; his knees buckled.  A loud yelp escaped his lips when the clamp on his tail arrested his fall.  Then he heard Dusty's grunt of satisfaction as his footsteps receded into the night.

Bright illumination from a rooftop window ran the entire length of an endless corridor.  Beds lined both sides, their headboards merging with the colorless walls.  She strode down the middle; she had just enough space to maneuver. 

As Kurella shuffled down the passageway, she observed the occupants.  At this end of the ward, each bed held a patient suffering from minor injuries.  The mouse wore a patronizing smile as she passed them.

A short distance along the wall, the ailments appeared more serious.  Every step she took brought another case of misery.  Kurella saw all manner of creatures missing arms and legs.  Arrows protruded from patients as if they had become a macabre form of hedgehog.  She kept her eyes focused ahead.

Like an engulfing fog, the sounds of misery and pain drifted about her.  At first, the patients moaning stayed in the background.  As she walked down the aisle, the volume increased until it turned into a constant wail of agony.  Every creature reached out to her, beseeching her services as a healer. 

Then she beheld the dead.  Age, species, or sex played no factor.  They filled the beds she now passed.  The scent of their death hung like a sultry perfume, its sickly sweet odor washing over her.

Kurella attempted to escape the cacophony of pain-filled voices.  The bedridden called out to her by name, pleading for help.  The living and dead rose from their beds.  Her heart pounded like a blacksmith's hammer.  She careened down the corridor at breakneck speed.  Her terrified heart pounded faster, and faster, and....

She awoke with a start.  She lay under the canopy of a sleeping platform, her breathing coming in ragged gasps.  The onset of panic gripped her.  Kurella glanced around, but nothing moved.  The claustrophobic corridor vanished, replaced by the open air of the plateau.  She placed the palms of her paws over her eyes.  She took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled.

"What a nightmare," she gasped. 

With a stretch, Kurella swung her feet off the elevated platform.  A quick glance behind her proved her bad dream disturbed none of the other sleepers.  Their light snoring provided a counterpoint to the muted, yet constant beat of the nearby drums.

Since most of the slaves had no education, they devised a special system of tracking time, which initially confused Kurella.  Using lengths of cord tied about each wrist and through a series of knots, the slaves tracked each wheel day and every shift.  She quickly adapted to this timekeeping system becoming proficient at its use.  Now, it seemed as understandable as the clocks back home.

Kurella's paw fingered the cords around her wrist.  By her count, her final shift ended late last night.  She would not have to return for five days.  Not that she could rest during her time away from the wheel.

She soon learned Snarllyn omitted one detail about her new life.  Slaves finishing their time as wheel walkers first reported to the overseer.  That beast assigned them to some other task for the next three or four days.  Instead of having five days off as the wildcat inferred, slaves got to work in their gardens for one or two days out of every ten.

Other light duty, as their masters called it, could run from excursions to other islands for much needed supplies or the backbreaking task of repairing water pipes.  So far, Kurella's luck had her doing nothing more dangerous than cooking meals.  Considering her talents in a kitchen, the slaves were better off starving.

The thought of food caused Kurella's stomach to growl.  She walked to the large tent where the workers received their rations.  A bored pine martin checked her name against his ledger before he allowed her to pass. 

Inside the mess tent, she found slaves clustered in groups at the tables.  Several possessed that stare common to any creature suffering from fatigue.  One look at their expressions and she knew they still had at least one more session walking the wheel.  At another table, she recognized the two drummers assigned to their team.  Like everyone else, their eyes also betrayed their exhaustion. 

At first she thought the drummers had the best job.  She envied them as it seemed so easy pounding a steady beat.  Then she remembered how one drummer lost the pace.  The wheel walkers faltered, and they all fell.  It took an hour to get the wheel running properly again.  Kurella recalled how many lashes the drummer received for his miscue, and how the next time she saw the unfortunate beast, he ran inside the wheel.

Nobody spoke within the mess tent.  Those going on duty had nothing to look forward to but the endless pounding of paws on the wheel's paddles.  Slaves going off got ready for their stint on light duty or would soon be looking for a place to rest before their next shift.  With at least one guard patrolling the mess tent, all feared an errant comment could result in some disciplinary action.

Kurella thanked the slave doling out the food and moved to a vacated table.  She dug into her meal with gusto.  As she ate, she repressed her grin and adopted the same blank expression every slave showed.  Unlike the stories she read back at Redwall, slaves here received sufficient rations. 

The tent door opened and the mouse turned towards the sound.  Her stomach twisted into knots when she saw the walkers from the wheel next to hers.  Near sunset, one of their team, a female otter, slipped off her perch.  By the time she escaped the spinning wheel, her leg hung broken in several places.

One guard examined the otter and declared her useless despite the slave's protests.  He waved over two other guards who helped him lift the otter by her arms and legs.  When they got to the edge of the cliff, they began a rhythmic swing.  At a signal from the first guard, they released her.

The otter flew outward.  Her painful cries turned into a wail of terror at the apex of her flight.  She remained suspended there for a second before plunging out of sight.  The otter's high-pitched scream drowned out the tempo of the drums until it stopped with a sickening finality. 

As a healer, Kurella knew the injury could be repaired.  However, she could do nothing while marching in a wheel less than ten paces away from the otter.  All she could do was watch the guards eliminate what they considered a worthless worker.  She mourned the life lost; one she might have saved.  She left her unfinished meal in the mess tent and made her way to the beachside huts.

At the start of the path, her eyes focused on a familiar creature.  The wildcat Snarllyn sat on a rock.  In her paw, she held the emblem of her rank.  Kurella wondered why she had removed the sash since she could not recall ever seeing her without it.  As she drew near, Snarllyn turned her head, gazing back at the plateau.

If ever an artist wanted a woebegone expression, the wildcat provided a perfect subject.  Her eyes possessed no spark.  Snarllyn's shoulders remained slumped over as she stared at the paw holding her sash.  Though her shadow crossed the wildcat's stretched-out legs, she never reacted.  Kurella stood there, uncertain as to what she should do.

"I tried to intervene in the execution of that lady otter.  It earned me a dozen lashes.  Seems good deeds here often have a very painful cost."  The wildcat's voice held no emotion.

Her hollow cackle made Kurella shudder as she realized this beast had lost her will to live.  She drew close enough that she could see the wildcat's bloody back.  She then moved before Snarllyn and grabbed her wrist.  With a gentle pull, she had the wildcat standing. 

"You, of all creatures know our masters' ire is easily aroused." 

Kurella continued to lend her support as they followed the path down to the beach.  Though the wildcat staggered, she worried more about Snarllyn's voice.  It lacked interest in anything around her.

Halfway down the hill, the wildcat dug in her heels.  Snarllyn turned towards the ocean and stepped to the very edge of the narrow trail.  Kurella held her breath as she watched.  If the wildcat decided she would step forward, Kurella could not stop her.  She came as close to the edge as she dared.

Snarllyn's monotone voice remained soft.  "Do you know many have fallen, or jumped, from this path and at this very spot?" 

"If you jump, it will not bring the otter back.  You know that one guard loves causing as much pain as possible, and he commanded the watch that night.  He got the chance to throw somebody off this cliff, and he wouldn't be denied.  Nothing you said or did could save her."

The wildcat stared into space.  Kurella held her breath.  Snarllyn sighed and again started down the trail.  She remained at the edge for a few second.  Kurella moved a bit faster until she drew even with the wildcat.  Together the two followed the path until they reached the wide fields where others labored in the gardens.

Once inside their cabin, Kurella had the wildcat stretch out on her stomach while she returned to the beach.  There she gathered the makings of a concoction made from witch hazel.  With great care, she worked the lotion into the welts.  At first, Snarllyn resisted.  When the pain receded, she relaxed.

"I have listened to you telling tales of your home.  A place where there is peace and harmony; where all are friends.  You said everyone works as hard as any slave, yet none ever fear the lash.  It sounds so idealistic, so unreal, yet I want to believe there is such a haven.  Even for vermin creatures like me."

Kurella continued to massage the salve into Snarllyn's welts with the practiced touch of a healer.  Her skills returned with unexpected quickness, though she hadn't used them since coming here.  She had done as the wildcat instructed, and kept her medical talents hidden.  She realized her mistake as she treated the wildcat. 

So many others she could have helped, but fear prevented her from acting.  No more.  From this moment on, she would not deny her talent, not to any of the other slaves, and not to her masters.  She would treat any beast she could help.  Kurella knew her skills could only benefit her fellow slaves.

Even more pleasing was how the wildcat showed some interest in things beyond this harsh reality.  It sounded so simple, but she knew the wildcat needed a reason for living.  Her mind searched for some elusive element that could inspire Snarllyn.  Then it came to her.

"Redwall would welcome you, Snarllyn, since you are a creature of peace.  I would stand by your side and declare you my friend.  All would be happy to have you stay as an honored resident of our Abbey.  You believe me, don't you?"

Snarllyn did not stir.  The wildcat's eyes glazed over as if she saw something beyond the stark reality of the barracks.  Kurella had to find something that would inspire her before she fell asleep.

"Let me tell you a special story from the history of our Abbey.  It is a tale of honor, deceit, and the struggle of good beasts wishing to live in peace.  In this story, our recorder mentions a friend among the vermin.  My mind is too tired right now, but I do remember it involved an honorable wildcat.  I'll tell it to you, if you wish, when you feel better."

That caught Snarllyn's attention.  She pushed herself upright; an effort Kurella saw took every last resource of energy she possessed.  When the wildcat almost teetered off her perch, she eased her patient back on the bed.  Snarllyn fell into an exhausted sleep before her head even hit the mattress.

Kurella stood by the bed for a few seconds, watching her patient.  She noticed the steady rise and fall of her chest.  She turned her onto her back as gently as possible for her own comfort.  She took the sash Snarllyn dropped, hanging it over a nearby chair.  The wildcat slept.

She moved to a bunk across the aisle.  She too needed her rest.  Her eyes closed.  A heavy paw shook her awake.  When she opened her eyes, she found the beast that roused her was a rejuvenated Snarllyn.  The window behind the wildcat showed a star-filled sky.  Then a large crowd of woodlander slaves gathered around her bed.

"In the past, your stories of home have always involved you.  We found them entertaining since none of us have ever known anywhere beyond these islands.  You said you recalled many adventure stories of your Abbey's past, but thought none would find them interesting.  I want to know if it is as wondrous a place as you described.  Just before I fell asleep, you promised to tell me one of those tales.  When others heard about this story, they gathered here, waiting for you to awaken."

Kurella blinked, her mind coming to crystal clarity.  Her eyes wandered across the crowd, and every face reminded her of a small child awaiting a special gift.  Snarllyn's had the most desperate and pleading expression; it touched her as nothing else here ever had.  Not a creature spoke.  She sat upright. 

"I promised this tale from our history to Snarllyn.  I intended it for her alone."  Kurella hesitated, knowing what her next words would do, "Unless she wants everyone else to hear it too."

A sea of nodding heads and sparkling eyes pleaded with Kurella.  She hung her head for several seconds.  Not a sound broke the silence.  Within her mind, she envisioned the historian's scroll opening; Kurella saw the words inscribed as if she held it in her paws.  The storyteller raised her head, took a deep breath, and spoke the words she saw within her mind.

"In a time before our Abbey was built, a mouse warrior named Martin, wandered down a snowy path within Mossflower Woods unaware that he had entered the realm of a mighty wildcat warlord named Verdauga.  He encountered one of his patrols and ...."

Captain Peggen sensed the change beyond the sheltered waters of their homeport.  The old sea rat shifted his stance, responding to the ship as it rode the waves of the outgoing tide.  His nose detected the salty air swirling through the open porthole.  When he listened, he could hear the synchronized drummers setting the tempo for the oars.

He crossed his cabin and stared at the rows of circular storage holes lining the wall.  He read the tags below each opening.  Reaching inside selected spaces, he withdrew the rolled paper far enough that he could see its label.  He continued pulling out those that interested him. 

The captain stared at the half dozen charts that protruded while his paw massaged his long whiskers.  He slid one out of its compartment, placing it on the desk beneath the storage rack.  The rat unrolled the chart and used wooden guides to hold it open.  He reached into a desk drawer, removed a sheet of onionskin paper, and placed it over the first chart.

For the next few moments, he traced the original chart onto the onionskin.  When he finished, he slid the original back into its storage hole and fastened the onionskin copy onto the desk.  He picked up his navigational tools and made several notations.  Just as he finished, a light knock sounded on his door.

Commander Flashentie entered the Captain's cabin door.  The grey fox remained standing in the doorway until he beckoned him inside.  Captain Peggen returned to his work, ignoring his guest.  Once he felt satisfied, he stored his tools in their respective places before facing the fox.

"Well, commander, is your squad ready?"

The fox's expression soured.  "I do hope this one will be a lot better than the one on Plintar.  I lost over a third of my soldiers.  Instead of spending time with my family, I recruited and trained replacements.  Fortunately, the profits attracted those wanting to make their fortune."

Captain Peggen pointed to a second chair and the two sat.  He reached into a large storage trunk and withdrew two tumblers along with a jug.  He handed one glass to the fox and placed the other on the deck next to him.  He put the jug under one arm and grasped the cork.  It popped as he freed it.

"If this raid is just half as profitable, it will be my last.  Your brush with the Long Patrol has me worried.  I cannot afford having my ship trapped between another warship and the beach.  I prefer preying on helpless merchant vessels plying the sea-lanes.  It's not as lucrative, but a lot less chance of running into the unexpected."

The fox nodded.  "I'll miss our partnership, captain.  Our last two raids could have been disastrous, especially if those hares had seen through our deception.  My share of the profits has made me very wealthy, but such riches do the dead no good.  I'm looking forward to a life of luxury with my family once we return home."

"Since this will be my last attack against a land-bound objective, I've picked one that offers us the greatest profit potential.  I believe you'll concur."

"You must be expecting a rich catch.  I've never known you to leave two full decks of rowers open.  One always, sometimes half of the second deck is empty, but never two.  Your order that my raiders crew one deck of oars is not sitting well."

"Like I said, this will be my last venture into slaving.  Our profits will be two or three times what we made on our last voyage.  Tell your soldiers that; it will make them eager rowers."

Flashentie whistled.  "It sounds too good, which makes my fur itch.  How did you come up with this operation?"

"While you were recruiting fighters, I took the Golden Moon to the port city of Halazatt.  Madame Sultakka gave me some interesting information."

"It's a good thing that captured merchant is unknown to the Northern Alliance, otherwise you would be swinging by your neck from the gallows."

Captain Peggen laughed.  He poured another generous drink for Flashentie.  "The port authorities think I come from a distant land.  They extend every courtesy in the hopes other ships from my homeland will visit.  Since none know I command the Red Sharkeye, I come and go as I please."

"What about our informant?"  The fox didn't hide his mistrust. 

"I expressed my disappointment, but can accept her explanation.  She has no reason for tracking wandering merchants and those hares were assigned after my last visit.  As you guessed, they had business inland and if not for that one warrior who fetched them, you would have made good on your escape and doubled the number of captives."

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence.  Once finished, Captain Peggen stood and walked over to his desk.  He motioned the fox closer.  The captain watched his commander.  He expected shock, and the fox did not disappoint him.

"You have got to be joking, captain.  Our first raid north of the Great Spar might have been profitable, but it cost too many of my soldiers.  Now you want to go further north, and deeper inland.  There has to be another target more worthy, less dangerous, and just as rewarding."

"Belay your doubts, Commander.  Madame Sultakka outdid herself.  The village is a large one, mostly shrews and mice, but enough other species to make it worth our effort.  She also took the extra time procuring current maps regarding the surrounding area.  Best of all, she has an agent who will provide false information.  The Long Patrol will not be a factor in this raid if we stick to our timetable."

Flashentie listened as he described the village.  The farming community sat on an island in the middle of a swamp.  Located far from the sea, the village had no military force.  Access came from either a narrow road or the water.  With the exception of the river otters who transported cargo from further inland to the ocean, no other beast visited the town. 

"Our raid will hit them at the height of the harvest season.  Their population swells at that time, which means a lot more slaves.  Madame Sultakka claims the village has a large number of artisans living there; such slaves fetch a high price when auctioned."

The fox rubbed his long muzzle as he reread the information and gazed at the detailed map of the region.  "We can control the road with one squad, so none should escape.  I'll need heavy leg irons for otters and squirrels.  Their isolation will keep our raid a secret."  The fox looked up.  "Any local military units we need to know about?"

The commander studied the maps a second time after Captain Peggen shook his head.  "Armed civilians are no threat; I want to avoid trained warriors."

The captain waved his paw at the series of charts sticking out of their pigeonholes.  "If you lack confidence in our lady shrew, she also provided intelligence on several other locations.  But I think Quagland offers us the best chance at a profitable venture."

When the fox raised his eyes in a questioning manner, he laughed.  "Did I mention this place happens to be where she lived prior to moving to Halazatt?  When she visited her relatives last season, they gave her a less than cordial welcome.  The old shrew craves vengeance."






Captain Istedikus walked through the main doors into a room where a dozen other seagoing captains engaged in idle conversations.  She greeted each, pausing long enough to exchange names.  She enjoyed swapping stories with her contemporaries as they waited.  Some speculated about why they were summoned to the city of Salamandastron and to the badger king's home within Fiery Mountain.

She felt a bit overwhelmed as she mixed with these more experienced captains.  She wondered why a wallowing merchant vessel's captain would be plucked off her ship by some currier boat and whisked here.  Yet she learned her story was not unique.  Two of the other captains told a similar story.

When the far doors opened, all conversation ended in mid-sentence.  Without any words spoken, the assembled beasts made their way to the table.  None sat.  The captains stared at those next to, or across from them, waiting for some signal.  At last, the latest arrival waved his paw and the gathered beasts sat.

"Based on your reaction, most of you know who I am," the badger said.  "I am Lord Brisson, and it was my message that summoned you here.  I have a special task for you, one that I believe each of you is best qualified to do."

Before the badger could elaborate, the doors each of the captains used earlier opened.  Into the room strolled a young mouse.  On his hip hung a sword, which caught the attention of the half dozen hares that followed the badger into the room.  Each hare took a position between the mouse and badger with their paws resting on the hilt of their sword.

One hare growled at the mouse.  "No weapon may be worn in the presence of the king, or his heir.  Withdraw."

"I am Jazzin of Redwall Abbey, here by personal invitation from Lord Brisson.  This is the Sword of Martin; it will not be surrendered to anyone," the mouse replied in an unperturbed voice.  "I give you my word as a fellow warrior that my blade shall remain sheathed."

Both sides refused to back down until Lord Brisson spoke.  "Friend Jazzin, would you consent to hanging your weapon on the far wall?  You will not be surrendering it, and it isn't worn in my presence."

Without hesitation, Jazzin unfastened his sword belt.  He walked to the wall, hanging it below a lantern.  The hares retreated.  Jazzin said nothing more as he took a seat.

"We have been plagued by slavers raiding our coast for far too long," Lord Brisson said.  "The worst of these pirates, Captain Peggen, commands the Red Sharkeye.  Three days ago, a lookout identified the pirate warship heading west.  Here are the most likely targets based on that sighting and the words of a treacherous shrew I questioned."

The badger clapped his paws.  The door behind him opened, and two hares relayed six easels into the room.  One by one, the captains walked over to the display.  They moved from one chart to another while they conferred.  When they finished their examination, the captains returned to the conference table.

"Let me summarize our consensus, sire," said a male wolf.  "Four targets have excellent potential for a seaward attack.  Three of them offer a hidden cove deep enough for a seagoing ship.  Three of the targeted towns are a short trip inland.  Two of these have never suffered an attack before now and both are located far from any permanent military installation."  The wolf pointed to two of the charts.  "Were we interested in acquiring slaves; those are the places we would choose.  Of the two, Karretta would be the most likely target."

Jazzin nodded.  "I bow to your expertise regarding the best target to attack if one comes from the sea, but that isn't the sole factor we should consider, which is why Lord Brisson invited me.  Karretta is building fortifications and recruiting a fair size militia.  This sea pirate avoids any known military units.  From personal experience, these slavers prefer a speedy raid with as little risk of battle as possible." 

A male otter at the far end of the table snorted.  "Those walls will take another year to build, and it takes just as long training a militia.  In the meantime, the place remains vulnerable.  Skilled artisans command a greater price at any slave auction.  If I were a pirate looking for the biggest profit potential, I'd find the risk acceptable."

Captain Istedikus agreed with the summations offered by the other captains regarding potential targets, but she had nothing more to add to the ongoing discussion.  She let the dialogue wash over her as the others debated the pros and cons for each target.  As she sat, the jewel within the hilt of the Sword of Martin flashed red from the sunlight.  She found herself staring at the gem.  The red light filled her head until she saw nothing else.  A paw covered the red stone and the spell broke.

Her paw covered the gem. She pulled her paw away as if the jewel turned into a fanged serpent.  The sudden movement dislodged the sword and it clattered to the floor.  She turned around, aware the room had grown very quiet.  Istedikus faced the table, wondering when she had left it.  Her mind remained a blank slate.  She could not recall the words spoken after the reddish light blinded her.  Every beast stared at her. 

"Lord Brisson, what are your intentions for the Red Sharkeye," she asked.  She felt a strange sensation, as if the words she spoke were not her own, yet she had no way of stopping them.  Some greater power controlled her.

An old hedgehog growled.  "If you stopped daydreaming, you would know we will send that ship to the bottom.  Not one pirate will be spared."

"And what of the slaves forced to row that ship?"

The male wolf sitting next to her vacated chair answered in a bored voice.  "Regrettable, but they too will die.  The Red Sharkeye is a warship, not a merchant, or privateer.  If we fail, our ship and crew will be at grave risk.  His ship is faster and more maneuverable."

Captain Istedikus closed her eyes and lowered her muzzle.  Images from her past flashed across her mind.  Some inner fire flared to life and her voice became that of an angered demon denied its prey.  Whatever spirit controlled her earlier departed.

"Unacceptable," she growled while facing the other captains.  Then she turned to the badger, her voice changing into that of a supplicant.  "My lord, bring my crew here and give me your fastest warship.  I will stop Captain Peggen, and I'll free those slaves.  If there is no other way, I will sink his ship and be damned the slaves, but the least you can do is give those unfortunate souls a chance."

Jazzin left his seat and lifted the Sword of Martin.  He rubbed his paw over the red stone that adorned its golden pommel.  "I believe she has been touched by the spirit of Martin.  There are tales told of him visiting some beast destined for greatness as a warrior when all hope is lost.  Our people will follow wherever she leads."

All the captains awaited the badger's response.  Lord Brisson pushed his chair back and stood.

"I can do no less than give my consent.  I pledge my personal unit from the Long Patrol.  Your crew will be brought here by our fastest courier boat.  We leave when you're ready."  The badger turned to those still seated around the table.  "We cannot wait until a vision proves itself true.  I'm assigning each of you a patrol area that will protect one of these specific targets.  If you see that pirate, sink him."

Captain Istedikus bowed to the badger before she spoke.  "The shrew you mentioned withheld a target, one that means something to her.  I have no idea how I know this, but our ship is the only chance we have of stopping that pirate."

Captain Istedikus listened to her ship speak as if it were a living thing.  She felt the air humming through its rigging.  The drums beating out a steady pace for her rowers became its heart.  She listened to the oars rising and falling like a runner's legs as he sprinted for the finish line.  After ten days at sea, the otter knew this ship better than those who built her.  She felt the warship surge across the waters in anticipation of the upcoming battle. 

As she reached the aft quarterdeck, she approached the door to what should be her quarters.  Before she could knock, two other beasts hastened to her side.  Jazzin still appeared a bit queasy after yesterday's storm while Major Eytomin carried himself with the confidence inherent of all Long Patrol officers.   The captain knocked.

A male badger greeted the three.  Lord Brisson ushered them inside.  The four no sooner sat around the table than another beast knocked.  Without waiting for permission, a doe hare entered.  She watched two others serve the four their meals and did not retreat until everyone had a cup of hot tea resting in their paws.  She closed the door restoring their privacy.

"My thanks for letting me have your cabin," the badger said.  "I might be the heir to a throne, but on this ship, your word is still law, captain."

"I live to serve, sire," she said.  "You promised to give those captured slaves a chance; losing the comfort of my cabin is a small price."

"We haven't found the Red Sharkeye yet," the hare quipped.  "Another warship might sink it first.  Everyone else is patrolling the waters west of the Great Spar while we blunder around on the eastern side, and in an empty ocean."

In the awkward silence that followed, Jazzin leaned closer to the otter.  "Captain, can you tell us what happened when you touched the Sword of Martin?  I have read stories of others who have experienced visions, but never met one who did."

Captain Istedikus sank into the seat's cushion sipping her tea.  "Did you know I was born a slave?  I can remember my mother claiming we have been slaves for more than five generations.  She took pride in serving our master, I didn't.  My rebellious nature had me sold at an early age to the oars of a warship.  Life there turned me as heartless as my masters."

The badger's voice rumbled low.  "A story to explain what fire burns within?"

The Captain leaned back in her chair.  The words rolled out like waves on an empty sea.


The drums kept a steady rhythm.  She moved in time to its sound.  She saw nothing but the rise and fall of the stoat's arm as he kept the beat.  Even her oar partner remained undefined as she stared ahead.

A sharp whistle sounded three long notes.  The drummer never changed his beat, but his voice overrode the hollow boom of the drums.

"On the next full count, ship oars."

Her oar dropped, she pulled with all her might, and then she leaned forward until the shaft cleared the water.  Just like always.  This time she pushed the shaft down until it rested above her legs.  With the next boom of the drum, she shoved the shaft towards the walkway.  As one, the outer hull resonated with the sound of sixty oars striking the ship.

With the drums silent, Istedikus rested.  Her ears listened to the breathing of the other slaves, trying to detect which labored more than she did.  Nobody cried or whimpered, so none felt the whip.  She flexed her fingers but kept her paws on the oar.  If this unexpected break turned into a test to see how fast they could restart rowing, she would be ready.

A male vole climbed down the aft stairs carrying a water bucket.  As he moved down the rows, he handed the dipper to each slave in turn.  The guards joined the drummer at the stern, ignoring the slave as he performed his assigned duty.  The vole never turned, but his whispered voice carried to her.

"Remember that storm we had three days ago?  We lost most of our drinking water.  Captain intends to refill our casks when we reach land.  If this island we're approaching is dry, everyone can have water for five days."

The male mouse seated next to her leaned closer.  "What does that mean?"

Istedikus stared at her shipmate.  "You must be one of the new slaves we got at our last port.  Our ferret captain needs us, but he'll keep only the strongest."

The mouse looked around, checking that the guards remained far away.  "How does he choose?"

She closed her eyes.  "Slaves go topside in shifts, once every seven days for exercise and fresh air.  One day, our captain ordered everyone on deck at the same time.  Just like usual, they attached ten beasts to each chain.  Captain had the first beast draw a stone when they got topside, white to port, black to starboard.  Then each side drew lots.  The two chains drawing the same number fight, first in line on one chain against the first in line on the other."

The mouse's paw touched the otter's knee.  "You don't mean . . ."

"I do," she replied.  "We fight tooth and claw for the right to live.  The crew wager on us for entertainment.  Winners went into the hold.  Losers became food."

The male mouse turned white.  She eyed him as if he were a bug.  Her voice held no emotion.  "We did it a second time on day six.  My chain drew the first spot.  I killed a mouse just like you by biting his throat in two.  Just as they got ready to start the next match, the lookout spotted land.  Pray we don't meet on the deck.  I'll kill you without a second thought."

As the vole finished serving water, the guards opened the hold.  The sailors replaced a number of slaves, including her.  Before she went below deck, she eyed the replacement slaves who exited the hold.  She envied the next shift since they would not have to row.  At least not until the crew returned with fresh water.

Istedikus slept.  A sharp pain brought her awake.  She knew better than to grab her stinging foot.  The black squirrel next to her didn't.  The stoat waved his switch before the fellow's face, and Istedikus watched him back up against the hull.  The guard kept striking the tip of the squirrel's muzzle.

"So sorry I disturbed your beauty sleep.  If I wanted to hurt you, your foot would be bleeding, not stinging."  The guard lunged forward; his paw grabbed the black squirrel's chest fur as he pulled him upright.  A low whimper earned the squirrel a sharp slap across the muzzle as the guard dragged him closer.  "The two of you have slop duty.  Be sure every bucket down here is emptied."

The two climbed to the upper deck and moved to the fantail where they unfurled a drop cloth in case the overflowing buckets splashed over their sides.  She tied two long ropes to the aft railing and coiled it on the tarp.  While she did this, the black squirrel stood there mesmerized by the island.  When he turned, she could see the wistful look in his emerald eyes.

"Forget those trees.  You'll not get any closer than you are right now.  Remember not to spill anything on the deck.  We do and it means a flogging for each of us, and you don't want me mad at you.  Not if you value your teeth." 

They each carried a bucket from the slave hold up to the fantail.  With a heave, they threw the offal and waste overboard.  A quick knot and the buckets went over the side.  When the bucket looked clean, they pulled them back.  The two repeated the process with the next set of buckets.  After several trips, she grabbed the last bucket and heaved it over the stern. 

Out of the darkness, a series of vile oaths floated to their ears.  Istedikus leaned over the fantail.  A small boat floated by the stern.  The beast at the bow continued cursing while the second threw something.  It cleared the rail and clattered on the deck.  She watched the grappling hook slide aft until it snagged the railing.

A slime-covered hare climbed the rope.  He halted when his head cleared the deck.  His eyes darted from left to right.  He leaped onto the deck, his weapon clearing its sheath even as the next hare appeared.

"Corporal Dunnick of the Long Patrol at your service, we're here to free you.  I suppose I should commend you on your aim.  My fur is soaked in   . . . ."  He growled as he examined his fur and uniform.  "Actually, I bloody well know what it's soaked in, and it's disgusting." 

The hare tried drying his fur without success as a second one clamored over the aft railing.  He too slid his sword out as he scanned the empty deck.  Then he approached the male squirrel who hadn't moved since the small boat appeared. 

"You don't look like part of the crew, and slaves don't wander about; there must be guards on watch.   Tell me how many."

The black squirrel said nothing as his eyes fixated on the nearest hare.  He giggled.  He grabbed his muzzle with one paw to stifle the sound while the other paw kept stroking the hare's fur.

She wondered what madness infected the squirrel.  She saw no reason to lie to these intruders.  If they knew the dangers, perhaps they would leave.

"Three guards watch the ship.  We mustn't delay our return or they will come looking for us.  If they catch you, you'll die."

"Not likely river dog.  We're here to free you."

"Without the keys," She sneered.  "The guards have the one to the hold.  It doesn't work on the oars.  That much I know."

"Then we'll come back for them later."

Istedikus attacked the third hare just as he came over the railing.  Then she grabbed the bucket and bonked him on the head.  The three hares tackled Istedikus, subduing her.  One pinned the paw holding the bucket to the deck.  A second squeezed her throat until she weakened.  The first hare sat on her chest as she struggled.  While they fought, the squirrel stood by as if he were a living mast. 

The smelly one leaned down.  He asked her why she fought them and one hare eased his hold, but kept his paws around her neck.  She hissed her reply.

"For every slave that escapes, two die.  I might not call any here friend, but we have shared the same hardships.  You must take all, or none; no other option."

The officer signaled the others and they released her.  Two of the hares slid down the rope hanging over the side.  The smelly officer freed the grappling hook as he prepared to drop over the stern.  Before climbing over the railing, he grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

"Remember my name, Corporal Dunnick.  I will free you otter, this I swear."

She watched the hare disappear overboard just as an irate guard exited the stairwell.  She grabbed the two last buckets and with a hard shove, propelled the squirrel to the stairs.  Neither spoke while the guard escorted them back to the hold.  Istedikus stared up through the iron lattice as she found a place to rest. 

Once the guards secured the hatch, the black squirrel shook each beast awake.  Istedikus listened to him tell everyone the Long Patrol had come.  He spoke of hope.  He told the slaves that the hares would free them.  His words held no meaning for her.

Two days later, Istedikus sat on a bench, the oar resting on her knees.  She leaned against the hull, watching the sun play on a small patch of blue water.  Her mind envisioned a swimming pond filled with a dozen frolicking male otters who vied for her attention.  Such a pleasant dream had her drop her guard.  She smiled.

The sound of many feet echoed from above her.  Like the other slaves, she kept her eyes focused on the aft stairway.  A moment later, several hares climbed down and hurried over to the hatch.  Two hares dropped below the deck.  Though the words remained indistinct, their tone reminded her of a need for haste.

After herding those in the hold topside, one hare freed the rowers while an officer watched.  The hares directed the released slaves forward.  Finally, the hare with the keys reached her bench.  Anticipation had her heart race.  The chains dropped off the mole sitting next to her.

"Leave the otter.  She stays here," said the officer.  The hare moved to the next rower.

Istedikus listened to the freed slaves cheer.  She heard their paws clap.  She watched several hug and kiss the hares before going forward.  Many laughed and cried at the same time as they fled the oars.  Such joyous sounds made her heart long to join them.  A few waited with friends until their release.  They left together in a festive mood.

Like a nightmare, she soon found herself alone, the deck deserted.  The ship grew silent.  In spite of the chains that held her to her bench, she managed to view much of the empty rowing deck.  Fear gripped her like a snake, its coils squeezing all hope from her soul.  She sat staring at the drums that set the cadence for her oar, but the guards never showed. 

A voice she recognized drifted to her from the bow.  "Didn't I tell you I would return?"

Corporal Dunnick strolled forward, the key ring twirling around his paw.  He sat next to her in a clean uniform smelling of soap.  Istedikus wondered how this dream would end.  Would she awaken to the sound of a drum or an abandoned ship? 

She kept calm, glad he did not sense her fear.  Yet she wondered if this was real.  Her paw reached out to the hare, fearing him nothing more than an illusion.  She felt fur.  When he turned the key in her lock for the last time, her gruff exterior shattered.  The hare gently guided her up the ladder to freedom.  She needed his help as she couldn't stop shaking.  Sunlight never felt so good.


Badger, hare, and mouse listened as she finished her tale.

"I joined the navy and eventually became an officer.  Despite my grades on naval tactics, the admiral gave me command of a merchant vessel.  My dream of fighting slavers died with each passing year.  When I touched that sword, a voice said four words."

A soft knock interrupted them.  The first officer entered the room and marched over to the captain.  He whispered in her ear before he exited the room.  Captain Istedikus stood, her paws smoothing out her uniform.

Jazzin waited until the officer left.  "Don't keep us in suspense, Captain.  What did you hear?"

"Your time is now."

Vermin soldiers scurried about as they established temporary quarters within the forest.  Dabhiran crossed the camp, verifying nothing was amiss.  When he reached the largest tent, he pushed aside the flap, and entered.  He came to attention and waited for his superior to acknowledge his presence.  The grey fox nodded.

"Commander, sentries have been posted and all scouts have reported back.  Our back trail remains well hidden.  Nobody has seen or scented anyone since we left the ship six days ago."

"Have all squad leaders report to me.  We have much work to do."



Flashentie watched as his second in command darted out of his tent.  Dabhiran still had a few rough edges since his promotion, but the weasel had proven his value.  His input during the initial planning while aboard the Red Sharkeye showed he could envision contingencies nobody considered.  Out here, the weasel's logical mind kept things moving.  Though he missed Altac, he found his new second in command's optimistic viewpoint refreshing.

A short time later, the squad leaders assembled in Flashentie's tent.  Dabhiran summarized their past performance, noting how fast everyone had covered the terrain while leaving no clues of their presence.  Each officer listened as the weasel outlined their responsibilities. 

"Two scouts found the trail through the swamp to the village of Quagland.  It's well marked, but quite narrow.  One squad will stay behind so they can seal off the town.  There should be no difficulty as few woodlanders travel here once the harvest season begins.  Those here are not likely to leave until they are paid.  A second scouting party found the trail and bridge leading to the river canyon.  Crossing the bridge should present no problem since it is unguarded.  "

One female stoat gave a slight head bob, raising her paw before asking her question.  Dabhiran turned toward her, but he interrupted his second.  Commander Flashentie didn't mind his second conducting the briefing when it touched things they discussed in private, but felt certain information carried more credence coming from him.  The female stoat displayed a concerned expression as Flashentie acknowledged her. 

"The local militia doesn't worry me too much, commander.  If I remember your briefing aboard the Red Sharkeye, there are several hare divisions within striking range.  They might not be the Long Patrol, but they could prove quite formidable."

Flashentie did not dismiss her concern.  "This region's military is guarding the eastern border due to a dispute with their neighbor.  The badger king dispatched three full divisions to keep the peace while the two leaders negotiate a resolution.  Nobody patrols the western border since the ruler of that region is allied with this territory."

The commander first commended the officer for her memory before continuing.  "King Meles will divert every hare he can muster even further west.  Thanks to a sailor who owes a big gambling debt to our agent, he'll claim he saw our ship just before they made port.  Those hares might tend to ignore such a flimsy report, but there are several prime targets located within two day's march west of that port city.  It would be political suicide ignoring the information; King Meles will not take the chance it's false."

Dabhiran added the final note regarding any military intervention.  "Other than our last raid on Plintar, no ship has ever ventured to this side of the Great Spar.  Our captain sailed a route that took us far out to sea before we turned back towards land.  Even the lookouts atop Fiery Mountain cannot see below the horizon."

The discussion turned to assignments and timetables.  Many expressed concerns regarding their anticipated route from Quagland to their base camp.  Commander Flashentie reminded them they would stay just south of the Alliance territory, which should eliminate any chance of an unexpected patrol.  He expressed confidence in his officers that when they did move across Alliance territory, they could do it in three days as planned, thanks to a full moon. 

He rested his back against a tree as he spoke.  "Captain Peggen isn't about to risk being spotted by some merchant vessel or coastal warship.  He'll keep the Red Sharkeye well beyond the horizon until the last minute.  We stick to our schedule, and in another month, you'll be home boasting about the money you made on this raid."

Flashentie's assurances had his officers eager for departure.  When they crossed the bridge, many of the soldiers began discussing how they would spend their share of the profits.  The commander's confidence increased since they encountered no other travelers.  Following the river southward, they made it to their next target ahead of schedule.

Dabhiran used the spyglass Commander Flashentie gave him when they first sighted the supply depot.  He examined the collection of buildings up ahead until the commander tapped his shoulder.  He shaded his eyes as he looked down on the trading post.

"How does our spy's report compare with what you see, lieutenant?"

"Six buildings are obviously warehouses.  The smallest structure appears fortified.  It must be where those off duty rest.  I count eight male hedgehogs patrolling the area, just as Madame Sultakka said.  If the rest of her information is this accurate, we can expect another twenty hedgehogs housed in that bunker.  Armed guards might not be trained warriors, but they can still put up a better fight than untrained woodlanders."

The next morning, Flashentie led his archers closer to the outpost.  When he gave the signal, the archers fired.  Two guards died.  The others raced inside their fortifications.  Flashentie ordered one officer to take his unit and mount a frontal assault. 

While the raiders stormed the only entrance, he directed a second unit onto the roof.  Flashentie's soldiers placed a heavy tarp over the chimney, which prevented anyone from sending a smoke signal.  The defenders proved better organized than he expected.  When the two squads retreated, half the soldiers assigned to those units lay dead.

A female stoat approached him.  "None of the wall openings are wide enough for us to get in or them out.  Do you want us to leave them be or do we try to burn them out?"

Flashentie considered his options.  He examined the building while remaining beyond bow range.  He called his officers together.

"No way am I leaving an armed enemy behind me.  We have to eliminate those beasts.  The bloody place is made of stone so we cannot burn it.  Anyway, a fire means smoke and the last thing we want to do is warn those river otters their supply depot is under attack."

Over the next two hours, the raiders turned a stout tree into a battering ram.  Once again, they stormed the stone fortress.  On their fourth charge, the door shattered.  Ten minutes later, most of his soldiers walked out of the building.  A female stoat limped over to him and reported their success.

While his soldiers buried the dead and policed the area, he joined his second as they toured the warehouses.  One contained nothing more than farming implements, many too bulky for transportation.  The next four contained all manner of bog berries and bog berry products.  The last warehouse stored bolts of fabrics and boxes of thread.  Lieutenant Dabhiran almost strutted as they returned to the dock.

"Our soldiers will quickly tire of bog berries, but it will extend our rations and we can use it to feed our captives.  We'll leave the tools; desperate prisoners will turn them into weapons.  And did you see all that fabric?  Now there's a prize haul, commander."

"If we can transport just half this cloth to the Red Sharkeye, we'll make a sizable profit," Flashentie mused aloud.  "Let's hope the raid on Quagland proves less costly.  Our captain expects a lot of new slaves and considering how many casualties we suffered taking this place, best we don't disappoint him."

The weasel nodded.  "Our soldiers are watching the river and preparing the trap for those otters.  Let's hope they are on time.  If they are even a day late, or our spy's report inaccurate, the soldiers we left at the trail will seal the road too early.  That could alert the town to our planned assault.  Since a lot of woodlanders come to Quagland as additional workers during the harvest season, there will be a lot more willing defenders."

Commander Flashentie opened his mouth, but his reply remained unspoken.  He watched a soldier running towards him pointing upriver.  The soldier's excited voice alerted everyone the otters were coming even before he uttered the words.  Those soldiers not assigned to the capture of the otter's raft scrambled to hide from view.

When he reached the dock, the injured female stoat who led the assault on the fortified bunker had changed into a lacy dress.  The rest of her squad hid in false boxes sitting on the dock armed with loaded crossbows.  Lieutenant Dabhiran shaded his eyes as he looked upriver from his place of concealment. 

The commander dashed to the mast at the end of the dock.  He reached into the box at the base of the flagpole and selected a yellow flag with a bright blue square upon it.  Commander Flashentie ran it up to the top, pleased that a light breeze kept the flag flying.  He then sprinted back to the boxes where he whispered to the weasel.

"If Madame Sultakka spoke the truth, the signal flag I raised indicates a passenger has requested transportation further downriver.  Since the otters are going in that direction, they should stop."

As the raft drew nearer, the two officers crouched behind the crates.  The female stoat kept up a continual monologue as she described the raft and its progress.  When it became obvious to her these otters intended docking, her voice reminded Flshentie of an angler luring a big fish closer.  He drew his weapon and pointed the blade at the stoat.

"Wave you fool.  Those otters have to believe you're their passenger.  If we give them too much time to think, they may notice the missing spikedogs.  Keep waving or feel the sharp edge of my cutlass."

From his place of concealment, he watched as the crew dropped their poles on the deck while two otters lassoed the pier's piling.  With the raft hitched, the otters hauled in the lines drawing it even closer.  One male otter's muzzle pointed first to the crates and then to the quiet depot.  The raft bumped up against the pier.  The male placed his paws on his hips as he faced the female stoat standing alongside the stacked crates.

"Say, missy, where's old Griffy?  It's not like him to hoist a flag and run off somewhere.  Don't think that hedgehog has missed any of our arrivals since he first came here.  I swear that fellow thinks he's part otter." 

Commander Flashentie pounded the side of the crate with his paw.  With a series of resounding crashes, the raiders inside released the false fronts.  For an instant, the river otters froze.  A shower of crossbow bolts killed them before any could react to the threat.

"Secure the raft," he yelled.  He walked over to the decoy passenger and placed his foot on the stoat's posterior.  With a less than gentle touch, he pushed her into the river.  When she surfaced, Commander Flashentie waited until she stopped sputtering.  He used his cutlass as a pointer.

"Get that body floating downriver.  I'll not chance somebody seeing it before we spring our attack."

One ferret dropped his crossbow and jumped onto the raft.  He rushed the small cabin at the rear, kicking in its flimsy door.  A moment later, he emerged with an otter kit.  The ferret held him by the scruff of the neck off the deck.  The kit made several futile efforts to break free, which had his captor chuckling.  The ferret soldier pulled out his dagger.  He placed it under the otter's chin until the kit ceased his struggles.

"Commander, look what I found.  The boy was sound asleep, snoring through the whole thing.  Want me to slit his throat now, or can we have a little fun seeing how long it takes to skin this one alive?"

He glanced at the young otter and guessed his age as somewhere around seven or eight years.  Since the otter tucked his tail, he knew the kit would offer no further resistance.  He kept his expression neutral and addressed the soldier as if they discussed something of little importance. 

"Hold your blade.  We came for slaves, so secure him to a tree and watch him.  When our raid on Quagland is finished, I'll send somebody over to recover our plunder.  That one will fetch a high price at the slave auctions, so be sure he doesn't escape.  If he gives you any trouble, find a good stick and don't spare its use."

As the ferret marched his young prisoner along, Flashentie supervised the other raiders.  In short order, he had the phony crates loaded on the raft.  He surveyed the raft, considering how many of his fellow slavers he could hide on the raft. 

The stoat, still in her lacy dress, exited the water, dragging the dead otter.  In a weary voice, she called to her commander.  He turned in her direction, his mind still fixated on the wealth within the warehouses. 

"Are we going to attack that village now or later," the stoat inquired.

The ferret soldier lifted his pole and carried it to the bow.  He shoved the butt end into the muddy bottom and bent forward.  The ferret turned around and leaned into the pole as he walked to the stern.  When he arrived at the raft's aft end, he shouldered the pole.  After a quick walk to the bow he repeated the process.

"First I'm rowing some sea rat's ship like a lowly slave, and now I'm poling a raft downriver.  I signed on this voyage to avoid such work back home."

Commander Flashentie almost laughed at the soldier's grousing, but knew he would change his mind when the mission ended and his purse weighed heavy on his hip.  He dismissed the ferret from his mind as he inspected the raft.  Crammed inside the false crates that crowded the bow, eager soldiers waited.  Dabhiran called out to him from his hiding place.  

"Our timing is perfect.  With the morning sun in their eyes and its reflection on the water, nobody should notice what kind of beast poles the raft."

"Just be sure everyone remembers we want captives, not corpses.  The dead don't sell."

The weasel nodded.  "Too bad we have to kill the one stationed in the watchtower, but we can't allow him to raise the alarm.  Those who served with us on past slaving raids have told the others how much silver each prisoner is worth.  Nobody wants to lose money if it can be avoided."

The ferret operating the sweep called out in a low voice.  "Get your weapons ready.  The dock is within a hundred meters of us now."

As the raft drew nearer, the sweep operator's monologue described everything he saw.  None interrupted his report.  When he ceased, they waited.

A voice hailed them.  Commander Flashentie wondered if anyone would recognize the danger and raise the alarm.  His luck held.  Whoever stood on the dock took no notice of who, or what, poled the raft.  The guard expected otters and that's what he saw.  The craft shuddered as it made contact with the pier.

Dockworkers tossed lines to those standing on the raft.  When the ferrets caught the ropes, they gave the signal.  The false crates opened and the vermin swarmed onto the dock.  Two archers exited the cabin and fired at the lone beast in the watchtower.  Both scored direct hits.  The three helpful beasts on the dock became their first captives.

By the time the Commander Flashentie walked from the raft to the town, his raiders had complete control.  They caught the entire village sleeping.  As he entered the main square, his soldiers herded the sleepy inhabitants outside.  Even as he surveyed the catch, his raiders fastened chains to the woodlander's ankles.

Commander Flashentie called Dabhiran closer.  "Most of these woodlanders can be easily handled.  Our problem is keeping those otters and squirrels in line.  Which group do you prefer teaching?"

He ordered his soldiers to finish chaining their captives.  While Dabhiran's squad led all the squirrels to another section of the village, Flashentie selected six raiders who herded the otters down to the dock.  The soldiers had them climb aboard the raft.  It took some prodding with swords to get the hobbled otters in line facing the water with their backs to the guards.  He grinned in anticipation as he walked behind the unsuspecting captives.

"Most of you are just itching to fight, others are thinking of escape.  I see it in your eyes.  Let me convince you such ideas are foolhardy."

Without warning, he pushed the otter he judged the strongest off the raft.  He watched as the otter struggled to keep his head above water.  He splashed and desperately gasped for breath each time he surfaced.  The guards kept the other captive otters close enough that they could see, but far enough away that they could not help.

"Those leg irons might not seem that heavy on land, but they will prevent you from swimming.  Eventually you will tire and when you do, you'll sink."  Flashentie noticed how the otter's struggles lessened.  "In deep water, there is no hope.  You will drown."

The otter's paws clawed at the air, but his head never rose.  He snapped his finger and two guards leaned over the side, yanking the otter high enough that he could inhale.  The otter vomited up the water he swallowed.  His deep gasps sounding like a blacksmith's bellows.

The commander snapped his fingers again, and the guards released their hold.  The otter clawed at the raft's side until one of the guards pushed him away.  His mate pleaded for mercy as her frenzied eyes darted from the water to him.  The guards waited until the otter failed to surface.  Their paws again plunged into the water.  They hauled the otter halfway out of the water.  The exhausted otter panted, too worn out to move.

"Now I can save him, if I choose.  But the next time he goes under, I'll let him drown.  So will you cooperate or must I demonstrate the futility of a water escape with another volunteer?"

Each otter nodded before hanging their head in shame.  When the last one bowed, he ordered the guards to haul their captive out of the water.  As the half-drowned otter hacked and coughed, his mate and kits rushed to his side.  Flashentie led all the otters back to the village square.

Dabhiran jogged over to his commander.  "Our tree rats now understand the futility of climbing.  There will be no trouble from them so long as they wear those leg irons."

"Well done.  Now find me a villager with two children, one of them a toddler and the other over eight.  Then bring me both parents and five other males with a mate and young."

The commander again led the male otters to the dock while their mates and kits remained with the other villagers.  By the time they cleared the raft of the false crates, Dabhiran returned with the selected villagers and six guards.  The raiders joined the otters, who now held the poles.  He waited until the selected captives faced him.  

Commander Flashentie approached a family of woodchucks.  Despite her protests, he relieved the mother of her youngest as he led the other child to the end of the dock.  He cradled the small female woodchuck in one arm while he tickled her with his other paw.  Though the babe giggled and laughed, both parents stood rigid, too frightened to move.

"We have supplies and booty across the river.  You will ferry the material here.  Once everything is on this side of the river, you will be returned to your families.  If anyone is thinking of escape, consider the consequences of your actions."

Commander Flashentie lifted the toddler by the scruff of her neck.  The young woodchuck bawled as she struggled in his paw.  The two parents pledged their cooperation if he returned the female kit.

"Such a lovely girl, pity I must use her as an object lesson."

With his other paw, he drew his dagger.  

"That one died quick.  Any failure to obey will result in a far more painful death for one member of your family.  Anyone escaping condemns everyone, even if we recapture you." Flashentie shouted over the din as his blade pressed against the dibbun woodchuck's throat.

By the time the sun had set, the raiders had the villagers cowering.  Soldiers looted each hut in their search for weapons and valuables.  Once stripped, the raiders crammed as many captives as possible into the empty huts.  Per his orders, whenever the guards changed shifts, they roused the tired prisoners for a head count.  By morning the vermin felt refreshed while the villagers dragged.  

Commander Flashentie prepared for departure.  His force paid a heavy price taking the trading post, but seeing so many captives made such losses acceptable.  They had far more healthy adults than anticipated.  He knew older dibbuns fetched a premium at the slave auction, which translated into more coins in everyone's purse.  The cloth recovered from the warehouses added an unexpected bonus.

"Sir, I chained the prisoners in family units or in groups of five," said Dabhiran.  "These new slaves will carry our loot until we meet up with Captain Peggen.  I gave our soldiers the task of carrying the food since hungry prisoners might steal it."

He listened with only half an ear to the weasel as he watched his raiders organize the chained woodlanders.  According to Dabhiran, they could move out within the next hour.  He considered that one more piece of good news.  So far, everything Lady Sultakka had written proved accurate.

The prisoners lifted their burdens.  As the dejected creatures stood, he addressed them.  He knew his voice carried far more malice than these simple woodlanders ever experienced.

"So long as you can carry your packs, we will consider you useful.  Those who cannot perform this simple task will be killed.  If anyone attempts to escape, everyone connected to his chain dies.  I know several unique ways that are very slow and painful.  Don't force me to demonstrate my expertise."

Satisfied his message had its desired effect, Commander Flashentie ordered the march to commence.  The guards led the captives down the path until they met up with those watching the forest trail.  Once beyond the trail, the guards herded the woodlanders through the forest.

An hour before sunset, he ordered another halt.  Guards kept the slaves huddled close together as they prepared for their first night.  The prisoners moaned as they dropped their heavy burdens.  Many woodlanders rubbed sore shoulders and tender feet while they rested.  They accepted their rations without complaint.  

While the prisoners reclined, he approached the shrews congregated near one tree.  Their talk ended when they noticed his approach.  He smiled, which frightened the woodlanders he saw.  No doubt the stories regarding the otters and woodchuck toddler had circulated.  

"I want to know which of you is named Zoranna."  When none of the prisoners stepped forward, he growled.  "I know she is a shrew.  Must I show my displeasure with one of your young?"

Commander Flashentie almost laughed at the reaction.  Every female shrew pointed to the one he sought.  Several guards moved between her and the rest of her family while another guard released her.  Flanked by four vermin, the female shrew followed him to a clearing where the other woodlanders could see and hear everything.  When he confirmed the lady's identity, he called for Kanar, a male pine martin who displayed a muscular physic.

"Captain Peggen tells me you handle a whip like a master craftsman.  I do hope you followed your captain's order to pack it before you left the ship."  He noticed how Kanar's eyes brighten as he nodded.  He recognized the predatory stare Kanar gave Zoranna as he licked his lips.  The guards drew a close circle, ready to block any attempt at escape by the shrew.

"Give that lady shrew twenty lashes.  Do it in such a way that every time her backpack bounces or shifts, she will feel more pain.  I know what I'm asking is far milder than a proper flogging, so I have a special treat for you.  When we get back to the ship, you can entertain Zoranna when you help her experience a true flogging from the paws of an expert."

The shrew stood stunned by his order.  As the guards stripped her, Zoranna finally realized the commander ordered her whipped not once, but twice.  She pleaded for mercy while asking why she deserved such mistreatment.  Her futile struggles against the vermin securing her to the fallen log made Commander Flashentie smile.  He watched the pine martin unlimber his whip.  Kanar flicked it several times as he tested where it would fall.  

Flashentie stood next to the pine martin, his eyes focused on him and not the shrew.  He recalled how Captain Peggen described his favorite disciplinarian's ritual whenever he got the chance to use his whip on a helpless victim.  When the pine martin rubbed his paw on his britches, the commander moved between the predator and his prey.  He countermanded his order.  

Kanar's reaction proved better than he ever expected.  He noted the hostile glare as the pine martin stood back.  That pleased Flashentie.  According to the captain, if anyone denied the pine martin his fun, it made the next victim's flogging even worse.  Kanar's fury would have him put every ounce of strength he possessed behind each stroke.  

He felt no pity for the blubbering female.  To him, her beating would provide an entertaining diversion before catching a good night's sleep.  Flashentie spent the whole day envisioning this moment.  Now he wanted to savor it.  He stroked the lady shrew's soft fur with a tender caress like the one he gave his mate until she responded to his soothing voice.  

Zoranna turned her head towards the far side of the clearing where Kanar paced.  She shuddered.  Another gentle stroking of her arm and she faced him.  The shrew asked why she remained tied to the log if he cancelled her punishment.

"I want everybody to know we attacked Quagland because you treated your sister with such contempt when she visited.  That is why she contacted us.  Madame Sultakka extends her warmest greeting as you start your new life as a slave.  Her letter requested a very special welcoming gift, which I'm pleased to deliver."

Once the commander found a comfortable seat where he had an unobstructed view, he asked Kanar if he still wanted to demonstrate his talent.  The commander enjoyed his reaction as he raced back to the log.  Now the fellow's expression matched the one Flashentie saw whenever he gave his youngest a special gift.  He repeated his instructions but upped her flogging to thirty strokes.

The pine martin almost drooled as he eyed his helpless victim.  Zoranna's struggles heightened his anticipation.  The pine martin repeated his earlier actions as he prepared to administer the whipping.  Kanar glanced over while vigorously drying his paw against his pants, his eyes pleading for permission.  Flashentie nodded.  Kanar laid into his task with an intensity that mirrored his glee.

He enjoyed the isolation his home offered.  Set high in an ancient tree, he fashioned his living quarters within its trunk.  After a good night's sleep, he attended to whatever chores demanded his immediate attention.  With the setting of the sun, he retired to his kitchen where he contemplated his dinner.  He found such a simple routine comfortable.

As he pondered his evening meal, the peaceful solitude he treasured shattered like a dropped plate when he heard a large number of beasts moving through his forest.  He shuffled to his doorway searching for the source of disturbance.  A quick look revealed nothing to his eyes, yet his ears alerted him to their imminent arrival.

They approached his home from the east.  He drew himself up to his full height ready to give these intruders an earful for camping beneath his tree.  His protest died unuttered when vermin carrying weapons appeared.  A glance at the woodlanders revealed they did not follow willingly.  Chains rattled as they moved through the underbrush and into the clearing next to his tree.

Though he could not hear the words spoken, he observed a grey fox lead a shrew to a fallen log.  Both fascinated and appalled, he watched the series of events leading up to the first lashing.  The hermit shrunk far enough back into his home to hide from the sight.  He placed his paws over his ears, but could not block out the female's pitiable cries.

When he could hear her no longer, he paced his chamber.  Voices drifted up to his home followed by the sound of hammering.  Curious, he took a quick glance outside where he discovered several vermin soldiers raising a tent that abutted his tree.  Just as they finished their task, the same grey fox approached.

Then the old hermit had a horrible thought.  He couldn't remember when he last used his groundside door.  A second look outside confirmed his worse fears; the back of the tent touched his doorway.  Using all the stealth he possessed, he sped down the inner staircase until he reached the secret door, which he found barred from the inside.  An unfamiliar voice echoing within the tree almost had him faint.  Clutching his chest, he listened.

"A most excellent show we had there, Dabhiran.  Kanar is indeed a master with that whip."

Another voice laughed.  "I'll wager one silver Zoranna kills herself before she reaches our ship, commander."

"Then your job will be to make sure that doesn't happen.  Madame Sultakka is paying an extra bounty for making her suffer, which I shall share with you.  She wants our captain to make sure somebody with a cruel streak gets her in any auction.  I can tell you her letter has more venom than an adder's bite when she writes about her sister."

They conversed about other things before they exchanged farewells.  He pressed his ear against his door but detected nothing.  The unexpected sound of a boot hitting his secret door caused him to leap halfway up the stairway.  A second thud followed the first.

For several seconds, he hesitated halfway between the secret exit and the stairway's first landing.  No other sound invaded his domain and he approached the door a second time.  His finger poked a hole through the mud he used to hide the seam.  He placed his ear over the opening.  He heard nothing more than the sound of some beast sleeping.

Loud voices roused the hermit from a deep slumber.  For a moment, he wondered why he wasn't in his bed.  Then he remembered what happened the previous evening.  He approached the door and placed his ear over the hole.  For a moment, he wondered if the vermin beast could hear his panicked heart pounding.

"Let me get my boots on first."  He heard something slam his door. 

Then the voice he remembered as Dabhiran spoke.  "Sorry to disturb you commander, but you did say you wanted to see Lieutenant Garff whenever he returned.  I sent his soldiers to our cook for their morning meal, while I brought ours here."

Confident none knew of him, he continued leaning against the door.  He listened to the scraping of metal on metal, and the slurping of the vermin leader who used his tree as a backrest.  The conversations touched on nothing he thought important. 

Bored, he decided he wanted breakfast.  He started up the stairs when the commander's voice echoed within the tree.  His words drew him back to his listening hole.

"How did things go after we left Quagland, lieutenant?"

"We had the otter's raft dismantled by the older villagers.  It took them forever hauling the timbers to the square.  After soaking the wood in lamp oil, we burned it and everything we didn't take with us.  Those who didn't die on our blades, died in the fire.  Disposing of the toddlers and infants took no time at all once we eliminated the elders."

He recoiled.  These three vermin discussed the execution of woodlanders as if they described the weather.  Lieutenant Garff continued.

"It took us the rest of the day dumping the ashes into the marsh.  Wait another week and nobody will even know we raided the town.  Anyone stumbling across the place will think the inhabitants abandoned it."

Quagland destroyed. 

He slumped on the steps, horrified by the news.  Though he preferred his solitude, he remembered how Quagland always welcomed him.  Sometimes they offered bog berries in exchange for his carpentry skills.  None ever pestered him with questions; they respected his privacy.  His heart ached at the loss of so many innocent beasts.

"Are any of the prisoners suspicious?  Their minds haven't accepted the reality of slavery yet.  Many believe those left behind might rescue them or alert those who can.  Chains or no chains, they could cause us trouble if they learn the truth."

"They have been told what they want to hear whenever we see them listening in on our conversations, commander.  Everyone tells the same story about leaving the useless ones back at the village.  These naive woodlanders believe we left them alive."

The commander commend Dabhiran for his ingenuity.  "They will hold onto hope until we load them on the longboats.  When they find themselves chained to an oar, they will break.  They always do."

An eerie quiet replaced their conversations.  He hesitated by the door, his stomach felt twisted in knots.  He then raced back up to his living quarters where he chanced a quick peek outside.  His heart leaped with joy as the vermin dismantled their camp.  Within an hour, the tranquility of his forest returned.

Although shocked at what the vermin did, he ignored the plight of the villagers.  Despite their kindness, none of them meant more than a passing thought to him.  He saw no reason to concern himself.  He prepared a hearty meal since he missed his breakfast.  When he finished washing and restacking his dishes, he glanced outside once more.  Nothing stirred.

In the quiet of his home, the voice of his grandmother echoed within his mind.  He recalled the stories the old squirrel told about her days as a slave child.  All his siblings quivered in fear whenever she spoke of her youth.

"That old lady died before the years exceeded the fingers on my paws.  How is it possible for me to hear her voice as if she sat next to me?  She just liked telling dibbuns scary stories.  She probably invented half of them too."

He climbed down the tree as fast as his old bones allowed.  He repacked the mud around the hidden door.  Satisfied with his effort, he scouted the area surrounding his home.  Small bits of debris cluttered the forest floor, but that would be gone after the next storm.  Though repelled by the memory of the shrew's flogging, the fallen tree drew him closer.

Blood stained the bark.  The crack of the whip and the unknown female's wailing replayed within his mind.  He fell to his knees holding his paws over his ears.  That only intensified the sound.  Each time he opened his eyes, he saw the dried blood pooled on the bark.  His pain increased until he could bear it no longer. 

"Damn you, damn you all to Hellsgate."

Nothing moved.  He levered himself to a standing position.  Once more, he focused on the bloody bark.  He squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them, the scene remained unchanged.  A vision of the Quagland slaughter filled his mind.  It sickened him.  This time his voice made a whispery sound as tears clouded his vision.

"Damn every one of you vermin slavers."

Though slow, he moved faster than he had in years.  He rushed up the tree and raced to his sleeping chamber.  A quick trip to his storeroom and his backpack bulged with food.  He returned to his bedroom where he stored a sling.  As he exited the room, he snatched his short spear, securing it to his backpack.

Travel through the treetops at breakneck speed came flowing back to him.  He leaped from one tree to another as if his age suddenly halved.  He admired how well the slavers planned their movement.  He knew their destination offered a perfect refuge.  Located far from any trail, it provided everything the slavers needed.

So many creatures moving through a forest made a lot of noise.  He raced ahead.  When he found a tree with heavy cover near a small clearing, he stopped.  A few minutes later, three stoats passed beneath his hiding spot.  They did not see him and the wind scattered his scent.

Several moments passed before the main force entered the clearing.  Everyone rested.  Guards leaned against the nearest tree while the captives removed their backpacks.  He stared down at the scene listening to the general groans of those close to exhaustion.

Across the clearing rested four squirrels.  They clung to each other, their heads bowed.  The younger female, a child on the cusp of adulthood, raised her muzzle.  Her eyes locked with his.  He pointed up the tree.  The girl's eyes followed where his finger directed.

The older male reacted to her head movement.  He reached past the older female, slapping the girl's muzzle downward.  A ferret raced over and yanked the girl to her feet.  The slaver pinned her to the tree with one paw while he held a switch in front of her face.  The older female groveled at the ferret's foot while the two males fell to their knees begging for mercy.  Even from where he hid, the scent of their collective fear overwhelmed him.

The ferret called out for Commander Flashentie.  A grey fox sauntered over and listened to the ferret.  Words passed between them.  The fox dismissed the ferret, took the switch, and handed it to the older male squirrel.  The girl bared her back and the male squirrel laid into her until the fox stopped him.  Once the fox left, the older male embraced the girl while she sobbed.

When he heard the ferret call the grey fox by name, it gave him a face to match the voice.  This beast planned the execution of an entire village.  He ordered the whipping of another.  He forced a father to beat his daughter.  His blood ran cold.  A shouted command from the fox and all stood.  Everyone followed him into the forest.

Such woebegone expressions on the passing woodlanders convinced him none would offer much resistance.  As each chained group passed his tree, he saw hope dying.  Then the female squirrel glanced upward.  He felt her unspoken plea for help.  His heart ached knowing he could do nothing against so many vermin warriors.

A family of shrews passed his tree.  His eyes locked on the female leading the chain.  That face showed something beyond defeat.  A male kept to her side, his paw stroking her arm but she did not respond.

His eyes followed this beast even after she walked under his tree branch.  Then he saw the female shrew from the back.  Her bright blue dress had red stripes running across it.  Even as she walked, he saw how her backpack added more red to her blouse.  For just an instant he heard his grandmother's voice describe slaves who lost the will to go on.  It matched the female shrew.

Silence returned to the forest.  He stared in the direction the slavers traveled.  For just a moment, he again debated the wisdom of intervening.  Giving a loud harrumph, he climbed to a higher branch warmed by the afternoon sun. 

"I'm so sorry, there's nothing one old squirrel can do." 

He turned his back on the woodlanders once more, but could not move.  His mind tried to deny what his eyes saw.  That female squirrel pinned all her hopes on him.  Then the lady shrew's eyes filled his mind.  There had to be a way to rekindle the spark of life those vermin snuffed.

"Where one must fail, many can succeed." 

In his youth, he could reach the Pine Tar tribal homes in a few hours.  Today, it took him past sunset.  Upon his arrival, the he found the nesting spots empty.  With the palm of his paw, he smacked his forehead.  Last month a resident of Quagland said the tribe moved to Redwall Abbey for an extended stay.

Old age made night travel too dangerous since he found it hard judging distances.  It would do those woodlanders no good if he injured himself in a nasty fall.  Satisfied he could do nothing more this night, he entered one of the huts.  The hammock proved irresistible.  As he drifted off to sleep, he could imagine his grandmother demanding to know what he intended to do in the morning.

"One branch crossed, and you're committed to the forest.  This good deed is going to cost me four days, and that leaves little time for any beast wanting to help those woodlanders.  Sure hope those Pine Tar squirrels or uppity Abbey beasts appreciate my efforts."

"darn you, darn you all to Hellsgate."

Nothing moved.  He levered himself to a standing position.  Once more, he focused on the bloody bark.  He squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them, the scene remained unchanged.  A vision of the Quagland slaughter filled his mind.  It sickened him.  This time his voice made a whispery sound as tears clouded his vision.

"darn every one of you vermin slavers."

Though slow, he moved faster than he had in years.  He rushed up the tree and raced to his sleeping chamber.  A quick trip to his storeroom and his backpack bulged with food.  He returned to his bedroom where he stored a sling.  As he exited the room, he snatched his short spear, securing it to his backpack.

Travel through the treetops at breakneck speed came flowing back to him.  He leaped from one tree to another as if his age suddenly halved.  He admired how well the slavers planned their movement.  He knew their destination offered a perfect refuge.  Located far from any trail, it provided everything the slavers needed.

So many creatures moving through a forest made a lot of noise.  He raced ahead.  When he found a tree with heavy cover near a small clearing, he stopped.  A few minutes later, three stoats passed beneath his hiding spot.  They did not see him and the wind scattered his scent.

Several moments passed before the main force entered the clearing.  Everyone rested.  Guards leaned against the nearest tree while the captives removed their backpacks.  He stared down at the scene listening to the general groans of those close to exhaustion.

Across the clearing rested four squirrels.  They clung to each other, their heads bowed.  The younger female, a child on the cusp of adulthood, raised her muzzle.  Her eyes locked with his.  He pointed up the tree.  The girl's eyes followed where his finger directed.

The older male reacted to her head movement.  He reached past the older female, slapping the girl's muzzle downward.  A ferret raced over and yanked the girl to her feet.  The slaver pinned her to the tree with one paw while he held a switch in front of her face.  The older female groveled at the ferret's foot while the two males fell to their knees begging for mercy.  Even from where he hid, the scent of their collective fear overwhelmed him.

The ferret called out for Commander Flashentie.  A grey fox sauntered over and listened to the ferret.  Words passed between them.  The fox dismissed the ferret, took the switch, and handed it to the older male squirrel.  The girl bared her back and the male squirrel laid into her until the fox stopped him.  Once the fox left, the older male embraced the girl while she sobbed.

When he heard the ferret call the grey fox by name, it gave him a face to match the voice.  This beast planned the execution of an entire village.  He ordered the whipping of another.  He forced a father to beat his daughter.  His blood ran cold.  A shouted command from the fox and all stood.  Everyone followed him into the forest.

Such woebegone expressions on the passing woodlanders convinced him none would offer much resistance.  As each chained group passed his tree, he saw hope dying.  Then the female squirrel glanced upward.  He felt her unspoken plea for help.  His heart ached knowing he could do nothing against so many vermin warriors.

A family of shrews passed his tree.  His eyes locked on the female leading the chain.  That face showed something beyond defeat.  A male kept to her side, his paw stroking her arm but she did not respond.

His eyes followed this beast even after she walked under his tree branch.  Then he saw the female shrew from the back.  Her bright blue dress had red stripes running across it.  Even as she walked, he saw how her backpack added more red to her blouse.  For just an instant he heard his grandmother's voice describe slaves who lost the will to go on.  It matched the female shrew.

Silence returned to the forest.  He stared in the direction the slavers traveled.  For just a moment, he again debated the wisdom of intervening.  Giving a loud harrumph, he climbed to a higher branch warmed by the afternoon sun.  

"I'm so sorry, there's nothing one old squirrel can do."  

He turned his back on the woodlanders once more, but could not move.  His mind tried to deny what his eyes saw.  That female squirrel pinned all her hopes on him.  Then the lady shrew's eyes filled his mind.  There had to be a way to rekindle the spark of life those vermin snuffed.

"Where one must fail, many can succeed."  

In his youth, he could reach the Pine Tar tribal homes in a few hours.  Today, it took him past sunset.  Upon his arrival, the he found the nesting spots empty.  With the palm of his paw, he smacked his forehead.  Last month a resident of Quagland said the tribe moved to Redwall Abbey for an extended stay.

Old age made night travel too dangerous since he found it hard judging distances.  It would do those woodlanders no good if he injured himself in a nasty fall.  Satisfied he could do nothing more this night, he entered one of the huts.  The hammock proved irresistible.  As he drifted off to sleep, he could imagine his grandmother demanding to know what he intended to do in the morning.

"One branch crossed, and you're committed to the forest.  This good deed is going to cost me four days, and that leaves little time for any beast wanting to help those woodlanders.  Sure hope those Pine Tar squirrels or uppity Abbey beasts appreciate my efforts."






(AUTHOR'S NOTE:  something eliminated the above when I originally uploaded it.  Possibly the mild curse, which I had to change.  Sorry for the inconvenience.)

Father Hughnaught found the weather a bit overwhelming whenever he stepped outside in his official attire as the father abbot.  It might be early summer, but the afternoon heat had him ignoring tradition.  Though the woodchuck wore green, he left the winter-heavy habit hanging inside the abbey like a raincoat on a cloudless day.

His walking companion, Captain Karteel, wore an outfit that proclaimed his position as the commanding officer of the Abbey's defenders.  Since the Abbey preferred peace, the residents on guard duty seldom wore anything resembling a uniform; something he knew disturbed the retired soldier. 

While they walked, both debated their latest game of Siege.  Each of them claimed the better position when they adjourned late last night.  Such genial conversation proved a pleasant diversion.  As far as the father abbot was concerned, the selection and assignment of garden plots could wait.  If his luck held, the bickering gardeners might resolve the issue without his intervention.

A gravelly voice called out.  "Captain Karteel, a moment of your time please."

"Now I do wonder what Tassel would want with you," said the father abbot.  He knew his serious tone would needle the captain. 

Karteel's eyes rolled.  The woodchuck had to employ every ounce of self-control; otherwise, he would burst out laughing.  The Captain of the guards often bragged about her combat training, but never failed to miss an opportunity to insult the lady badger.

Once she came close enough, the captain snapped at her.  "Our next practice session isn't until the day after tomorrow.  And no, you may not join my training class with the Pine Tar warriors this afternoon.  Didn't they make their feeling known last time?  I don't need such problems."

Tassel came to a quick stop.  Her muzzle dipped, but it came up before she spoke.  "I didn't know they felt so strong about my presence that they withdrew.  However, I'm here on more urgent business."

Karteel gave a heavy sigh, his vexation coming to the fore.  "So what bee stung your nose?"

"That boar badger has been gone three days.  He should get here well before the gates close tonight.  I want you to alert those guards about Tabeston's return.  I would keep a watch on the road all day, but my duties as badgermom don't allow me such a luxury."

Father Hughnaught clicked his tongue.  "I know you fret every time one of your dibbuns goes beyond our gate, but you must accept the fact they can go where you cannot.  I'm sure Bruno is going as fast as that child of yours can move.  They might spend a day or two at that village if it takes time fashioning new spectacles.  Anyway, I've already asked the captain to pass the word.  If anyone sees them, you'll be the first informed."

"It doesn't stop me from worrying.  Bruno doesn't know how important the hedgehog's schooling is."

Before he could reassure Tassel, another voice called out.  Two squirrels hesitated by the main gate before they rushed across the courtyard.  He recognized the bandana every Pine Tar squirrel wore, but could not identify the older squirrel who accompanied him.

After a hasty introduction, the younger squirrel trotted back to the main gate.  The older one waited.  His eyes flashed from the father abbot, to Karteel, and settled on the masked beast.  He muttered something too low before extending his paw to him.

"Everybody calls me the hermit.  Good a name as any.  I came to tell you of slavers in Mossflower Forest."

Father Hughnaught pointed to the abbey, and the three hastened their steps.  Once the abbot entered the main building, he slipped on his green habit.  As he led the two squirrels to another room, Tassel followed.  After the squirrels entered, he blocked the threshold.  The lady badger's voice acquired a pleading tone she used whenever she begged for additional funds.

"Please Father Abbot; I must know what this hermit has to say.  It might involve Kurella."

For a moment, he remembered how despondent Tassel felt when she learned slavers captured Kurella.  Even if he stood by his decision, he knew she would pester him for every detail.  With an admonishment about keeping her own counsel, he allowed her inside the room.

The hermit launched into his story.  He related the fate of Quagland, including the death of those the vermin deemed unfit.  When he spoke of the grey fox who commanded the slavers, he painted a picture of a heartless beast.  Then his narration touched on what he saw in the forest.  His description of the lady shrew caused his voice to crack from the emotion it evoked.  Finished with his report, he called himself a coward for not helping any of them.

Captain Karteel patted the hermit's paw.  "You were brave enough to follow them and smart enough to come here.  Let those trained to fight do the rest."

Father Hughnaught went to the door and summoned a passing resident.  That beast escorted the hermit to the dining area, promising he would help the old squirrel find lodging during his stay.  Once the door closed, he returned to his chair.  A glance at the captain showed he too had troubles assimilating the magnitude of the news.  He rapped the tabletop with his paw, which caught their attention.

"If all our warriors were here, we would be a powerful force.  The Pine Tar tribe has the heart, but not the numbers.  Warriors tend to boast about their successes while forgetting any setbacks.  I must consider the consequences of any failure.  An unsuccessful attack leaves us vulnerable.  Our abbey would become too tempting a target.  Still, Redwall has never ignored a chance at freeing slaves.  So what are our options?"

The father abbot and Captain Karteel debated the merits of an attack.  They considered several plans based on the information supplied by the old squirrel.  Where the captain wanted to maximize the number of vermin killed, he emphasized the safety of their captives.  The hallway clock bonged the passing of another quarter hour and they still had not devised a workable plan.

Tassel interrupted their conversation.  "If you don't like the battlefield, why not change it?  We would be on familiar territory if they came to this area of Mossflower Woods."

Karteel gave the masked badger a scowl.  "And how does that help us, or those captives?  We might be more familiar with this stretch of woods, but it doesn't change anything else.  We lack the numbers to overwhelm them.  Any battle, no matter how well planned, will have too many of those captives dying, even if we succeed."

The masked badger hung her head while she offered her apology.  The Father Abbot stood.  His anger boiled at her untimely interruption.  He pointed his finger at her, his mouth opened, and then he froze in place.  For several seconds he remained in that pose before he plopped back into his chair.  Now his fingers combed the side of his muzzle.  Karteel kept silent.

"Captain, find the Pine Tar's chieftain.  It doesn't seem fair discussing an attack involving his squirrels without asking if they will agree to such a battle.  They only promised to defend the Abbey.  Wouldn't we look foolish if he refused such a risky venture?"

Ten minutes later, a second male squirrel joined them.  If not for the tribal leader's grey pelt, Captain Karteel could be his twin.  After an exchange of introductions, the fellow settled in a chair next to the father abbot.  His eyes turned red when he saw the masked badger.

"I'll not have that vermin scum in this room.  If what we hear is true, that filthy sow is more likely to help those slavers than us."

The father abbot matched his indignation with a voice that brooked no compromise.  "Her past is just that, the past.  I am allowing her to remain as a courtesy since she has lost one of hers to those same slavers.  If you cannot accept that, you condemn those villagers to a life of never-ending misery."

Without responding directly, the tribal chieftain muttered just loud enough that all heard.  "Too bad we couldn't lure them inside Redwall.  We could seal them in the courtyard.  It would still be risky, but we just might be able to protect those prisoners while fighting the vermin."

"I wonder if they would come inside if we offered to purchase their captives with gold," Tassel said.  "Slavers are greedy by nature.  Give them gold and make sure they leave.  Once they go, we notify the Northern Alliance about their eventual destination and let them do the rest."

"You would know all about slavers," growled Captain Karteel.  "And I notice your plan allows these vermin to leave without so much as an apology.  Like I said, she sides with those vermin."

A distinctive female voice called out.  "Perhaps you should combine both plans."

Tassel jumped up so fast her chair toppled.  "Darlow, show yourself this instant.  You dare to eavesdrop on elders?  I'll have your paws scrubbing pots until your fingers turn into nubs, assuming I let you live that long."

From under their table a female hare crawled.  She brushed herself off as she eyed the four elders gathered at the opposite end.  When Tassel took a step in her direction, she held up a polishing cloth like a shield.  For every step the masked badger took, she retreated two.  With her back against the wall and Tassel closing, she spoke.

"Before you send me away, can I say Miss Tassel's plan has some possibilities?  You just have to make it more enticing.  I have a crazy idea, but if it works, we can increase the chances of saving those prisoners while eliminating the slavers."

Father Hughnaught ordered Tassel back to her seat.  Darlow then outlined her plan.  Tassel growled about it being too foolhardy.  Then the tribal elder offered some modifications.  Captain Karteel offered a few suggestions.  In moments, the two squirrels and teen hare considered different ideas while he and the masked badger listened. 

"We need the cooperation of every elder living in Redwall," said Father Hughnaught, "though something tells me they will jump at the chance to partake.  Even if we succeed, the villagers will suffer heavy casualties."

Tassel broke her silence once more.  "Forgive me for saying this, but there is no way a hardened slaver like Commander Flashentie will negotiate with you, Father Abbot.  You have a soft look and too kind a face.  He would consider that a sign of weakness.  I fear he would bully you into either an unwise decision or refuse to even discuss your offer.  Only a beast he respects or fears has any chance with him."

Darlow tapped the table until the elders looked her way.  "How do we prove to this vermin fox that he should consider our offer?"

Tassel outlined her modifications to their plan.  Darlow dropped back in her seat while various objections were voiced.  The three elders made clear their disapproval.  The hare raised her paw until the father abbot acknowledged her.

"If my father was here, he would chain me to this chair and throw away the key.  I don't like the idea of putting my head on that vermin's chopping block, but I believe it can work.  I'll do it."

Captain Karteel and the Pine Tar chieftain roared their opposition.  Father Hughnaught slammed his paw on the table demanding silence.  He stared at each beast in turn. 

"Time is our greatest enemy.  If we don't do something by sunset, there's an excellent chance those slavers will be on their way to the sea.  Once they move, I fear a mountain of gold will not divert them.  The Pine Tar warriors could overtake them, but then we have the same problem we first encountered.  How do we eliminate the slavers while protecting the villagers?  It would be a hollow victory defeating this grey fox if none of the captives survived."

Captain Karteel allowed his anger to resurface.  When he spoke, he did not hide his feelings toward Tassel.  "This whole plan comes down to expecting one slaver to betray another.  I don't mind giving that filthy sow a reed sword.  I'll not object to acting her subordinate if it frees those woodlanders.  But I draw the line at putting a real blade in her paw."

"Then we forfeit any chance we may have of saving those innocent prisoners.  Our lady badger's suggestion gives them the best chance at coming out of this battle alive.  All Tassel needs is our trust."

The father abbot allowed the two squirrels a few moments to vent before he announced his decision as final.  Turning to Tassel and Darlow, he instructed them to have everyone gathered in Cavern Hole within the hour.  They were to tell them slavers had invaded the region and the Father Abbot needed their help.

After the badger and hare left, he asked the Pine Tar tribal chieftain which archer was their best sharpshooter.  He waited for a consensus before ordering that beast brought to him.  When the archer arrived, the abbot asked him about his skills with a crossbow.

The squirrel grinned as he leaned across the table.  "From a hundred meters I can pluck the petals off a rose while some fair maiden sniffs it, and never disturb her whiskers."

"Very well, archer, find where our badger intends setting her table.  Without telling anyone outside this room, select a spot where you can remain concealed but close enough that you can prevent any treachery with a single bolt."

The cocky archer rubbed his paws together.  "Not to worry, father abbot.  That fox is as good as dead."

Father Hughnaught's eyes bore into the archer's.  "Your target isn't Commander Flashentie, it's our lady badger.  At your discretion, if you think Tassel intends to betray us, kill her."

The three stoat sentries watched the odd pair approach their hidden outpost.  The first creature, a squirrel, moseyed down the trail at a steady pace, whistling a merry tune.  A crossbow rested on his shoulder, the bolt aimed behind him.  In his right paw, he held a chain leash.  Every so often, the squirrel tugged it, which had the young hare on the other end step up her pace.  While the squirrel carried nothing more than a light backpack, the leashed creature struggled under a heavy load.

Three stoats left their observation post as the two drew nearer.  One sentry stepped onto the path while the other two slipped behind the squirrel and his leashed companion.  When they stepped onto the path, the squirrel fired his crossbow.  The bolt made a high pitch screech as it arched high above the open field.  Before the stoat could challenge the stranger, the squirrel growled at him like a drill instructor disappointed by a new recruit.

"You took your bloody good time.  If you and your two buddies listen very carefully, you'll hear two more whistles.  I have two squads of squirrel warriors hidden in these trees, stoat."

On cue, two more whistling sounds came from the forest.  The squirrel smiled when he saw the stoat scanning the nearby forest.  Instead of reloading his crossbow or reaching for his sword, the squirrel addressed the beast in front of him as if the other two did not exist.

"I'm here to discuss business with Commander Flashentie, or his second, Dabhiran.  Our queen wishes to purchase slaves, and I hear his raid on Quagland proved most successful.  Now, do be a good chap and take me to him."

The sentry facing the squirrel recovered his wits.  He summoned his two cohorts.  While they conferred, the squirrel and his leashed companion stood in place.  Two of the stoats rushed down a path through the forest while the third led the strangers at a leisurely pace.

When they entered the vermin camp, everyone ceased working, and stared at the two strangers.  Even the prisoners watched the unfolding drama as the stoat sentry led the two travelers towards the largest tent.  Four creatures emerged.  The squirrel approached the grey fox, who then dismissed the guards. 

Commander Flashentie snorted.  "So you are Captain Karteel of the Squirrel Imperium?"  He laughed, as did the soldiers gathered around him.  "Give me one reason why I shouldn't add both of you as new slaves, or kill you where you stand."

He kept his motions slow.  Karteel reached into his pocket.  He tossed a cloth bag at the commander's feet.  When it landed on the grass, sunlight flashed off the spilled coins.  The weasel standing next to the fox retrieved it with a deft motion.  After examining the coins, he passed them to Flashentie.

"My queen, a badger named Tassel, offers tokens of good faith that we will pay a fair price.  This hare, as well as the supplies she carries, are yours.  Consider the gold coins a down payment for the slaves we require."

Captain Karteel proffered the leash to Commander Flashentie.  The fox inspected the female hare standing next to the supplies she carried.  Flashentie nodded his approval when he saw her wrist chains kept her paws below her shoulder when she stood. 

"A good job with the chain," said Commander Flashentie.  He hesitated a second, "Captain.    It's long enough that she can move, but not run."

He circled the hare and without warning, punched her hard in the stomach.  She fell onto the dirt.  Flashentie grabbed the hare's muzzle, pulling it up until he could look deep into her now tear-filled eyes.  His razor-sharp claws pierced her skin, causing a drop of blood to form along his nails.  The hare twitched from intense pain, but did nothing. 

While the commander inspected his newest slave, Karteel discussed a possible sale with Dabhiran.  He offered the weasel the hospitality of his queen's fortress, explaining how it would cut a day off their travel when they made for the Red Sharkeye.  He showed no reaction to the fox's vicious abuse of his latest acquisition.

"This hare has spirit, but she knows her place," said Flashentie.  "She will fetch a handsome price when auctioned."  The fox removed the leash.  "For now, I'll put her with the other slaves while the two of us discuss business."




Captain Karteel entered the fox's tent.  Darlow followed the pine martin to where the slaves rested.  With the squirrel inside the tent and the hare out of hearing range, Flashentie motioned the weasel closer.

"Let's accept his hospitality after a little haggling.  Something tells me these are simple bandits who made a lucky raid.  What bothers me is how much this one knows about us and our business.  If they are as weak as I think, we'll leave their fortress with even more slaves."

"A badger isn't something trifling, commander."

The fox nodded.  "We have fighters, many of them experienced warriors.  If this badger commanded any sizeable force, she would be here leading a charge to free these woodlanders, not bargaining for our slaves.  Think how much her sale would generate.  It's worth the risk."

"And you'll have a tree rat to interrogate once we get back to the ship, commander.  I bet he'll become very talkative after a little persuasion."

The two shared a sly smile as they entered the tent.




Darlow had no difficulty acting helpless.  The chains made that easy.  Initially she wondered why Tassel insisted she wear them after she left Redwall.  Now the hare understood.  It took her half a day learning how far she could step without tripping.  That lesson left her chest and ribs quite sore, but her gait while wearing the chains convinced these vermin of her slave status.

She had two missions.  First, she needed to alert Quagland's elders of the rescue plan. That could wait until she completed her second task, finding the female shrew the old hermit described.  Darlow searched the woodlanders as she looked for a shrew wearing a blue dress.  None matched the description.

Then she spotted four shrews huddled off to the side.  The older male sat besides a female lying on the ground as he gently washed her back with a tattered red cloth.  Two younger versions of the male stood watch, their paws clenched in fists.  The two youths moved to block Darlow.  Up close, she noted the bloody lip on one and the swollen eye on the other.  The older male saw the hare and invited her closer.  The two youths gave way.  Darlow found it hard understanding the older male's speech as he lisped due to a missing front tooth.

"Forgive my sons missy," he said.  "Several villagers attacked my wife less than an hour ago.  They blame her for our captivity.  The guards saved us, but as you can see, her dress didn't survive the fight.  Not that it was fit to wear after that first night."

He lifted the female shrew until she sat.  As though fascinated, he examined the rag he held before he tossed it aside.  He crooned to his mate as he sat next to her, but she did not respond.  Darlow moved closer to the shrew.

Darlow took the unresponsive female's paw in hers.  "Miss, hold onto hope for just a few more days.  My friends are near and will be freeing everyone real soon."

"Not going to happen.  That pine martin you followed?  His name is Kanar; not a beast you want to meet.  He's going to give my Zoranna a proper flogging," he sobbed.  "Kanar and his commander are too sadistic to miss an opportunity to further torture her.  My wife has ... had spirit, but then she noticed how every villager abandoned her; it killed her will to live.  Anyway, how can you help if you're chained too?"

Darlow lifted her grungy blouse and turned it over.  In the frayed seam the father spotted a key.  "I can get out of these bloody chains anytime I want.  We plan to buy as many as we can and rescue the rest.  It means a fight and some might be killed, but it's the best we can offer.  I just hope I get a chance to smack that fox with one of these iron cuffs."

She had no chance to say anything more.  Commander Flashentie ordered his soldiers to break camp.  The vermin raiders moved about the campsite like ants at a picnic.  Slaves hustled as they awaited their marching orders.  Darlow grunted as she swung the heavy load onto her back.

Guards walked along the perimeter.  Instead of issuing verbal commands, they used switches as pointers.  If a slave failed to keep up or missed a turn, the nearest guard struck the slaves on that chain until they rejoined the others.  Darlow noticed how none rebelled or cried out when struck.

She tried approaching a chain of mice.  Whenever she got close, the nearest elder pushed her to the outside.  A guard switched Darlow's leg, which had the hare jogging a bit faster as she again worked her way towards the mice.

"Those bloody vermin enjoy using those things way too much.  Why do you keep pushing me their way?"

The lady mouse checked the location of the nearest patrolling guard.  "Keep your mouth shut or you'll wish you had.  If I have to choose between you or my family feeling that switch, guess which one I'll protect."

A weasel jogged towards the rear of the formation.  His eyes locked onto the hare.  Once he drew close enough, he flipped the noose to the hare's leash over her head.  A quick jerk had Darlow stepping faster as she followed him to the very front of the line.  The weasel passed the leash to the grey fox.

"Even from the front, I can hear you, girl.  I demand quiet slaves when we travel, something I taught the others over the last three days," the fox said in a bored voice.  "You were not here, so I can forgive you this one time.  Continue blabbering and I may ask Kanar to explain the rules in his own special way."

The vermin leader called a halt when it became too dark.  Darlow turned towards the area where all the woodlanders rested until a hard pull on her leash toppled her onto her back.  A foot planted on her chest pinned her down as the noose tightened.  Then the pressure eased.

"Best you stay with me," said Commander Flashentie.  "Gabby slaves make me nervous."

The commander led Darlow to a tree where he tethered her.  Satisfied, the fox retired to his tent.  She tried resting, but the noose tightened if she reclined.  The tree trunk offered no relief since the leash failed to stretch far enough.

"This is just bloody great," she muttered.  "I never got a chance to tell anyone what to expect."  She closed her eyes as she slipped into an exhausted sleep.

A boot connected with her side.  Darlow awoke to the dawn with a snarl that turned into a gurgle as the leash tightened.  The fox stood over the hare, his expression sending shivers up the doe's spine.

"You have far too much spirit.  It's a good thing my timetable allows an extra day for unexpected delays.  Perhaps a certain lady shrew would find it educational if Kanar showed her what we mean by a proper flogging.  Thank you for volunteering as his assistant after we complete our business with this badger queen."

Commander Flashentie chuckled as he walked away.  Within moments, the camp stirred as the vermin prepared to leave.  The grey fox untied her leash and led the doe hare to the forefront.  He called Captain Karteel closer and the two discussed the upcoming meeting.   Darlow found herself panting as the vermin set a fast pace.

Finally, they exited the forest.  A ten minute walk brought the fox to the wooden bridge leading to the gates of the Abbey.  Darlow heard Dabhiran give a low whistle.  Captain Karteel bragged about their earlier conquest of this fortress. 

On one side of the road, an old squirrel guard watched several hedgehogs laboring in the field.  Darlow wondered how the other captives would react to the scene, but all the woodlanders marched as if they saw nothing further ahead than the next place where they intended planting their foot.  She hoped none recognizes the Abbey, or if they did, said nothing that might alert these vermin slavers. 





Far in the back, a family of squirrels trudged.  The younger female shifted her gear, glad that her load no longer rubbed her sore back raw.  She didn't blame father.  These vermin told them any squirrel looking up a tree would be beaten and she forgot.  Considering what happened to the lady shrew, she preferred her thrashing come from her father.

Like all the other villagers, she held onto the slim hope that somebody might rescue them.  They talked about it during their last night in Quagland.  Sometimes they whispered about it during their rest stops.  However, that first night drove home how helpless they all were.  Mother shielded her eyes, but nothing could silence the shrew's cries.  When she witnessed the lady shrew's bloody back, she feared the same might happen to her.

By mid-afternoon, she worried more about her life as a slave than the possibility of rescue.  When she saw the old squirrel in the tree, her hopes flared anew.  That dream died a slow death when nothing happened over the next few days. 

As they approached the red fortress, she saw a squirrel guard standing watch.  As they continued up the hill towards the gate, the guard turned.  Their eyes locked.  She recognized him.  He bobbed his head as she passed, masking it as an itch in need of a good scratching.  Once again hope flared to life.

Commander Flashentie approached the red fortress.  As his raiders marched to the gate, his paw slid down to his cutlass.  He then beckoned Captain Karteel to his side.  A nod to his second had the other slavers merge with their prisoners.  Each raider scanned the area for any sign of treachery.  He saw nothing more threatening than three hedgehogs weeding a garden while an old squirrel kept watch.

"I'm impressed," he said.  "This fortress could withstand an extended siege.  Did you find it difficult to capture?"

Captain Karteel laughed.  "The fools ruling this place greeted every woodlander as a friend.  They left the gate wide open and we walked in unopposed."

Commander Flashentie continued checking the area.  His blade rested by his hip.  "So where are your soldiers?"

"This is harvest time.  Most of our guards are watching the slaves tilling the fields located over that hill we passed."

When Captain Karteel mentioned his need to contact his leader, he made no move to hinder him.  As they entered the expansive courtyard, he motioned Dabhiran closer.  The weasel mentioned the closing of the inner gate, but noted no other guard than the old one they saw outside.  Commander Flashentie smiled.

"Something tells me these tree rats think they have us trapped.  Pass the word to the others, be ready for an ambush.  We'll bide our time.  Before the sun sets, this place will be mine."

Lieutenant Dabhiran pointed at the two beasts emerging from the large building in front of them.  Since he recognized Captain Karteel, Commander Flashentie figured the masked beast accompanying him must be the badger who called herself Queen Tassel.  When they reached the table set in the courtyard, Captain Karteel showed his subordinate role by holding the chair for the female.  After she sat, the squirrel executed a deep bow before stepping to her right side.

Commander Flashentie emphasized his swagger when he approached the table.  He refused to give this ruler any of the deference he knew she expected.  Flashentie stared at Tassel for several moments, letting his contempt show in his eyes.  He sat, his paw holding the hilt of his exposed blade while he inspected the surrounding buildings for the anticipated ambush.  He played for time.

"Your wrists show the marks of a beast who has worn prison shackles for a long time.  How is it you're here and not rotting in some woodlander's penal colony?"

"These scars come from those who tried to thwart my ambitions.  I conquered many of the surrounding villages near my homeland, but my enemies captured me.  Everyone thought if they put me in prison, my soldiers would disband.  It didn't work.  With their help, I escaped.  Now we have carved out a new empire with this place as our castle.  If you hadn't attacked Quagland when you did, my soldiers would have done it after the harvest."

"Such boastful tales are nothing but the blathering of a conceited fool.  I give you credit for your successful escape and for recruiting bandits, nothing more.  As to this empire, since you don't threaten the Northern Alliance they leave you alone, for now.  Cross their border and you'll be facing their combined might."

"And yet you plan on marching more than a hundred slaves across their lands."  Tassel laughed.  "Now who is the conceited fool?"

Commander Flashentie ignored her comment.  "Remove that ridiculous mask," he growled.  "If we are going to speak, we deal eye to eye."

He examined the badger's face.  Since she kept her head tilted, he saw only her left side.  If it were not for a slim, red scar running from the tip of her nose to the back of her head, other badgers might consider her an attractive female.  He decided it wouldn't hurt her value too much on the auction block.

Then she revealed her right side.  The badger's muzzle showed signs that it suffered a crushing blow as it slanted at a sharp angle.  Four prominent red scars ruined her face.  One started just behind the tip of her nose and ended at her upper jaw.  A second ran from the center of her muzzle to the end of her upper jaw.  Between these two marks, she had no lip, which gave her a permanent snarl.  The last two scars completed the disfigurement.  They stretched on either side of her eye from the top of her head to a point halfway down her neck.  He saw her price tumble.

"Have I satisfied your curiosity, commander?"  He cursed his unintended reaction; the female badger smiled.  "If you are wondering, my disfigurement is due to those who imprisoned me.  Now you can see why woodlanders are no friends of mine.  You have slaves, I have gold.  Shall we examine the merchandise?"

The guards had the slaves stand in line as the two leaders inspected them.  Sometimes the badger would check out one before moving to the next chained group.  None of the woodlanders offered any resistance.  If Tassel lifted their muzzles, they reacted to her disfigured face.  Finished with her inspection, she returned to the negotiating table.  She called for her scribe.

A young mouse exited the building behind the badger, running to her.  While Tassel relayed her instructions, the creature maintained a submissive pose.  Tassel dismissed her as if she held no further importance.  The mouse performed a deep curtsy before darting back to the same building.

Commander Flashentie waited, expecting armed soldiers to exit the building.  When the mouse did reappear, she directed other workers who provided food and drink for the two of them and his soldiers.  Another group ran to a building where they retrieved two large carts.  The woodlanders filled one cart with the backpacks and fabric bolts the villagers carried from Quagland. 

The scribe directed the bustling woodlanders to fill the other cart with additional supplies.  After dismissing these workers, the mouse knelt behind the badger, her head bowed.  The badger patted her on the head like somebody petting a favorite goat.

When he commented about the quality of the ale, Tassel ordered two kegs be loaded on the carts.  While they ate and drank, the slaves remained standing.  Neither he nor the badger said anything until they finished.

The sow badger turned her disfigured face towards him.  "I have a most generous offer.  Twenty silver coins for every five slaves, two carts for transporting everything they carried, and additional supplies for your soldiers.  Two can pull each cart with ease; they are that well balanced.  If you leave now, you should make good progress to your final destination."

Flashentie watched the sow badger counting out enough gold coins to cover all the slaves he captured.  "You think I will surrender my prize for this pittance?  Listen, my ugly hag, you may call yourself a queen, but where I come from, you would be a pathetic beggar, nothing more.  If you want these slaves, increase your offer."

"What if I doubled the price?" countered the badger. 

"Better, but my captain expects slaves for the auction block.  I'll consider selling one in five, if you substitute one gold coin for every twenty silver coins.  The hare you gave me earlier and one chain of shrews cannot be included.  The doe hare is such a rarity she will fetch a handsome sum.  As for the shrews, they are part of a bargain between Captain Peggen and another party.  I couldn't sell them regardless of how much you offered."

Tassel shifted her position, which kept her disfigured side closest to him.  "Tell your captain the raid on Quagland proved to be a double-edged sword.  The villagers put up so stiff a resistance all died, but your raid happened after they received payment for their crops.  I doubt these slaves could generate two gold coins for every three slaves unless those buying them are drunken fools."

"For that much gold, I'll give you half.  The others we need for our ship.  I consider that my final offer.  Continue haggling and we leave here with your gold, your slaves, and your soldiers as our prisoners."

Lieutenant Dabhiran heard his commander.  With a sharp whistle, the raiders stood, their weapons sliding out of their sheaths.  The weasel awaited the signal.

"And you should have accepted my last offer, fox," Tassel said with a note of malice in her voice.  "Unlike you, I consider threats meaningless.  I make promises.  Today you die."

Before he could react, Tassel's paws went under the table.  She lifted the heavy oaken furniture as if it weighed nothing.  Her first step bowled Commander Flashentie onto his back.  The badger gained momentum as she charged his soldiers.  Three archers fired, but their arrows failed to penetrate the wood.  The badger smashed into them.

Tassel dropped the table once she passed the clustered soldiers.  On the underside of the table, she freed two swords tied to the wood.  The badger faced her enemy, her blades weaving a deadly pattern.

He recovered his wits.  As Flashentie scrambled to his feet, he saw more than a dozen armed squirrels exiting a nearby building.  The warriors were augmented by another contingent of woodlanders carrying weapons.  When he saw the twin blades in the badger's paws, he ordered his soldiers into battle.  He remained confident since they still outnumbered these woodlanders by more than five to one.

* * *

As both sides engaged, the slaves cowered.  Darlow stooped while keeping her eye on the two nearest guards.  Both watched the battle, their backs to the assembled slaves.  She yanked the hidden key out of her hem and twisted it in her shackles.  She lifted the noose off her head.  Neither guard noticed her; they continued watching the armed woodlanders close with the other slavers.

Free of her restraints, Darlow leaped up, delivering a hard kick to the guard holding her leash.  The ermine landed on the cobblestone courtyard hard enough that his movements resembled a drunk.  His companion turned.  Darlow swung the cuffs like an improvised mace.  The female stoat crumbled to the ground when the metal shackles struck her forehead.

"This isn't how it was supposed to go."

When the elders planned the rescue, they included a contingency if the negotiations failed.  The young doe watched two lines of armored woodlanders exit the Abbey, forming a wide corridor.  Each held a weapon at the ready, but remained in place.  Darlow yelled above the din. 

"That building means freedom and safety.  Make for it now; we'll protect you."

The slaves hesitated; they then raced in the direction she indicated.  Chains tripped many.  Those standing shuffled as fast as possible.  The prisoners who fell crawled towards the open doors of the building on the far side of the clearing.  Darlow ran from one group to another, herding them to safety.

One group of voles refused to move.  Darlow tried convincing them to run without success.  Then, Lieutenant Garff and Kanar charged the fleeing slaves.  Darlow abandoned the stubborn voles.  Unarmed, she tried intercepting the two slavers before they reached the others.

Kanar swung his whip at the back of a female hedgehog's leg snapping it in two.  His whip shot out at the next beast on the same chain.  With two disabled, the others cowered.  The pine martin's whip shot out at the next chain of fleeing slaves.

Darlow blocked his weapon by placing her arm in the whip's path.  The leather wrapped itself around her wrist and she felt the bone break.  Kanar yanked hard, which knocked her to the ground, leaving her dazed.  Darlow tried standing, but the weight of another beast kneeling on her back pinned her to the ground.  A paw grabbed her long ears stretching her neck upward.  She saw the pine martin's merciless grin, his knife held at the ready. 

Before he could strike, a grey blur knocked him aside.  A lance protruded from the pine martin's chest.  Kanar thrashed about in agony, his cries merging with the other sounds of battle that filled the courtyard.  The old hermit helped Darlow to her feet. 

"An unarmed fighter who stays on the battlefield is a fool.  Get to the Abbey; I'll guard these injured slaves 'til help arrives." 

She continued arguing with the old squirrel, but he turned his back to her.  She waited until he pulled his spear free of the pine martin's chest.  Kanar's continual howling faded into a whimper.  The hermit again pointed at the Abbey before he again turned his back on her.  Darlow raced back to the Abbey, her eyes now focused on Lieutenant Garff.  Injured or not, she had to stop him.

Lieutenant Garff hurled a spear at a chain of three woodchucks that outdistanced the other slaves.  The spear struck the male in his hip, toppling him.  His mate fell on her knees wailing while the young male froze in place.  The ferret drew his broadsword as he charged down on his hapless victims.  Darlow knew she would lose this race.

"You were warned about the penalty for escape.  Now I'm going to cleave you in two like I did those babes left in the village."

His paws went over his head.  With a mighty swing, he attacked.  Twin fountains of blood sprayed the three woodchucks.  Garff looked at the bleeding stubs that had but a few heartbeats earlier held a mighty sword.  Confusion clouded his face as he tried pondering the sudden disappearance of his weapon.  His befuddlement lasted only a second before the flash of another sword ended his life.

The lady badger pushed the dead body aside.  She advanced on the woodchucks.  Her eyes blazed a fiery red while blood flowed from several cuts, including one that left a blood trail down her muzzle.  She stared at the woodchucks, spun around, and returned to the battle.

Three burly hedgehogs made their way toward the woodchuck family.  The first hedgehog carried a bolt cutter.  He worked fast as he severed the chains between father, wife and son.  One of his companions grabbed the spear embedded in the father's hip while the other pinned the injured woodchuck to the ground.  Using the bolt cutter, the third hedgehog sliced the spear shaft close to the father's body before he raced towards another chained family.

The remaining two hedgehogs lifted the older male.  Slinging him between them, they carried the injured woodchuck towards the safety of the Abbey.  Just as the hedgehogs lifted him, Darlow arrived.  She grabbed the wife by her fur with her good paw and yanked her to her feet. 

"No time to ask pretty please.  The longer we remain out here, the more chance somebody will get killed."

The mouse that acted as the badger's scribe, stood between the two lines of armored guards shouting encouragement to the racing slaves.  When the mouse spied the woodchuck youth still frozen in place, she charged past Darlow and flung the young boy over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  The mouse joined Darlow as they raced through the Abbey's open doors to safety.

Commander Flashentie and his second, Dabhiran, carved a path through their adversaries.  A lull in the fighting gave the commander a chance at evaluating the situation.  He saw his warriors failed to prevent their captives from escaping.  Each prisoner that reached safety meant he lost one more bargaining chip for his own survival.

At first, his warriors held the advantage in numbers since the armored fighters refused to abandon the slaves.  As the battle progressed, the woodlanders proved themselves the better adversaries.  The odds shifted.  Flashentie had no doubt as to the inevitable outcome.  A quick glance at Dabhiran showed he too reached the same conclusion. 

He considered surrender, but dismissed that idea.  Woodlander justice never tolerated slavery.  If captured, death at the end of a rope might be considered a kindness.  A lifetime in some prison, or a slow death from a vengeful ruler held no appeal.

With the main gate barred, he needed another way out.  He tapped the weasel on the shoulder, pointing to a tower furthest from the fighting along the front wall.  Dabhiran nodded.  The two ran towards a nearby building, hoping to evade detection.  Once hidden from view they kept to the shadows, creeping around the deserted building.  His heart leaped with joy at the sight of the unguarded tower.

Flashentie groaned when he checked behind him and saw the female badger in pursuit.  His companion echoed his moan when he too checked behind him.  He drew a deep breath, broke from cover, and sprinted.  Halfway to the tower, Commander Flashentie glanced over his shoulder.  His friend was right behind him.  Further back, the female badger followed in their wake, gaining ground fast. 

Flashentie weighed his options.  If he dropped his weapon or his backpack, he could move faster, but then he would be helpless if the badger caught him.  Mustering every last ounce of energy he possessed, he bolted for the tower door. 

He couldn't believe his good fortune.  The door to the unguarded tower stood open.  Commander Flashentie crossed the threshold and pivoted on his foot so he could observe the unfolding drama.  Almost a dozen paces back, Dabhiran ran as if a demon chased him.  Considering the female badger's appearance, Flashentie thought that an appropriate description. 

The commander slammed the tower door shut.  A wooden beam used to seal the door leaned against the wall.  He dropped it in place.  When the door closed, something collided with the closed door.  Flashentie rested against the wall panting, not regretting the loss of his second in command.  His eyes followed the long stairway as it circled the inside wall upward.  He climbed the winding staircase.

* * *

Stranded outside the tower, Dabhiran had less than a second to comprehend what happened.  His commander had abandoned him.  Unable to break his stride, he slammed into the wooden barrier.  Disoriented by the sudden collision, Dabhiran leaned against the door while he tried regaining his wits.

His muttered curses became a cry of sheer terror as the face of the female badger materialized inches before him.  The weasel realized he lost his weapon during his mad dash for the tower.  Defenseless he faced the badger's wrath.

Dabhiran tried prying the badger's fingers from around his throat.  Tassel leaned down before she again stood upright.  Her action lifted him off the ground pinning his back to the door.   Dabhiran kicked, but she showed no reaction to his frantic blows.  Despite his efforts, he felt the badger's fingers closing off his airway. 

Exhaustion weighed heavy on him.  His desperate struggles drove wooden splinters into his back as he fought an enraged badger deep in the grips of the blood wrath.  Dabhiran recalled such tales of madden beasts.  Those who claimed they encountered such creatures in battle said they felt no pain and possessed extraordinary strength. 

Until this moment, he considered those tales nothing more than gross exaggerations.  Powerless to prevent his imminent death, he understood the validity of such stories.  Darkness closed in on him while the badger's face filled his vision.  The female spoke with a softness that didn't match the fire in her eyes.  Tassel's grip loosened just enough that he could take a shallow breath.

"I will spare your life if you can tell me the fate of two Abbey beasts.  One was a mouse of fourteen years, destined to become a healer.  She traveled with a male warrior squirrel of the same age.  If you cannot remember them, I'm sure you can recall a teen mole who tried swimming to freedom.  Speak.  Do you know where they are?"

Dabhiran considered her question, grateful for the reprieve.  "We have taken many of that age.  You'll have to give me more than that if you want my help."

"The girl has no distinctive marking that would make her memorable to anyone but the one who raised her, but I have a feeling the squirrel is somebody you would remember.  He had a patch of red fur atop his head.  I doubt he went quietly into captivity."

"Him I remember."  The paw holding Dabhiran lifted him higher, though she eased her grip on his throat.  "We took him on our last raid several months back.  Our Captain sold them to a private bidder."

"They live?  Tell me where," Tassel growled. 

"Such information is known only by the captain of the Red Sharkeye.  Spare my life and I will help you get whatever you need to find these two teens.  I swear it."

Tassel roared.  She gave him a vicious shake, which snapped his neck. 

* * *

Flashentie heard the distant boom of something striking the tower door.  He looked down at the barrier and snickered, confident it would hold.  He hesitated halfway up the stairs when the door splintered.  A female badger looked up at him.  Her growl reverberated off the stone walls.  Once again Flashentie found himself in a race for his life, but this time he had nobody behind who could delay the enraged badger.

Winded from the earlier fighting, he found his progress up the tower slower than that of the crazed badger.  With a fatalistic sigh, he turned and prepared to face her.  By the sound of thumping feet and the labored breathing, he knew the badger must be near exhaustion.  Good, even on his worse days, the commander thought himself the better fighter with a blade.  He awaited the badger's arrival

"Feel the might of my sword," shouted Flashentie as he engaged Tassel's twin blades.

While he parried the badger's initial thrusts, he retreated up the winding stairway evading the tips of Tassel's twin blades.  He played for time while waiting his chance for a counterstrike.  His opportunity came when the badger's blades came at him like scissors.  Commander Flashentie lunged for the badger's breast.  Tassel countered.  While the high blade deflected his cutlass, her other sword severed his blade at the guard.  Flashentie dropped his useless weapon.

Tassel paused, dropped her weapons over the side, and then rushed him.  Commander Flashentie lashed out with his foot catching her hip.  Unbalanced, Tassel fell backwards.  The female tumbled down the stairs until she reached the ground level.  She did not move.  He climbed up the stairs chuckling. 

A low groan had him looking down to where the badger landed.  He stared at Tassel who rose to an upright position.  She shook her head, sounding another moan.  Their eyes met.  Flashentie's blood froze in fear when he saw how the badger's eyes burn with an inner madness.  He took the remaining steps two at a time until he reached the access door to the roof.  One look at the flimsy lock made him laugh, but he still used it when he closed the door.

He gave a quick peek over the tower's edge.  No woodlander patrolled the area.  If he could make it to the ground, he could lose any pursuit in the forest.  His paws rummaged through his backpack as he searched for the rope he packed earlier.  He attached it to one of the merlons.  Flashentie tossed his backpack over the side.  His confidence rose when he verified that the line reached the ground.

Before he could repel down the rope, a paw grabbed him by the nape of his neck.  He flew backwards.  Flashentie's body skidded across the slick bricks until he crashed against the opposite wall.  Flashentie rebounded to his feet as he faced the female badger.  She advanced, blocking both the escape rope hanging over the wall and the tower doorway.

"Why do you come for me badger when we should be allies?  Didn't you say you had no love for these woodlanders?  Look at your wrists and then tell me we are not of a kindred spirit.  Let's fly away from this accursed place.  Together we will seek vengeance on these creatures you say you hate so much.  Or was everything you said just lies?"

Tassel's paws reached out and grabbed him about the shirt collar.  She drew him closer, lifting Flashentie until he came muzzle to muzzle with her.  The gravel in her voice accentuated her anger. 

"I told the truth, at least as much as you needed to hear.  The marks I bear will always remind me of what these woodlanders did.  I hate them as much as they hate me, but I loathe slavers even more.  Remember what I said?  I make no threats, just promises."

With the badger distracted, Flashentie let his paw reach down inside his boot.  He withdrew the stiletto hidden there for just such an emergency.  In one quick desperate move, he plunged the blade deep into her chest.  Roaring in pain, she slammed him onto the brick pavement of the tower's rooftop.  Flashentie almost lost consciousness from the force of the blow.

He groaned.  The badger jumped onto his back driving all the air from his lungs.  Before he recovered, the badger held both his wrists in one paw with a grip stronger than iron.  The other paw wrapped itself around the base of his bushy tail.  Tassel lifted him above her head. 

Flashentie felt the full weight of his body stretching his shoulders apart.  He thought the badger would rip his tail out by the root.  The more he struggled, the greater his agony.  She held him high aloft before slamming him back onto the brick rooftop. 

Again, he felt his paws trapped in Tassel's viselike grip, her fingers entwined in his tail as she raised him as high above her shoulders as possible.  Once more she released him, allowing his body to fall onto the unyielding bricks.  Each time he fell, Flashentie tried scrambling out of the badger's reach, but failed.  Tassel repeated her abusive routine.  After several more falls, he ceased his struggles, too battered to offer any further resistance. 

The badger grabbed him again; she carried him over to the opening where he could see the rope hanging over the side.  Like a pendulum, his body swung forward, then back.  Each swing had him going a little higher.  Flashentie started blubbering; he offered the badger his surrender.  Again his body shot backward.  He pleaded for mercy, promising Tassel anything she desired if she would release him.  He begged her to stop.

"You wish to fly away from this place?  Very well, I will help you find your wings."

Flashentie screamed.  On the next backswing his eyes took in every detail of the roof.  With absolute clarity he saw the swirls in the mortar, the imperfections in the bricks, and the grain of wood in the badger's sandals.  His body moved forward, gaining momentum.  The paw holding his arms released him, as did the fingers entwined in his tail.  His body shot through the battlement's opening like an arrow fired from a taut bow.  He reached the apex of his trajectory where he hung for the span of one heartbeat.  His paws clawed at the air as he tried arresting his downward plunge. 




Tassel listened to the fox as he shrieked in terror.  When his cry ended, she pivoted towards the stairway.  Her weary steps had her leaning against the tower wall as she descended.  At the bottom of the stairway she retrieved her twin swords and exited the tower.

By the time she reached the courtyard, the fighting had ended.  Issuing a long sigh, Tassel discarded her twin blades.  She yanked the knife from her breast, wincing at the pain it caused her.  The torn leather armor vest slid off; she discarded it.  Tassel pressed her paw against the wound trying to staunch the flow of her life's blood as she stumbled forward.





Bruno reached the main gate shortly after the fox fell from the tower.  He pounded the door, shouting for the guard.  One of the squirrels must have recognized his voice and opened the gate.  Bruno rushed down the passageway to the inner door where he stood looking for any enemy, but none remained standing.  He sighted Tassel staggering towards the abbey.  Bruno ran, hoping to overtake the female badger before she disappeared inside the building. 

He entered but a few seconds behind Tassel; a sense of dread growing within him. Tassel moved through the frightened villagers, all of whom stepped aside.  The female badger lurched on until she stood before the Great Tapestry's image of Martin the Warrior.  Tassel's paw slowly dropped from her breast.  Blood pooled at her feet.  She swayed from side to side before collapsing in slow motion.  Bruno lunged for her.

Bruno's fork stabbed a piece of meat and lifted it to his mouth.  The raw meat brought back memories of the dead bodies and severed limbs piled in a corner of the Infirmary.  He dropped his utensil.  When the metal fork struck the ceramic plate, it sounded like his broadsword bouncing off the stone floor.

He missed Tassel when she swooned, his foot slipping in the blood pool.  Bruno regained his footing, scooped the female badger off the floor, and followed Sarweed to the Infirmary.  Once Bruno passed the doors, he listened to the low moaning of those injured, but his eyes sought an empty stretcher.  He made the unresponsive female badger comfortable, unsure what to do next. 

An elderly woodchuck trotted down the corridor.  With the exception of a pair of glasses, which remained perched atop his head, he wore no garments.  Blood and muck covered his fur.  The smell of ointments and death preceded him.  Bruno tried to block his approach, but stepped aside when another squirrel addressed him as Healer.

The woodchuck said nothing to Bruno.  The Healer made a quick examination of Tassel, summoned helpers, and followed them as they carried the stretcher.  Bruno trailed the nude woodchuck until the fellow pointed to the exit, his order quite clear. 

Once beyond the Infirmary, Sarweed led Bruno downstairs.  He followed the mouse into Cavern Hole where Redwall's residents tended to the residents of Quagland, as well as the uninjured warriors.  A quartet played a merry melody, but all remained unresponsive.  When the Father Abbot started reading the names of the dead, no amount of food, drink, or music, could dispel the gloom.

Bruno's mind returned to the present when Captain Karteel touched his paw.  They sat in silence for several moments as each tried eating.  Bruno tasted his tea, found it cold, and pushed it aside.  Karteel adjusted his sling, his face flinching when his elbow contacted the table.

"I'm grateful Tassel survived the night, Bruno.  Vermin she may be, but I'll put a blade in her paw and trust my back to her in any battle.  Without her help, the number of dead villagers would be a lot higher."

"It's good knowing somebody other than those dibbuns consider her worthy of praise.  I overheard those villagers last night.  Every freed woodlander remembers her face, but none comments on what she did."

"They fear her," the captain said.  "A badger in battle who has surrendered to the blood wrath is frightening.  Her appearance doesn't help.  She looked like a crazed warrior who would be just as happy adding their head to her list of victims." 

The silence grew longer as he stared at his plate.  Bruno pushed his half-eaten meal away.  Some inner sense told him the squirrel needed his help, but Karteel had not figured out how best to ask for whatever favor he wanted.   Both waited until one of the kitchen servants collected the dirty dishes.

"Seven injured slavers survived, including one officer, an injured female stoat.  Father Hughnaught wants them sent to Fiery Mountain where they can answer for their crimes before the sun sets this day.  He said he would consider it a personal favor if you escorted them.  I, too, would welcome your company, Bruno."

He reflected on the request.  He mulled over leaving Redwall for the mountain home of the badger king.  No doubt the place supported a number of badgers, including eligible sows.  Then he thought of Redwall's lady badger and hesitated, unsure why he did so.  Bruno told the captain he had to do something first, but would join him on his mission.

In the expansive courtyard where yesterday a battle had raged, the former captives milled about, freed from the chains that bound them.  Those needing garments received replacements from the generous residents of Redwall.  Smiles of gratitude shone on their faces.  They spoke of their longing to return home. 

The villagers moved in the direction of the main gates.  Several of the stronger males lifted the traces to the supply wagons first offered to the slavers.  Now those same supplies would feed the villagers on their homeward journey.  The former captives voiced a determination not to let this tragedy destroy everything they had built.  Come next spring, they would replant their crops.

Former captives exchanged farewells and best wishes with Redwall's residents as they stood near the inner gate's threshold.  At last, Father Hughnaught made his appearance.  He strolled up to the village elder of Quagland, extending his paw. 

"There is sufficient food to last everyone at least two weeks.  If your gardens cannot produce enough for the upcoming winter, send somebody back for more.  When the injured can travel, we will send them home with whatever supplies they can carry."

The mouse who ruled the village pulled the Father Abbot into his embrace.  He gazed upon the many expectant faces before addressing Father Hughnaught.  "I understand not everyone will be returning.  Some have expressed a desire to remain here where the memories of lost loved ones will not haunt them.  Thank you for making them welcomed at Redwall."

While the two elder leaders spoke, Tassel approached.  Instead of leather armor, today she wore a bright yellow outfit.  Even her mask matched her frilly dress.  Her movements appeared stiff and sometimes her darker bandages showed through the lighter colored material. 

Where everyone showed smiles, the young otter following alongside Tassel displayed the opposite expression.  He tried withdrawing, but the lady badger's paw kept him by her side.  The otter's woebegone eyes pleaded with every otter elder he saw for a reprieve from his fate.

The masked badger approached the village elder.  "You are certain nobody will claim him?  As much as I love having another sitting at my table, I think it far better if relatives could care for Waterwing."

The village elder averted his eyes from the masked female.  Instead, he replied as if the Father Abbot inquired about the child. 

"Waterwing's mother died last winter of pneumonia.   His father kept him on the raft as a way of training him in the family's trade.  Though all the otters living with us knew his family, they have no room for another.  With the loss of the raft, even with your generosity, next winter will be harsh on everyone.  None wish to deprive their kin for a stranger."

Not knowing what to say, the abbot remained quiet.  The silence stretched for several moments before the village elder announced their impending departure.  Everybody gathered to pay their heroes a final tribute. 

Villagers passed Father Hughnaught, Darlow and the Pine Tar warriors as they exited the Abbey.  Most proffered a paw; a few embraced their rescuers.  Many of the females kissed their benefactors.  Each time they kissed Darlow, her face turned a deeper shade of red.

One female squirrel clung to the paw of the old hermit, calling him the real hero.  She attributed their salvation to him alone.  The lady squirrel gave him a peck on the cheek before hugging another male.  All three stood side by side until her family joined them.  As her family drew nearer, she couldn't remain silent.

"Thanks to the hermit, my wedding will be held as scheduled.  Before we return home, our family intends fixing our hero a meal that will rival last night's feast."  The female pranced through the gate, pulling the hermit and her betrothed along while her smiling family trailed them.

The female's open display of joy had Bruno smile, yet something disturbed him as Quagland's residents departed.  Without exception, not one beast made any physical contact with the masked female badger.  They nodded or offered a word of thanks, but none reached out to her.  Bruno watched adults cringe when they stared at the faceless lady badger.  Children retreated to the safety of trusted elders.

As the rescued residents passed through the gate, Tassel withdrew.  She left the otter youth, who latched onto the Father Abbot's habit.  No other beast noted her departure.

Curiosity prompted Bruno to follow.   Tassel made her way to the northwest corner tower where she entered the narrow stairway.  By the time Bruno reached the uppermost part of the tower's battlement, the masked female had stationed herself along the side facing the departing villagers.

Tassel waved her arm with a wide slow motion.  As Bruno observed her, he could also hear her soft voice pleading for somebody to notice her.  This voice contained none of the confidence she projected around her young charges.  It reminded Bruno of a small child needing comfort.  She stopped waving once the villagers disappeared beyond the meadow's boundary.  Her shoulders slumped, and Bruno heard the badger's quiet sobs.

"What did you expect those woodlanders to do," Bruno said.  "Even in my homeland where only badgers live, blood wrath is a fearsome sight.  We know it can be controlled to a degree, but other beasts think such madness is common among our kind.  It terrifies them."

Tassel spun around.  She squared her shoulders, and after taking a deep breath, made to leave the rooftop.  Bruno blocked her way, determined to learn what bothered the lady badger.

"You dare to ask?  It was my idea to get those vermin slavers inside Redwall.  I was the one who tried freeing all of them by offering gold to their captors.  When that didn't work, I risked my life fighting for their liberty.  So who do they thank?"

The badgermom mimicked shaking another creature's paw.  "I cannot thank your warriors enough for all they did for us, good sir.  Thank you for saving us Father Abbot.  It was most generous of you to fight those filthy slavers.  It's so nice knowing those raiders are all dead now, much appreciated."

She glared at Bruno, anger flashing in her eyes.  "Just once, I would like to see some beast acknowledge what I did for them.  Would it be too much if one of them took my paw and thanked me?  I know what I am and why everyone here avoids me, but sometimes I crave a friendly voice that isn't a dibbun."

"So why do you refuse friendship when it is offered?"

"I need no pity," Tassel growled.  "If you knew me as these elders do, or saw my face, you would flee Redwall without a backward glance."

"You foolish sow.  How do you think you got to the Infirmary?"

Tassel opened her mouth, but remained silent when Bruno lifted his paw.

"Captain Karteel wants me to escort the captured slavers to Salamandastron.  Within the hour, I depart, but I intend to find the one you lost.  Join me on this quest; let Sarweed care for your young charges for the short time we are gone.  Best of all, when we return, we will do so as husband and wife, if you are willing."

Tassel cocked her head to the right.  She remained in that pose for several seconds before she exploded.  "You idiot.  Haven't you figured it out yet; must I be blunt?"

Bruno said nothing.  Like a blacksmith's forge, Tassel's eyes burned a deep red.  His continued silence fanned her eyes to an even greater intensity.  Tassel stalked the rooftop, pacing to the far end where she pivoted and stomped back towards him.

"Every creature here considers Redwall home.  They see Father Hughnaught as a friend, but not me.  This place is my prison.  These outer walls mark the boundary of my world.  If I ever leave, I would be hunted down and made to pay for my past crimes.  My punishment would make death a welcomed alternative.  Now do you understand why none will have me?"

Bruno tried assimilating this dire revelation.  He looked up into the clear morning sky, noticing the well-defined outline of last night's full moon.  With sudden clarity, Bruno recognized this moment as the one Melody foretold.  If he took Tassel for his mate, Redwall would become his permanent home.  Yet he loved this ugly creature with all his heart.

Bruno held her paws in his as he expressed his deep feeling.  Tassel stood speechless.  Again, he repeated his heart's desire.  Time dragged as he waited for her reply.

"There are conditions.  Never ask me or any other creature about my past.  Second, as the badgermom, I alone shall determine what is best for those under my care.  Third, you must always remember the abbot's power over me is absolute.  Redwall's leader is my jailer." 

"Anything else?" 

"Wait thirty days.  Consider how little I offer and how much you loose."  Her voice carried a heavy note of sorrow.

Bruno returned to the courtyard alone in time to see the surviving slavers loaded onto a cart pulled by six goats.  None of the guards showed the vermin any sympathy as they shackled them to the sideboard.  The seven vermin raiders kept their heads bowed, unable to silence the jeers of elders, or to deflect the rocks hurled by the Abbey's dibbuns.

A family of four shrews watched the prisoners endure the abuse while they stood near the cart.  Unlike the Abbey residents, they kept a silent vigil.  Bruno approached the lone female.

"Miss Zoranna, I'm surprised you're joining us.  Last night the village elders begged you to come home.  They need a good teacher like you.  Why go to Fiery Mountain?"

"Sooner or later the villagers will need to blame somebody for the death of their friends and family.  Then they will remember what the fox said.  All of them will blame us for their attack.  My family will become outcasts, targets for their anger and their grief.  They will forget what I suffered.  Best our family search for a place in need of a teacher, somewhere far from Quagland."

She trailed the cart out the gate with Bruno on one side and her family on the other.  Zoranna squeezed her mate's paw and his eyes reminded Bruno of two lovers who saw nothing but each other.  Her two sons accepted their mother's heavy load so she could walk unencumbered.

Zoranna spoke aloud, though not at anyone in particular.  "I carry documents penned by my sister.  She is the one responsible.  Every time I read her letter ordering my mistreatment, it hurts more than Kanar's whip.  Her vindictive words will always remain a vivid memory time can never purge.  When I see the king, I shall give him everything.  Let justice take its course."

A sly smile played across the lady shrew's face.  "Before I do that, I'll send a letter to my sister describing my reaction to her special gift.  Then I'll let her know I'm no longer a slave.  How I wish I could see her face when she reads the part about me revealing her treachery to the king.  Is that retribution or revenge?  I don't know."

Bruno halted at the bridge.  Turning around, he waved his arm in a wide and slow manner.  He continued waving at the tower where the figure of a lady dressed in yellow stood.  She duplicated his gesture.  Bruno felt a sudden surge of happiness. 

He trotted to the lead, joining Captain Karteel.  "We're wasting daylight and it's a long road to Salamandastron."

The otter Captain stood, marched to the door, and hesitated.  Her paw rested on the door's latch, but it remained shut.  She glanced back at the others.

"Our lookouts have sighted our quarry," Captain Istedikus said.

Lord Brisson leaned back, his chair squealing a protest when he shifted position.  He tried reading the facial expressions of Redwall's champion warrior, Jazzin, and Major Eytomin when the Captain made her announcement.  He wondered if her dream voice was indeed a vision or the fondest wish of a desperate captain.  Then he noticed the female otter's expression and all doubt vanished.

"I am the captain of this ship.  From this moment forward, your rank and title are meaningless.  My word is law.  Once we leave this cabin, you will do as I command, without hesitation.  If you cannot do that, stay below deck and away from my crew."

Lord Brisson trailed the otter as she left the cabin.  While she climbed the stairs to the wheel deck, he hastened to the bow.  His fingers drummed the hardwood railing as his eyes searched for their target.  A low rumbling voiced his frustration.

The first officer said the Red Sharkeye had been located.  By all his senses, the seas remained a watery void.  He leaned over the wooden barrier that separated him from the deck of the warship and the ocean.  Lord Brisson glanced down, staring into the painted eye on his side of the bow. 

When they first left port, he found it amusing how much effort Captain Istedikus put into having an eye painted on either side of her warship.  His laughter died when he noticed how the crew scowled at him.  The otter captain explained how the ship took on the personality of a seafaring predator thanks to those eyes.  Without them, the crew believed their mission doomed to a watery grave.  Such was their nautical superstition.

By the light of the setting sun, he made out the ram jutting from the front of their vessel.  The waters rushing past the bow gave the warship a foamy smile as if it too sensed its next victim.

"May you fail to taste blood when the battle starts," Lord Brisson muttered.

"I can understand our lady otter speaking to this oversized carved log," Major Eytomin said.  "I begin to worry when my future king does it."

A quick glance revealed the hare officer's grin.  Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed the good-natured banter his flippant comment offered, but not tonight.  His mind churned like the sea.  Major Eytomin must have noticed his dark mood since the hare's voice lost its jovial lilt.

"Sire, you have been," and here the hare hesitated as he searched for a diplomatic term, "somewhat withdrawn ever since we returned home.  We boarded this ship in such a rush that day I never learned what happened when you addressed the other nobles.  Did our trip to Halazatt cause a political firestorm as you predicted?  Did your father disapprove?"

Lord Brisson nodded.  "When we spoke in private and before I revealed my actions to the other nobles, my father commended me for rooting out her espionage ring.  Publicly, I found myself on the receiving end of a scathing rebuke from our king.  Such things I expected and accepted, but ...."

Lord Brisson saw his confidant's jaw hang open for a few seconds.  When the hare regained his wits, his eyes asked for a denial.  "So the story I heard from the crew is true?"

"Indeed," he growled.  "The day before I boarded this ship I received an urgent dispatch from the High Court.  Madame Sultakka made a fool of me.  Her legal court jester gave me the verbal equivalent of a sound thrashing.  Count Delupo not only set her free, but when my father rebuilds the inn we destroyed, he will give it to her as reparations.  Worse yet, upon my return I must send that treacherous shrew an apology."

Major Eytomin's expression changed to one of disbelief.  "That isn't the Count Delupo I remember.  Your word alone would have that shrew hanging by her neck along the pier within the hour, if she were lucky."

"You speak of the father, may he rest in peace.  His son has a cruel streak when it comes to sentencing those guilty of capital crimes, but he tempers it with a rigid adherence to the letter of the law.  He requires hard, irrefutable evidence.  He found no solid proof that links Captain Peggen to the Red Sharkeye or the slavers raiding our coast.  Claimed any bartender or innkeeper worthy of that title could learn such things from talkative customers.  He demands witnesses or documents that substantiate my accusations, something I lack."

Crewmembers scurried about the deck, which drew his attention.  Otters lowered the sails and secured all loose gear as they cleared the area.  The oars continued their steady pace; a faster tempo resonated within the ship.

"We change our objective tomorrow, major.  First thing we must do is secure the captain's cabin, which is why I will join you on the initial assault.  Between the ship's log and whatever other papers we find, I will have the evidence I need to put that shrew in her place.  If we capture that sea rat alive, I will consider it a great victory."

"Our original plan is dangerous enough, sire.  Have you forgotten it will take this ship at least fifteen minutes circling?  During that time, the few who board the Red Sharkeye may die since those pirates outnumber us five to one.  It is why I insisted you be in the second wave.  We stand a better chance of victory if we secure the rowing decks first.  The stairways we can defend; the captain's quarters are too exposed."

"For the greater good, we must secure the captain's quarters first.  If you can find another ten fighters, we will still try holding the stairwells leading to the rowing decks.  As our good captain informed us, if these sea pirates see the tide of battle shift against them, they will either scuttle their ship or murder the oar slaves in order to deny us a victory.  Every one of those sailors knows they face the gallows if captured."

When the major didn't respond, Lord Brisson focused his attention on the aft portion of their ship.  Thanks to an unobstructed view to the wheel deck, he saw where Captain Istedikus stood.  The captain leaned against the portside railing, her spyglass an extension of her eye as it focused on the far horizon.  When Lord Brisson tried sighting along the same line, he saw nothing, yet he knew she must.  Even he sensed the ship's movement.  The warship had changed course.

A fiery sun slipped into the sea, yet no stars shown down on them.  The full moon they expected remained hidden behind clouds that churned like a cauldron full of black snakes.  Off the bow, he saw nothing of their quarry.  Instead, the distant horizon reflected lightning from an approaching storm.  Lord Brisson wondered if such an omen held ill fortune, and if so, for which ship.

He noticed a change come over his ranking officer.  In all the times the major served him, he had seen the hare show anger, sorrow, pride and joy, but never such a brooding expression.  Lord Brisson asked what troubled him on the eve of battle.

"Personal affairs are distracting me, sire.  Three weeks ago, my wife and I found ourselves forced to surrender our two teens to the care of Redwall's resident vermin.  I know messages move slowly between us, but there should have been at least one letter delivered from Markus or Darlow since classes ended.  Their teachers sent word about how well they did in their studies, but nothing from them.  They know my feelings about that filthy creature.  Why didn't they respond to our letter?  I fear the worse.  The faster this war ends, the sooner I can rescue them from that vile creature."

Another beast approached the bow.  Even in the waning light, he knew it had to be Jazzin.  When Lord Brisson last saw Jazzin, his clothing matched those worn by the crew.  Now, Redwall'a champion warrior wore his chain-linked armored shirt.  On his hip, the last rays of the dying sun caught the red gemstone atop the golden sword.  Jazzin had morphed from a mouse who found the sea not to his liking, to a warrior eagerly awaiting the call to battle.

"Those two teens have been like a burr one cannot remove," Jazzin said.  "During the winter school break, they stole the Sword of Martin and left clues as to where it could be found.  My father preferred beating the location out of them.  The abbot called their prank a great diversion.  It took us a full week finding it.  Until I took possession of the sword, we locked it in a secure place and kept a guard on it least they try it again, as they threatened to do."

"Markus and Darlow are well behaved teens; we never would have sent them to Redwall if their behavior was anything less than exemplary.  What your Father Abbot terms annoying antics, I believe are nothing more than the exaggerations of somebody unfamiliar with high-spirited youths like my son and daughter.  What harm have they done?"  The hare's angry voice challenged the mouse to say otherwise.

Jazzin refused to rise to the bait.  Lord Brisson remembered these two discussing the hare teens at mess on several occasions.  The mouse told the father about their less than appropriate behavior and the reactions of those who suffered as the victims of their mischief.  Major Eytomin dismissed his complaints by claiming such actions attributable to others, who then blamed his two youngsters. 

Jazzin asked about the Red Sharkeye while ignoring the father's defense of his two teens.  When Lord Brisson said neither of them had spotted the other ship, the mouse searched for their elusive target.  All three kept silent as they stood along the bow.  At last, Jazzin broke the stalemate.

"I overheard you say you needed more fighters for this initial assault.  We might not be the equal of a Long Patrol hare, but my Abbey soldiers have just as much heart when it comes to freeing slaves.  Say the word and I can have a dozen willing to accept the risks of joining the first wave storming that ship."

Major Eytomin fingered the chain-mail suit the mouse wore.  "You do realize that if we cannot immobilize their ship, Captain Peggen will have the advantage?  His vessel has three times the number of rowers and it is far more maneuverable.  If he succeeds in sinking us, either your sword will become his prized possession or it will forever more rest on the ocean's bottom.  Not exactly how a sword of legend should pass into history."

Lord Brisson knew the captain's plan required a stealthy approach.  If successful, they would draw close to the Red Sharkeye during the night and attack with the rising sun in the raider's eyes. 

Captain Istedikus cursed the timing when the search extended into the third week.  Instead of the darkness a new moon offered, she expressed her fears that the light of a full moon would brighten the night enough that a sharp-eyed lookout would detect them.  Thanks to the growing storm, the ocean remained black.  Present conditions seemed ideal for a stealthy approach.

A male otter jogged from the aft deck to the bow where the three warriors stood.  Lord Brisson recognized him as the same one who informed Captain Istedikus about the Red Sharkeye.  He hastened to him, gave a slight head bob, and addressed him with the same respect he showed the captain.

"Our captain has ordered quiet throughout the ship.  If you must speak, do so below deck and preferably in a closed room.  She has instructed me to extinguish all but the most essential lanterns.  Both light and sound carry too well on the open sea.  Have those warriors who will board the ship first standing ready.  When we attack, they'll have only a short time as we cannot stop."

All three nodded their understanding.  Jazzin withdrew as he hunted down those who would accompany him when the battle began.  Major Eytomin did the same.  Alone with his thoughts, Lord Brisson envisioned the many probable endings this battle could have.  He prayed whatever gods existed would grant them a favorable finish.



* * *

Down below on the oar decks, the captain relayed her orders.  The otter setting the pace ceased beating his drums.  Two voles stood where every rower had an unobstructed view.  Using large yellow boards, they raised and lowered them.  When they changed positions, it represented another beat of the silenced drums.

Every four hours, crew beasts and Long Patrol hares replaced half the rowers.  The two setting the pace rested each hour as another pair maintained the grueling routine.  Dawn approached.  For the last time, well-rested beasts relieved the tired rowers.  As the strongest, they had the privilege of rowing into battle.  Anticipation ran high for those pulling the oars. 

Fresh arms lifted and dropped the yellow boards at an even faster tempo.  A crewmember tapped the two otters operating the yellow signs.  They spun the boards over.  The bright yellow changed to a deep red alerting everyone of the impending battle.  In the span of but a few quick breaths, the ship accelerated to ramming speed.  Nobody even grunted at the punishing pace, fearing the sound would carry to the other ship as a warning.

A shrill whistle sounded from the main deck far above them.  On the next beat, every rower on the starboard side shipped their oars.  Those on the port side dug in with every ounce of power remaining within their bodies.  None of them considered failure an acceptable option.  The otters relayed another three strokes to the port side when every creature aboard the warship felt their ship slicing the oars off the port side of the enemy vessel.

The final battle was at paw.

Dusty stood rooted to the spot.  He turned to his left.  His shovel bit deep into the mound.  Turning to his right, he threw the dirt into the deep hole.  Dusty repeated the process until the motion became a mindless exercise.  The summer sun caused sweat to drip down his muzzle; he took no notice of it.

He passed the shovel to one of his companions who helped him fill the mass grave, his eyes fixated on the darker colored soil.  In another week the tropical sun would leach all the moisture and none would ever know where these unfortunates were buried.  Each beast squeezed his shoulder, letting him know they too mourned for those who died.  They withdrew, allowing Dusty some privacy.

Alone at last, he spoke as if one of the departed could hear him. 

"Never would I believe your words.  Over these last six weeks, I saw you demonstrate those values.  I thought you a fool; I was wrong.  On my oath, when the next shipment of slaves arrives, I will find whichever creature needs me most, and I will do everything possible to help that one, even if it means my own life."

Dawn brought word that a ship dropped anchor.  According to the story circulating among the workers, it carried new slaves in trade for raw ore.  Dusty quickened his pace as he walked towards the building the slaves referred to as the Hiring Hall.  There the vermin rulers distributed their latest slaves to the other islands.  If he intended helping someone, he had to first learn if any of them would stay on this island.

He entered the huge Hiring Hall.  Dusty drew as close as he could to the ferret sitting at the desk.  As each slave came forward, the ferret checked a document, made a mark, and assigned the creature to some island.  After each pronouncement, a slave overseer approached.  The summoned overseer then led the new slave to a holding area.

A pine marten carried a female squirrel by the scruff of the neck.  When she reached the desk, she swung the tiny girl up and dropped her like a pile of dirty laundry before the ferret.  When the diminutive squirrel landed on the desk, she buried her face in her bushy tail.  From all outward appearances, she resembled a living dust ball.  The two slave masters ignored her soft whimpering. 

"Somebody shipped us an under-aged toddler."  The pine martin pointed at the grey fur ball trembling on the desk.  "The captain believes she's mute since nobody has heard her speak."

The ferret gave the girl a less than gentle poke without getting a reaction.  He opened his desk where he retrieved another ledger.  Dusty watched the ferret's finger slide along the pages for several seconds.  When he slammed the book closed, the grey squirrel shivered harder.

"No openings available.  I will not waste our resources raising that thing when our nursery is already overcrowded.  Best use this one as filler in tonight's soup.  Take her to the kitchen for butchering."

Before today, Dusty pitied anyone facing the butcher.  He too thought the young squirrel unfit for any duty sufficient to warrant her continued existence, so he understood the ferret's decision.  Evisceration might be fast for the butcher, but such slaves lived long enough.  Dusty witnessed such a death once as a dibbun.  He remembered how loud his playmate screamed before death claimed him.

Yet as if propelled by some unknown force, he approached the two vermin masters standing at the desk.  When the pine martin noticed him, she shifted her stance.  That caught the ferret's attention.  Both of them frowned when Dusty drew nearer.

"You're not allowed in this area," the ferret said.  His voice left Dusty with no doubt that he had committed a serious infraction.  "Only slaves wearing the sash designating them as overseers can approach us."

"Master," Dusty uttered with as much deference as possible, "why waste that one in a stew pot?  Let me care for her.  In three months, I will prove her value far exceeds the meager morsel she is right now."

"If you wish to train her and demonstrate her value, that's fine.  But I cannot give you so much time.  Six weeks.  Either the two of you will serve us, or you will both be served to us as dinner."

Dusty hesitated when he saw the serious expression on the ferret's face.  He thought he could salve his conscience by making the offer, but the words he spoke the previous day haunted him.  Dusty knew he had no choice if he wished to honor his pledge.

"You are most generous.  I shall prove her a valuable addition."

The pine marten, who had been watching this exchange, snatched the girl by the scruff of the neck and threw her at Dusty.  The girl howled at her mistreatment.  Dusty succeeded in catching the child.  Both ferret and pine marten enjoyed a hearty laugh as he withdrew, carrying his new charge.  Dusty noticed the girl weighed no more than some of the lighter tools he carried in the mine.

Once outside, Dusty sat on a nearby rock.  With persistence and a gentle touch, he got the girl out of her ball.  He pushed her bushy tail away from her tearstained face.  He wiped her eyes dry with his fingers and smiled at the small, frightened dibbun. 

When he stopped petting her, the girl gazed at the surrounding area.  The stench of fear from one so small overpowered Dusty's senses.  Her paw touched him as she stared into his face.  She leaped onto his chest and dug her claws into his fur with a power he never expected from such a small body.  Not sure what to do, he cooed to her until she lifted her eyes.

"I shall name you Bushface.  If you do as I say, we may survive many years together."

* * *

From the moment the sun heralded a new day, they toiled in the orchard with the other slaves.  The older one carried baskets of fruit to the storeroom upon his back.  His small companion scurried through the tall trees picking the fruit and whisking it back to the line of basket carriers.
With the trees relieved of their ripened bounty, the work detail returned to their sleeping quarters.  As the they finished the meal their masters served slaves who did a proper day's work, they gazed out across the orchard watching the distant horizon swallow the sinking sun.  With weary pawsteps, the two trudged towards their assigned sleeping area.

Dusty led his younger companion into an empty bunkhouse.  Since the other slaves living here worked the evening shift in the mines, the place remained deserted after sunset.  Dusty preferred this arrangement.  It gave him time to instruct Bushface regarding proper behavior. 

Though tired from a full day of work, the girl raced to a nearby table, scaling its frame.  She bounced on her toes as Dusty went to his bunk.  While he held the brush and comb, she quivered with excitement.  He marveled at her good behavior when he combed her as sometimes his heavy paw tugged a stubborn tangle quite hard.  She stood there like a living statue, never moving as he groomed her. 

While he brushed Bushface, he spoke to the girl.  He smiled when he recalled how others passing the cabin often stopped for a peek inside when they heard only one creature talking.  These curious visitors always commented on her excellent behavior, which made Dusty proud.

"So far, more than half our time has passed.  I do believe our masters now think your work is exceptional."  When he saw her turn her head toward him with a puzzled look, he grinned.  "That means they think you are a hard worker."

Dusty discovered caring for so young a child proved far more demanding than he first envisioned.  Things he thought so obvious to him needed explanations.  Just like now, he sometimes forgot the girl's age by expecting her to understand everything he said. 

He remembered how frustrated he felt that first day when they weeded one of the fields.  She changed from such a well-behaved child to a disobedient hellion by the early afternoon.  Angered by her obstinate attitude, Dusty prepared to administer a harsh switching.  As he raised the stick, a paw prevented him from striking Bushface.  He turned on the creature who dared to grab his wrist.

The lady hedgehog released Dusty.  "My eyes tell me that child is far too young for the fields.  I know, because I worked in our master's nursery, raising some younger than her before I was reassigned to this island.  You might think she has unlimited energy, but she is in need of a nap, not the switch."

The older female latched onto Bushface's paw, pulling the child free of his knees.  The hedgehog lead the young squirrel to a shady patch where she fussed over the girl.  Like a candle snuffed out, Bushface fell asleep. 

"She will awaken when the shade moves." 

An hour later, Dusty felt something tweak his tail as he worked.  A glance behind him and he noticed a very frightened Bushface.  Her eyes brimmed with tears while she stood just beyond his reach.  He opened his paws and she ran to him.  Dusty returned to his assigned duty.  Bushface knelt by his side imitating his actions. 

He mouthed a silent thank you to the lady hedgehog weeding the next row.  The well-mannered child he remembered had reappeared.  Dusty took the lady's words to heart.  Thereafter, when the sun reached its highest point, he allowed the girl a brief rest.

As he brushed the girl's back, he recalled how one angry sea rat demanded she polish his boots.  When the rat saw how well Bushface did, his attitude changed.  The sea rat couldn't stop praising her.  By the next morning, her reputation had spread throughout the island.  Each morning, half a dozen boots awaited her attention.  Some of their masters even left her a few acorns in appreciation when they collected their boots.

Dusty carried the grooming tools back to his bunk.  He turned; pleased to see Bushface stayed where he left her.  Dusty studied her posture as he approached the table.  She had her back straight and her muzzle pointed at the floor.  Even her tail hung low behind her.  Only her fidgety paws marred her posture.  She rubbed them together as if a thick layer of dirt coated them.  Dusty slapped his paw hard on the table.  Bushface dropped to all fours, her forehead and paws pressed flat against the tabletop with her tail pulled beneath her.

"You are such a good girl.  When you face me, you maintain a submissive pose.  If the master commands you to kneel, you know the proper pose.  I'm very proud of you, Bushface." 

Dusty placed the child on the floor next to him.  Her smile gave him such a pleasant feeling.  Bushface punched Dusty's arm and ran beneath the table.  One look at her eager expression showed she anticipated his reaction. 

He crouched; his hackles rose.  Dusty made a deep and menacing snarl.  The girl squealed with delight.  She ran.  The two of them charged about the room with Dusty always to her rear, his teeth or claws always close, but never connecting. 

Playtime ended.  He gave an extra burst of speed and caught the girl.  His huge paw bowled the girl onto her back.  Dusty buried his face in her stomach.  He growled as he rubbed his head against her.  Between fits of laughter, the girl fought back.  Their game finished, Dusty glared down at Bushface.  His words may have sounded harsh to anyone passing their barrack, but he considered it another part of the game they played.

"Naughty girl, it's not nice to hit others.  Just for that, it's off to bed with you."

Dusty snuffed the lone candle lantern before climbing into his assigned bunk.  A few seconds later, he detected the sound of Bushface's claws as they dug into the wooden frame.  In the darkness of the bunkhouse, he detected her as she clamored onto his bed.  She squirmed about, like she did every night, until her head rested over his heart.

As he reclined on the wooden pallet, his mind pondered what additional duties he should teach his pupil.  Much as he feared doing it, the kitchen offered her many chores.  He considered letting her learn here at the mining camp with the other slaves.  Then he decided to take her to the Mess Hall down by the beach.  Working around those who held such absolute power over their fate carried many risks.  Yet, Dusty had faith in the girl.

Silence filled the empty room.  He stared at the ceiling beams, wondering if he had not somehow condemned himself by helping this mute beast.  From out of the darkness, or maybe within his own mind, Dusty listened to another voice whisper that he did the right thing.

He braced his head up, resting his chin in his paw.  He peered at the spot where she lay.  Her eyes reflected the crescent moonlight that filtered through the ill-fitting ceiling boards.  Sleep eluded him.  When Dusty turned onto his side, Bushface snuggled up to him, her head just touching his chin.

"Have you ever heard of a place called Redwall?"  When he felt the girl shake her head, Dusty spoke in a voice full of longing and disbelief.  "I knew a creature who claimed such a place really existed.  He said dibbuns played all day long there.  No elder ever feared the whip, and everyone had lots of food.  That squirrel told me many wonderful adventures about the woodlanders who called Redwall Abbey home.  Would you like to hear one?"

Bushface pressed herself into his chest.  Dusty's paw reached around so he could knead the fur on her stomach.  His mind tried recalling one of the adventures Firecrown told.  Satisfied that he remembered enough of the tale, he cleared his throat. 

"Though I doubt such a place ever existed, here is a story he told me about a great bell and how it came to be in their Abbey.  It all started one night when ...."

The gentle warmth of a late summer day dawned with a cloudless sky.  Though the weather said summer, for those gathered in the courtyard, this morning marked the end of their carefree existence.  Today, school started.  Every youngster spent these last few moments of freedom rekindling old friendships.  All talked about the wonderful experiences they had since school ended.

Darlow, a doe hare, stood near the steps scanning the crowd.  Her immaculate blue dress showed a razor-sharp edge to every pleated crease.  The light blue ribbons that entwined her long ears accentuated her juvenile beauty.  On each ear tip a tiny silver bell tinkled whenever she moved her head.  For this special day, she had brushed her fur until her pelt developed a sheen that sparkled like dew whenever the sun shone upon it.

As she stood there, Darlow made pleasant remarks to passing acquaintances, but always her eyes searched the crowd.  Whenever her gaze wandered to the tower clock, she chewed on her knuckles.  An old habit she couldn't break.  It resurfaced whenever she felt tense.  Her brow creased as the final minutes marched past. 

Darlow joined the other children as they gathered near the schoolhouse.  Darlow needed these last few moments of summer as she had a purpose to her vigilance.  After what seemed like an eternity of searching, Darlow raced across the schoolyard with the lightning speed natural to hares, into the arms of her older brother's embrace.

Unlike her bright-colored dress, her brother's outfit had a somewhat muted hue.  Though neat and clean, his garments needed the application of a hot iron to smooth out their rumpled look.  The matching light brown coloring of his britches and shirt reminded her of the tilled fields beyond the gate.  This close to her brother the scent of laundry soap assaulted her nose.

Darlow squealed with delight as she hugged her brother.  "Gaddie said you would be getting out this morning.  You cannot imagine how happy I am to see you."  Darlow stood back a bit and gave a prim pose as she addressed Markus.  "Tell me how nice I look 'cause I worked extra hard making myself pretty just for you big brother."

Markus made a slight gagging noise, which earned him a playful punch on his shoulder.  They laughed as they embraced a second time.  For that brief moment, no one else existed in her world.

"What a horrid summer.  I tell you, sis, our king had the right of it when he outlawed the use of a leash.  Bad enough missing all the excitement with those slavers last month, but going the whole summer as that otter's servant made this a vacation I'll want to forget.  Be glad he didn't need two helpers.  You got off a lot easier than I did." 

Markus shook his head, a sour expression on his face.  Darlow giggled at his discomfort, her paw rubbing the top of his head as their mother did whenever her brother complained about something.

"First, I spent two weeks in the Infirmary caring for that otter.  I changed more bandages and emptied more chamber pots than I care to remember.  If the healer needed a helper, I had to do his bidding too.  He made that painfully clear the first time I refused.  Things didn't get better when the healer released Mister Scrimmith.  The indignities I suffered just got worse."

Darlow tittered as she remembered seeing her brother pushing a wheeled chair while a chain ran from the armrest to his neck.  She recalled his glum expression when forced to eat and drink from bowls placed on the floor like some pampered pet.  Darlow recalled the festive mood his embarrassment caused among the many elders he had harassed.

Once her brother started grumbling, he couldn't seem to stop.  Though cruel, Darlow enjoyed hearing him describe his travails and with a few gentle prods, had him telling her everything.  She fondled his one ear just like mother did whenever she had to coax something out of him.  It worked.

"Since Mister Scrimmith couldn't handle the switch, his mate used it.  That old hag enjoyed using it far too much, if you want my opinion. After my first escape, they locked that chain around my neck tight enough that I couldn't slip it off again.  Blasted leash always kept me in her reach."

Darlow recalled seeing Lady Scrimmith taking him to task when her brother spilled hot soup in her mate's lap.  With the chain tied to the table, Markus had little room to escape, but did a credible job.  Several nearby elders helped restrain him while the female otter vented her anger.  When she mentioned that incident, it got her brother talking about the abuse he suffered from Tassel.

"Lady Scrimmith was always having me wheel her mate to Father Hughnaught.  They made me wait, within hearing distance, while deciding what punishment I deserved for some minor infraction.  Every time I saw that sow, I shuddered.  When Tassel grabbed my leash, she led me to the front of the room.  She spanked me while everyone watched and cheered.  Never said a word before, during, or afterward.  That vermin sow just put me over her knees and smacked my bottom raw."

Darlow laughed about the way he expressed his displeasure.  When she regained her composure, she fondled her brother's ear until he stopped mumbling.  "Be glad the Father Abbot made the decision.  Considering how many times I saw you outside his office, your bottom should still be smarting.  I understand Mother T turned him down several times; said your misdeeds didn't deserve her special attention."

"Since when did you start showing that vermin beastie such good manners?  Don't tell me she broke your spirit."

Darlow placed her paws on her hips as she imitated her mother's I'm-vexed-with-you stance.  Her brother's sudden silence let her know she did it right.  Markus turned his head away from her.  Like mother, she tapped his muzzle with her index finger until he met her eyes.

"After today's classes, you will be living with everyone else in the Dormitory.  Unlike you, I observed her over the summer.  She honestly loves those orphans as if they were her own.  Father always said vermin don't know how to show kindness.  I hate myself for saying this, but I'm thinking father might be wrong about her." 

Markus snorted the same way their father did whenever he heard something he didn't believe.  Her gentle laughter did nothing to lift her brother's mood.  Darlow leaned closer.  When her nose touched his, she whispered to him like she did whenever she told him some special secret.

"Don't go thinking you're the only one who suffered some indignity because of her.  I found myself lying across her knees a time or two over the summer.  I hate saying this, but I got what I deserved."

"That's nice to know, sis," the buck said with a mischievous grin.  "However, I was going to ask if she really did refuse to punish me.  Considering how many practical jokes we played on her, I'm surprised she wouldn't take advantage of every opportunity for a bit of pay back."

Darlow wished she hadn't told him about her spankings.  She could feel her face turn a deep crimson when Markus looked at her.  One peek into his eyes and she knew her brother would harass her until he got the full story.  She needed some way of diverting his attention.  A glance at the clock provided an answer.  Darlow mentioned the upcoming school session.

"Hear we have Lady Five-hundred this year," Markus said with a sullen expression.  "That old lady vole is infamous for making students write five hundred word essays.  Bet her first assignment is what we did this summer.  She wouldn't ask us if she lived here.  I tell you sis, the last thing I want to do is write an essay on what it's like to be a leashed prisoner."

Markus checked the area near them, making sure nobody would overhear his next comment.  The way he crouched down told Darlow he had some devilment planned and he needed her help.  He confirmed her suspicions when he pulled out a small box he hid in his shirt pocket.  Whatever it held wanted out.

"I found out beetles scare her," Markus confided.  "Imagine her reaction when she finds these critters crawling about in her desk drawer.  It took me a few minutes in the orchard catching them, but it should prove entertaining when class begins," Markus giggled.

"Better ask yourself what Mother T will do when she finds out about your little prank.  You think it's worth it, dear brother?" 

Darlow showed her brother the palm of her paw as she began spanking an imaginary bottom.  Her eyes twinkled at her brother's dismay when she reminded him who would be on the receiving end since she voiced her intention of offering him no help with this latest escapade.  The doe's twitching ears set the tiny bells ringing as she enjoyed watching him decide what he should do. 

He grumbled in words far from acceptable in polite gatherings.  Markus dumped the box of beetles on a nearby bush.  If the badgermom overheard such language, Markus would have one very soapy mouth.  She started to caution him when the school bell tolled the hour. 

The students moved towards the building like condemned prisoners.  Teachers herded the reluctant youths inside with kind words and a gentle paw.  Just before the two hares went in, Markus grabbed his sister's arm.  He pulled her to the side where they gained a few more seconds for their private conversation.

"I'll make a bargain with you.  If you stop calling that badger Mother T, I'll be nice to her when I move in with you this afternoon.  We have a deal, sis?"

She gave her big brother a light peck on the cheek.  Darlow grinned.  One look at her brother's expression told her he read her mind.  She glanced around the entryway, making sure none of the other students or teachers paid any attention to them. 

"What say we plan a smashing prank to top anything we have ever done in our lifetime?  Something this Abbey and its residents will record as the greatest one ever done.  We have several months to come up with the perfect idea."

"After all your talk about that vermin beastie, you're willing to do this," an incredulous Markus asked.  "The way you act, I thought Tassel broke whatever rebellious streak you had.  Or are you trying to get a bit of payback for the things I did to you back home by getting me into even more trouble?" 

"If Miss Tassel cannot prove to you by the start of the winter school break she is worthy of your respect, I'll help you pull it off.  For such a stupendous event, all the demons of Hellsgate can have our furry bottoms.  But there is one more condition, brother."

When Markus said nothing, Darlow finished her proposition.  "If she does convince you she is worthy of our respect, we pledge, on our honor, that we will behave ourselves for the rest of the time we're here."

Both hares laughed as they envisioned the response of the residents to such a grand stunt.  Darlow thought the challenge made enduring school worthwhile.  One look at her brother showed him happier than he had been since their parents first announced their enrollment at Redwall Abbey.  As the doors sealed them inside, Darlow whispered one more comment to her brother. 

"Trust me when I say Badgermom Tassel is worthy of our best behavior.  She proved it to the Pine Tar warriors when she fought those slavers, and she proved it to me during the summer." 

Exhaustion, total, complete, and absolute: those words described her condition.  Even as she awoke, she did not feel the refreshment sleep accorded most creatures.  She wanted to greet the day feeling rejuvenated, and ready for whatever life hands you.  It would not happen today or anytime soon.

She kept her eyes closed, but her reality needed no vision.  The constant motion of the ship, not just fore and aft, but a rolling action from side to side, left her stomach queasy after the latest storm.  A putrid stench from overflowing slop-buckets competed with the sickly sweet smell of her fellow captives.  The snores of those sleeping, the moans of the injured, the creaking of the ship, and the whimpering of the sick added another item to her long list of discomforts.

Much as she would like to deny this terrifying reality, she had no choice but to accept it.  She rested below deck in what the crew called the holding pen.  She remembered her former existence.  She took great pride in her duties, and spent a lifetime of faithful service to her masters.  Yet one mistake negated everything.  Now bound to this ship, she pondered if death held more appeal than rowing another day.

Light penetrated her dark world, so she closed her eyes in the vain hope it might disappear.  The sound of wood striking metal could mean but one thing.  She opened her eyes, confirming her suspicion.  Silhouetted by the light, she made out the outline of some crew beast standing at the bottom of the stairway.  The repetition of the sounds heralded the arrival of a second sailor.   

At the far end, two shadowy beasts move down the central aisle.  As they proceeded aft, they examined the sleeping slaves.  Though neither one touched the sleeping creatures, the two would examine a clipboard, mutter awhile, and then continue their inspection.  Eventually they drew close enough that their words became distinguishable.

"What about ... number one thirty-eight?" a male voice inquired.

"With a large shipment of slaves expected in another three days, we can afford to let this lady otter rest.  Maybe she'll get over her illness by then.  If not, we'll have something in our stew other than fish."  The way the female accented the words left little doubt as to the otter's fate.   

The iron lattice hatch covering the aft section squealed in protest as another unseen crew beast lifted it.  A lantern threw a beam of light into the hellish blackness illuminating a second ladder.  The opening of the second hatch had her moaning.

The female crew beast rustled a sheet of paper.  She relayed a series of numbers to her companion who moved up and down the aisle checking ankle tags.  As she called out a number, the male roused the corresponding beast.  A less than gentle kick stirred the selected slave who stood.  The crew beast pointed aft and the slave made his or her way to the ladder.  Each time two beasts exited the hold, another two entered from the bow.  The slaves going off duty found an open spot and soon fell asleep in spite of the lantern's light.

"Number one twenty-two," the female said.  "Never mind, I'm standing right next to her."

The female ferret stood over her, pointing to the stern.  With a groan, she shuffled over to the ladder.  She took a deep breath at the base while gazing upward.  By the time she climbed the five steps, she no longer squinted from the brightness of the light.

Unlike the hold, the lower rowing deck remained bright.  A stoat sat idle by his drum near the aft hatchway.  Woodlander slaves occupied a series of benches to port and starboard.  Each side held sixty oars and each oar had two creatures attached to it, something she confirmed the first time she rowed.  Three sea rats patrolled the middle aisle, each armed with a coiled whip. 

A young slave hedgehog delivered rations.  He served her a soup full of half-rotten vegetables, some raw fish, and a portion of stale bread.  She bolted down the meager meal knowing it had to last until her relief in another six hours.  By the time the next slave received his portion, she handed the hedgehog her tray licked clean of any scraps.

One of the guards carried a ring of keys down the central aisle.  Locating the appropriate ones, the guard unlocked the chains fastening one set of slaves to their oar.  The two rowers moved to the bow where another slave handed them their final rations.  While the guards prodded her and a male woodchuck towards the vacated bench, those relieved entered the holding pen.

The routine never changed.  The crew first fastened a short chain around her wrist that kept her paws close to the oar.  The sailor did the same to her partner.  Before the sailor withdrew, he strung a heavy chain through their ankle shackles and attached it to a ring embedded in the deck.  Once secured, the guards repeated the process with the next set of replacements.

Stormy weather kept the oars idle as the ship rode out the rough seas.  She slept.  A tube whistle sounded and she awoke to the sudden disturbance.  Near the bow, the drummer placed his ear close to the speaker tube.  After he replaced it, the drummer issued a brisk command.  In unison, the oars slid outward.  Every slave kept pace with the rhythm the drummer set.

One moment, everyone pulled on the oars.  The next, the ship gave a mighty heave pitching the portside rowers askew.  Screams overpowered the sound of splintering oars.   The breaking oars lifted many of the slaves off their benches.  Chains pulled taut.  Rowers cradled arms or held legs broken by the violent movement of their ship, their howling adding to the confusion. 

"A warship, I can see another warship" shouted one rower.  A second later, the unknown rower's panicky voice screamed a second time.  "It's going to ram us!"

Some slaves abandoned their oars as they tried yanking shackles off wrists or ankles.  Others wailed.  The smell of blood, panic, and fear filled the deck.

High above the deck, alarm bells rang insistently.  The distinctive sound of metal meeting metal filled the air.  Battle cries echoed throughout the upper decks.   Injured slaves howling added to the din; the sound of combat grew ever closer.

The drummer's body flew into the bulkhead when the ship collided with the other warship.  The drummer's head splattered like over ripened fruit dropped from a great height when it hit the side of the ship.  She and her oar partner finished their stroke without thinking.  Her mind could not comprehend the chaos erupting around them.  Without the strokes of the drum setting the pace, she observed the events unfolding around her as if she existed outside this reality.

The female ferret carrying the keys fell into the lap of a male hedgehog five rows in front of her.   The slave fastened his paws about her neck.  Though lacking the leverage to make her death a quick one, he strangled the struggling ferret.  Her claws raked his arm and face, but he did not react.  The sea rat guards unlimbered their whips and began flaying the hedgehog.  It did not affect the relentless pressure applied by the hedgehog's paws.

One row behind the vermin floggers, a male vole slid the shattered oar shaft off his wrist chains.  He swung the freed shaft and crushed the skull of one tormentor.  In a matter of seconds, a dozen slaves followed suit and clubbed the sea rats into a bloody pulp.  When the hedgehog dropped the dead ferret, the rowers roared in celebration.

Such insanity broke her out of her catatonic state.  She understood the danger a second warship represented.  If their ship sank, they died.  Her voice overpowered their jubilation. 

"Somebody get the keys.  We have a chance at freedom.  Let's take it before that other warship rams us."

Slaves passed the ferret's key ring from paw to paw until a female mole in the front row held them.  She stretched as far forward as possible.  The slaves hushed in breathless silence, watching. The mole maneuvered the key in the hatch lock and it turned.  Their cheers turned into panic when an arrow shaft nailed the mole to the deck.  A second shaft followed and her reverberating shrieks gained volume.  A third arrow struck and her voice faded into silence.

Somewhere behind the rowers came the distinctive twang of a bowstring.  Another slave sounded his final defiance.  The slaves still chained to the oars could do nothing to avoid the archer's arrows.  On the side with the shattered oar shafts, the slaves cowered beneath the benches.  The bow beast launched a bloody slaughter.  The archer's shafts struck the slaves one by one.  One slave pleaded first for mercy, and then a quick death.  He received neither.

Unable to do anything but sit, she tried rallying those still hiding within the hold.  She knew they had no chains encumbering them.  Six slaves answered her call.  They rushed their tormentor armed with tooth and claw.  Three died and a fourth fell to the deck.  For a moment, she held onto hope.  An arrow pierced her back, its bloody warhead exiting from her chest.

Four more stormed the bow.  An oar slave closest to the drummer gave a mighty cheer.  One by one, the slaves turned the right keys that released them from their restraints.  Armed with the splintered shafts of their oars, several rushed to help their comrades.  Others rallied those still cowering in the holding pen.  Several braver ones scrambled out.  Their faces reflected a strong determination to earn their freedom or die trying.

Like a nightmarish apparition, a huge creature forced its way through the aft bulkhead.  It stood taller than any beast, and displayed a muscular body.  His white face had a black stripe that ran from his nose, along his muzzle and widened to encompass a third of his head.  Even from her seat halfway back, she saw the glowing fire burning within his eyes.  Blood and gore dripped off his huge double-sided war axe. 

"Drop your weapons, we're here to save you," the monster roared.

"He lies," she answered.  "We either become his slaves, or die here."

Once more, she rallied her fellow captives.  Six attacked the huge beast.  The monster swung his weapon sideways.  All six slaves fell to the deck moaning.  Others stood ready to take their place, a few brandished broken oar shafts like clubs.  The monster repeated his order.  The slaves shouted their defiance.

A recent memory surfaced.    She was home, seated near a low campfire while a squirrel told a tale of brave souls facing impossible odds.  Like her friends, she remained mesmerized by Firecrown's tale.  His eyes burned with passion as he spoke.  His words resounded in her mind.

"When all hope is lost, when your enemy is at his strongest, those who fight for a just cause will know what to do.  Shout the word that will frighten your enemies.  Challenge your foe with the power of . . . ."

With all the strength she could muster, she screamed out that last word.  "Redwall."

It proved miraculous.  The huge creature lowered his weapon.  He leaned on the hilt, staring at her.  The slaves hesitated, unsure what they should do.  Behind her, the battle ebbed.  She maintained her litany, fearing the power of that word would flee like a windblown leaf if she ever stopped.

"What creature calls out for Redwall?"

The monster blocking the aft bulkhead pointed at her.  All of the slaves turned in her direction.  In the eerie silence, she heard somebody approach.  He came into her line of sight.  Then a sense of euphoric relief washed over her.  She paused in awe, whispering a name she thought only existed in legends, "Martin."

The mouse strode down the central aisle dressed in a chain mail shirt and hood.  In his paw, he held a mighty sword.  Its golden hilt displayed a red gemstone embedded in the pommel.  Their eyes met.   His appeared cold and merciless.  As he came nearer, they softened.  He stood in his armor next to her, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"I thought I knew all that lived around Redwall, but you I don't remember."

She stammered.  "I know why you are here, Martin.  You seek two stolen from your Abbey, a squirrel named Firecrown, and a mouse named Kurella.  They are captives in the Tamagoran Archipelagos.  I knew one, and he often spoke of the other."

The mouse shouted for a healer before sitting by her side.  "Yes, I search for them, and I thank you, dear lady.  Tell me your name, and all of Redwall shall speak it with great reverence.  Your bravery shall live forever."

She gazed at the arrow's warhead jutting from her chest.  Her eyes tracked the blood trail that pooled beneath her on the deck.  The gates to eternity started to open and she knew no force could shut them.  Looking into the warrior's eyes, she summoned up enough energy to answer his question before entering the realm of Dark Forest. 

"My ... name ... is ... Splin ... ters."

* * *

Cradling the lifeless vole, the mouse murmured.  "Forgive me for not telling you my name.  If thinking me Martin the Warrior pleased you, than I am glad.  I will keep my promise, Splinters.  Your name will live forever in our chronicles, this I swear." 

He gently lowered the body of the vole and kept a vigil until a group of hares arrived.  After removing the arrow, he helped the hares place the fallen hero onto a canvas sheet.  None of the uninjured slaves left the deck as they watched the hare medics treat their fellow oar slaves.  As the warrior mouse stood, the woodchuck that shared Splinter's bench reached out his paw.

"What is to become of us?  We have never known life without a master commanding us."

"King Meles will do all in his power to help you start new lives as free beasts."

"And what of you, sir?  We know nothing of you but a name of some fabled warrior."

He faced the gathered slaves, "My name is Jazzin, champion warrior of Redwall Abbey.  When our ship returns to Fiery Mountain, we shall assemble a great fleet for the final war against those who dare enslave others.  I pledge my life to freeing every slave held within the Tamagoran Archipelagos.  Will any of you join me?"

Dusty stood atop the trail that led from the mines to the campground where those who ruled over the slaves lived.  He sometimes wondered why his masters preferred the beach since it had so little value.  He glanced behind him.  The valley's lush vegetation thrived in the fertile soil.  The mountains contained metals that could be shaped into anything needed.  Artisans fashioned all manner of goods for trade.

When I lived in the valley, I had a full belly, a roof over my head, and a purpose to my life.  Maybe the beach offers more than I can fathom.

A paw tapped his hip, reminding him why they traveled along this trail.  Dusty glanced down at the small grey squirrel accompanying him.  Almost five weeks ago, he walked this very path down to the place where all new slaves first arrived.  When he came back, he faced the challenge of raising and training a mute child, thereby saving both of them from a stew pot.

On the beach, they came to a series of dilapidated buildings set apart from the sturdier structures.  Dusty held the youngster's paw as they came to the first one.  He called out, and another slave appeared.   That one led him to the next building where he approached a female otter wearing the sash designating her as the overseer. 

Dusty introduced himself and his companion.  "We seek work here.  My friend is reliable, though one does have to make certain allowances for her age and size.  She did well in our mess tent by the mines, so I thought to have her learn new skills here."

The female otter leaned against the building, standing in the shade while he remained under the tropic sun.  In her paw, she held a pipe fashioned from a piece of bamboo and a corncob.  Dusty found the elder's act of smoking fascinating as none back at the mines had access to whatever the crude pipe held.  She laughed when she noticed Bushface's nose twitching.

"One of the privileges I enjoy as the overseer."  She waved the pipe under the girl's nose.  The otter chuckled when the youngster leaned so far forward following its scent that she toppled.  "The herb has a very sweet smell when burned and a pleasant taste.  I keep things running smoothly and this is my reward.  Convince me you'll not be shortening my smoke rations."

Dusty related Bushface's duties in the mess tent back at the mines.  He emphasized her cooperative nature.  While he described her special needs, the lady otter puffed her pipe.  When Dusty finished his narration, the otter stuck the nail of one claw into the bowl of her pipe.  She continued stirring the mixture until it stopped smoldering.  She knocked the residuals into a bag hidden under her sash.

"Think we are ignorant of your camp?"  The otter shifted to a shadier spot.  "That old shrew who replaced Splinters got her position, thanks to me.  She passed the word shortly after you announced your intention.  I anticipated your arrival."

The otter pushed off the wall.  She said nothing more as she led them to another cabin where she assigned Dusty a bunk.  Bushface remained at Dusty's side until the otter latched onto the girl's paw.  In the near corner, the overseer pointed to a basket containing ten boots.  The young squirrel began polishing the first boot she grabbed.

The overseer led Dusty outside the cabin.  The otter jabbed him in the side with the pipe stem.  "Her reputation is good with boots.  If she proves it true, I'll allow you some leeway.  Play me the fool and you'll find the river full of mud."

They waited.  Every few minutes, Bushface rushed outside where she placed a boot near where Dusty sat.  When she finished the last one, the diminutive squirrel knelt before the overseer, her head pressed to the ground.  The lady otter inspected her work.  She picked up the last boot and threw it into the dirt by the girl's face, ordering her to redo it.  Bushface snatched the dusty boot and ran inside.  The otter waited until certain Bushface couldn't overhear her.

"Every boot cleaned to perfection and paired without prompting.  She showed no anger when I had her redo the last boot.  You trained her well.  Report to the kitchens tomorrow morning, I'll alert our master of your new duties," said the otter. 

Like their camp, the vermin masters ate within a large building next to a kitchen.  When Dusty led Bushface inside, he noticed many tables lining the wall.  When they crossed the threshold, a female sea rat approached.  The rat gave Dusty a cursory glance, and then stared at the small girl.

"Ayun said I would be getting new workers, but I did not expect one this young."  She snorted as the first group entered the room.  "It's your back if there's any trouble.  Keep those at your table well fed."

With that said, she returned to her kitchen.  As their masters filed into the room, they copied the actions of the other slaves assigned to the dining area.  Whenever the table emptied, Bushface placed everything in a basket that Dusty whisked off to the back room.  Both gave the table a quick scrubbing as they waited for the next group to be seated.

While the vermin ate their fill, the smaller squirrel relayed food and drink to her assigned tables.  Her size allowed her to move about the tabletop as she filled each plate without disturbing those eating.  Some laughed when she either ladled food or poured their drinks, since many of the pots rivaled her in weight.  Dusty felt his confidence growing. 

A loud string of oaths drew Dusty's attention.  One irate weasel dried off his shirt while complaining about the hot drink spilled onto his lap.  As Dusty rushed back, the rat sitting on the other side give a playful yank to the girl's tail.  Before he could stop her, Bushface snarled.

"Who let this untrained brat in here?  This slave needs a proper lesson on manners." 

The weasel's expression darkened.  His lips curled back as he looked at a defiant Bushface standing before him.  The vermin's paw reached out with the speed of a striking snake as he grabbed the small squirrel.  He then thrashed her, much to the delight of his companions who cheered his efforts. 

Dusty watched, unable to help his small friend.  When the weasel dumped the crying girl to the floor, he rushed her outside.  For the remainder of the day, Dusty kept the ovens stocked with firewood while Bushface refused to leave the pile of uncut logs.  It didn't improve Dusty's mood when an irate otter overseer approached.

"Don't start with me, Ayun.  The hot tea was an accident and I forgot some of these overlords enjoy teasing slaves."  Dusty groaned.  "It seems my effort at making a good impression failed and will earn us the stew pot."

The otter overseer's hard expression melted when Dusty spoke those words.  "Tomorrow, tell that sea rat both of you are volunteering for scouring duty.  Keep the pots clean and Catarie will praise your work to any and all.  Best I can do."

Things started out better the next day.  They scrubbed all the morning pots to Catarie's satisfaction.  Whenever the sea rat paused by the sinks, Bushface gave her a quick bow before continuing her duties.  Hope surged again when the sea rat patted Bushface on her wet head.

Two of the kitchen slaves passed Dusty another dirty pot.  He filled it with soapy water while Bushface finished polishing hers.  As he cleaned a third gritty pot, his ears detected the sounds of a brawl.  He glanced over the stack of dirty cutlery, searching for the source of the disturbance.

Uniformed soldiers crashed through the outer doors with weapons drawn.  Four of them burst inside the kitchen while an equal number of their masters charged from the dinning area.  Vermin from the kitchen attacked the long-eared beasts with whatever cutlery their paws grabbed. 

Caught in the middle of this mayhem, unarmed slaves scurried about in a frenzied attempt to exit the building.  Ayun, dodge a master's body as it flew backwards from a solid kick.  Though she avoided the animated projectile, she fell into a bloody heap when Catarie's meat cleaver severed her neck. 

Creatures wielded whatever weapons their paws found.  None seemed to worry if they faced a friend or foe; they killed any beast that came within striking range.  Like the other unarmed slaves, Dusty panicked.  As he sought a safe way through the melee, a high-pitched wailing noise brought his flight to a sudden halt. 

Bushface cowered on the countertop next to the sink where they worked.  She cried into her bushy tail while near her, several combatants flayed away at each other.  Dusty raced back.  He lunged for the girl, snatching her off the counter.  As he squeezed her to his chest, an axe wielded by one of the intruders, missed its intended target.  The blade slammed into the very spot where Bushface stood seconds earlier.  He sidestepped a spear from a pine martin and almost lost his head from a mace swung by a hedgehog.

Dusty spied a cast iron cauldron and tipped the huge pot over them.  From within the pot, Dusty walked it into the corner and hunkered down while Bushface held a death grip on his chest.  He sat on the floor, cooing to the girl.  Dusty hoped her whimpering would not attract attention as he drew his feet closer to his body and away from the pot's rim. 


* * * *

As fast as it began, the battle ended.  A doe hare surveyed the carnage within the now deserted kitchen.  Another hare righted a stool near the hot ovens.  He grimaced in pain as his companion bound his broken leg.  The rest of her squad took a defensive position.  Their eyes swept the now empty work area; their paws holding onto their weapons, ready for battle.

"How many," the hare sitting on the stool asked through gritted teeth.

A hedgehog patted the injured hare on his shoulder.  "Seven slaves dashed past me and maybe another four vermin close on their heels.  They were too fast for me."

A second warrior reported.  "It seems slaves here go about without garments."  His eyes scanned the floor.  "By my count, three slaves died and four of their masters." 

"Your count's wrong.  We eliminated five of those vermin," said a third hare.  "Thank goodness we secured the kitchen.  After all this fighting, I'm looking forward to a good tuck."

While they talked, the combatants surveyed the destruction within the kitchen.  The doe hare snapped her fingers as she pointed to a series of bloody footprints.  "You and your stomach, is that all you can think about?"

The five kept talking about what they wanted to eat while the four uninjured fighters followed the trail.  The doe pointed at an overturned kettle pot.  A foot moved near the pot's edge.  The doe lowered her spear as she prepared to lunge at whatever creature cowered under the cauldron.  Two hares positioned themselves on either side of the pot.

The hedgehog unlimbered his mace.  He hefted it and made a few practice swings, but made no contact with the kettle.  He planted his feet as he waited for the doe's signal.  She nodded.  The hedgehog applied every ounce of power he possessed in one mighty swing.

His metal mace struck the cast iron kettle.  He lost his weapon as it went flying from his paw; the kettle rang an off-keyed note.  Two hares lifted the still ringing kettle.  They threw the pot to the side while she stood poised to stab whatever vermin had sought refuge beneath the pot.  In mid lunge, she stopped.

A wheaten colored squirrel with a grey chest sat howling in pain.  He held his ears while shaking his head.  When he opened his eyes, he jumped to his feet.  The scent of fear mixed with the coppery tang of blood as the unknown slave sought an avenue of escape.

The squirrel's grey chest moved.  Another smaller squirrel hung onto the brown one.  The grey squirrel turned her head in their direction before she again buried her face in the chest of the male.  Her paws gripped the brown one's fur so tight her knuckles turned white.

She stepped back a pace, her spear no longer aimed at the squirrel's heart.  The others followed her lead.  She held one paw up, her fingers splayed as she tried reassuring the muscular squirrel. 

"Sorry, old boy.  We thought you one of those filthy slavers.  Calm down, you're safe now.  Nobody is going to hurt either one of you."

The brown squirrel kept shaking his head, a motion copied by the petite grey.  She had seen other creatures like this one.  Panic had him.  She had to keep him quiet or he might hurt himself.  She spoke to him in her softest voice, but it did not affect him.

"I don't think they can hear you, sergeant," one hare said.  "Our spikedog friend there gave that old pot a hefty whack."

"Hey, don't blame me," growled the hedgehog.  "If we knew slaves hid under that pot, they could stay there.  It's safer than running across a battlefield."

"Nobody's blaming you."  She motioned the others back.  "Give that squirrel some room, just be ready to stop him if he breaks for the door.  Maybe if we smile, he'll realize we mean him no harm."

As they retreated, the brown squirrel's eyes darted in every direction.  When he took a step towards the nearest door, a hare blocked his path.  He raised his bloody sword, which had the squirrel press his back against the far wall.  He then tried for an open window, but a second hare thwarted him from taking that route.

The brown beast charged the hedgehog.  At the last second, he dodged around the unarmed fighter.  The hares rushed to cut off any escape.  Instead of heading towards an exit, the slave raced to the washtubs.  His paws pried the younger squirrel off his chest.  He threw her, and a scrubbing rag, inside a pot.  He applied a piece of soapstone to another kettle.

The injured hare glanced at her.  "Well, at least we have two willing workers for KP duty tonight, ma'am."

The sergeant strolled closer to the washbasins.  From her position, the two squirrels scrubbed the dirty dishes with far too much enthusiasm.  Occasionally the squirrels glanced at her, a look of fear still etched on their faces.

She moved towards the door, calling the others to her side.  "Something tells me these two will stay here.  We had better see if anyone needs our help.  If I see one of our medics, I'll send him here."  With that, she led her squad out of the kitchen.

An insect buzzed around the four sleeping bodies.  It landed on the muzzle of one, which caused him to shift.  The insect resumed its flight.  As it circled the closed eye of another beast, a paw waved it away.  The insect once again diverted course.  Another sudden movement had the insect flying into the bright sunlight.

Kurella shook her head; she then lifted her paw and scratched the inside of one ear.  Her eyes followed the insect's path.  "Why couldn't you let me sleep for another hour undisturbed?  Did you have to land in my ear?" 

She took a long relaxing stretch.  Kurella scanned the surrounding plateau as the last vestiges of sleep evaporated.  Based on the length of the shadows, she knew her next shift would begin with the sun at its hottest.  She checked the cord around her wrist as she calculated how many more times she would mount the wheel before she returned to the beach. 

"I'm not even halfway done, and I feel like I never left this place," she muttered.

She shifted her body to avoid contact with the other sleepers sharing the shady platform.  She groaned as her bare feet touched the hot ground, the heat seeping through her calloused feet.  Kurella pushed herself upright and stepped into the sunlight.  Her paw verified the presence of the noose she carried, grateful nobody tried stealing it like one squirrel attempted to do during her last rest period.  She shaded her eyes as a hot breeze ruffled the fur along her nude body. 

A dozen drums kept a steady beat.  An equal number of wheels turned as they drew water from deep underground.  The slaves within those wheels walked with their eyes glazed over as they marched in time to their drummer.  One vermin guard patrolled the area, her motions casual from the monotony of watching those who either worked or slept.

Kurella turned away from the all too familiar scene.  For the few moments left to her before her next shift, she needed a pleasant view, something other than the barren rocks scorched by a tropical sun.  With that thought in mind, she meandered across the plateau to the lone path leading down to their living quarters.  From this height, she could look out on a seascape that stretched to the horizon.

The water's deep blue contrasted with the lighter shade of the cloudless sky.  She glanced down into a valley filled with green fields.  It provided a pleasant, but stark contrast to the rocky ground where she stood.

Instead of the usual canoe floating off the pier, a seagoing vessel sat a short distance offshore.  The first one she ever saw that stopped at their island.  She searched for some clue to its purpose.  The remote beach didn't allow such a detailed examination, which frustrated her sense of curiosity.

Something moved along the path.  The distant creatures traveled far too fast.  She knew slaves never had the enthusiasm to race up, and those returning to the beach didn't possess much energy while descending.  Such an inconsistency roused her curiosity.  She waited.

Five creatures rounded a bend in the trail, visible for a short time.  Kurella's mind rejected what she saw.  She shook her head trying to clear it of any residual affects from an interrupted sleep.  Just as she convinced herself they didn't truly exist, the five creatures came into view as they reached the next switchback.  All doubt vanished like smoke upon a stiff wind.

She cupped her muzzle, and shouted down the hill, "Give 'em blood and vinegar."

The war cry of the Long Patrol echoed from below.  "Eulaliiiiaaaa!"

She stood rooted at the top of the trail wondering if such vivid images and sounds foretold madness brought on by a tropical sun.  Her eyes shifted to the final turn.  If the vision she witnessed proved real, the hares would soon reappear.  Kurella made a quick check behind her, pleased nobody had seen her leave the sleeping area.  If this turned into a cruel hallucination of a tired mind, better she experienced it alone.

The five hares emerged from around the last bend in the trail.  Each warrior withdrew his weapon while jogging up the final stretch.  Blades caught the sunlight, reflecting a golden fire that promised deliverance.  Without realizing what she did, Kurella rushed the lone officer.

Once her paws encircled the hare, what she feared illusion became reality.  Even the feel of the officer freeing himself of her grip confirmed their existence.  The other hares closed in around her while keeping a wary eye on the hilltop.  The officer offered her his canteen.  She drained it in one long pull.

He posed a series of questions about the vermin based atop the hill.  She replied as fast as he asked, though his expression showed he did not like her vague responses.  Without another word spoken, the hares charged up the trail, bursting onto the plateau like floodwaters released from a ruptured dam.  Kurella followed at a slower pace.  The first hare kick in the door to the building housing the off duty vermin guards.

Seconds later, the sound of furniture splintering and metal meeting metal echoed as the guards within fought the invading hares.  Three unarmed vermin tumbled out the window.  One hare raced out the door as he tried apprehending them.  All three reversed course.  Despite the soldier's plead for their surrender, they did not stop running when they reached the cliff's edge.

With the defeated guards disarmed, two hares circled the building as they followed the sound of drums.  One approached a vole pounding on a drum.  When Kurella realized what he intended to do, she called him back.  Her warning had both hares hesitate; they turned towards the officer who had followed them.

"You stop that drummer, and those inside the wheel will be injured," said Kurella.  "Let me do it the right way."

Kurella drew near the drummer, but from the rear.  She leaned down and whispered a command.  The drum's cadence changed until those inside moved at a fast walk.  She repeated her action with each drummer.

She stood by one wheel as the officer marched up to her.  Though his nostrils flared, his voice remained calm.  He hesitated a moment as other slaves moved from the sleeping platforms to the wheels, or relieved the drummers.  None of the slaves took any notice of the hares as they went about their duty without prompting.

"We came to free you, not to keep you slaves," the officer hissed.  "Dash it all.  I would hate seeing any of those beasts hurt.  There is no need for them to labor on those wheels."

Kurella gave a dismissive shrug.  "Our tanks have enough water for today.  This is the only way we can get more.  If you intend staying on this island, we must continue doing our duty.  Don't worry, at this pace there is no risk of injury."

Those within the wheel shifted as the drummer brought the wheel to a near stop.  Kurella slipped the noose over her neck and secured her tail to the other end.  The officer stopped her and pointed to a nearby hare.  The private joined the two slaves.  The drummer increased the beat until those inside marched at a brisk walk.

"I need you out here.  You know who we are and what the Long Patrol represents.  Tell these others we come as friends, not as new masters."

The officer followed Kurella as she gathered the off duty slaves.  She searched the crowd until she found the slave overseer.  After a hasty introduction, she suggested they work together keeping the wheels operating.  Kurella offered her firmest assurances that he had nothing to fear from the hare.  Together, the three entered the mess tent where they shared a meal. 

When the overseer raised the topic about work shifts halfway through the meal, Kurella decided she should leave them alone.  She saw no reason for her continual presence.  A heavy paw landed on her shoulder just as she stepped outside the tent.  She gazed into the eyes of a male badger who divided his attention between her and a thorough search of the plateau.  His smile and soothing voice confirmed their liberation.

"You're the first slave I've seen who isn't working, or sleeping.  I'm looking for a mouse named Kurella, and a squirrel named Firecrown.  Would you know if either of them is up here?"

"You're in luck, sir.  I'm Kurella.  I have no idea where they took Firecrown after we arrived."

The badger now gave her his full attention after he led her to one of the shaded sleeping platforms.  Kurella felt his eyes appraise her as she sat.  For the first time since her arrival, she realized she resembled something feral and not a civilized beast.  She first averted her eyes.  She knew she had no control over her appearance, and that gave her the courage to lift her eyes and hold her head high.  Kurella returned the badger's stare.

"I've been here maybe four or five months, and look at how much it changed me.  These unfortunates have known no other life.  It will take a long time for them to learn how to live as free beasts."  She shifted her gaze from the badger to the water wheels.  "Did you come all the way from Fiery Mountain just to find me?"

"My name is Bruno, and another badger inspired my quest.  You do know Tassel has been worried sick since you ran off to this island paradise?"  Bruno's paw patted her knee in a fatherly way.  His smile swept away all the memories of the terrible things that happened since her capture.

The absolute absurdity of his words snapped Kurella out of her introspective mood.  Then she remembered her pledge to another friend.  She pushed herself off the mat and asked if they could return to the beach.  The badger followed her to the trail as another squad of Long Patrol hares crested the plateau.

She recalled walking up the trail two nights back as a slave.  Kurella remembered fastening the noose about her neck and tail before mounting the wheel.  She wondered how many steps she took each shift, never moving but always afraid of falling.  Now, she walked down that same path, but as a freed creature. 

The sky appeared bluer, or was it her imagination?  Did the breeze feel more refreshing as she descended?  Had this trail ever been so easy to travel?  She smiled, her lips mouthing the answer.  Freedom gave her a new perspective of her surroundings.  She hugged Bruno as if he were her Badgermom, catching the boar badger unaware.  He returned her hug with a gentle squeeze.

As she crossed the beach, the aftermath of battle overwhelmed her senses.  Hares fed a funeral pyre with the bodies of vermin as if they were cords of wood.  The stench of burnt fur and flesh filled her nostrils.  Soldiers carried fallen warriors and those unfortunate slaves killed during the invasion with deep reverence, placing them in a series of graves.

Four hares lowered the body of the wildcat, Snarllyn, into a fresh grave.  They treated her with the same respect normally reserved for a fallen comrade.  Kurella approached the gravediggers as they performed this final service for her friend.

As one hare dropped the first shovelful of dirt, he spoke to the hare next to him.  "Those vermin archers nailed several of my friends when we stormed the beach.  Nobody could get past them.  I saw it, and still I don't believe it possible."

The second hare leaned on her shovel.  "Idiot, you forgot I was there too.  Our lieutenant almost ordered our retreat.  I cannot believe this wildcat charged a dozen vermin without a weapon.  I reached her first and held her paw as she died.  She appeared happy."

A third hare continued shoveling the dirt into the grave.  "Now that we know she was a slave, it doesn't seem so strange.  The thing that amazed me is what she yelled when she attacked those archers.  I swear I heard the word Redwall.  It's not possible, is it?"

"I wish she lived long enough for us to thank her," the fourth hare mused.  "She fought like a true warrior.  Without her gallantry, I believe none of these slaves would be free."

From behind the burial detail, Kurella's soft voice startled the reverent hares.  "She knew of Redwall, because I told her about it.  If she used that word as her battle cry, then you can be sure she was a good beast doing what needed to be done, regardless of the cost." 

Kurella remained standing by the grave as the four Long Patrol hares finished their assignment.  Bruno offered a comforting paw as the last shovelful landed.  They stood together as she offered a silent prayer for her departed friend.  She removed the noose she still wore, kissed it, and placed it on Snarllyn's final resting place.

"My duty to the dead is done; I must now attend to those living who need my services."  Kurella left the badger's side.  She retraced her steps to where the injured lingered.  She felt certain they would welcome another beast trained in the healing arts.

The bright sun shone in a cloudless sky.  A gentle breeze cooled all who wandered along the tropical shore.  But Kurella felt something different.  Within her mind the sky darkened.  The wind carried a winter's bite that chilled her to her very soul.

She stopped halfway between the living and the dead.  The tears she held back since this terrifying ordeal began trickled down her face.  Kurella felt Bruno's comforting paw holding her tight.  She recalled the reverence the Long Patrol showed a beast they considered vermin before today.  Snarllyn earned the respect due a brave warrior who died defending an honorable cause.  That thought made the tears fall even faster as she honored the memory of her friend.

While the hares offered guidance, they allowed the former slaves to organize themselves as they wished.  First, they needed to decide the fate of their former masters.  Some of the liberated slaves wanted them executed.  The most vocal provided graphic suggestions regarding the method.  An equally vocal minority wanted the two sides reconciled, the past forgotten as if it never happened.

Dusty tired of the debates after the first hour.  He wanted no part of the discussion.  He did not give an acorn if a former master faced the gallows, exile, or something between these two extremes.  Listening to the former slaves organize a governing body for the islands also held no interest. 

On the third day after their liberation, an interesting rumor circulated through the camp.  He dashed down to the docks, and approached a tall wolf guarding a ship's gangplank.  They exchanged words and Dusty raced back to the barracks.  There he found Bushface eagerly cleaning a hare's boot.  With a gentle touch, Dusty caught her attention.  He ordered her to leave everything.  Dusty grabbed his grooming kit and led Bushface back to the docks while positioning his hard hat atop his head.

The wolf he spoke with earlier stopped the wheaten-colored squirrel before he could pass.  "You understand we have too little sail for a long voyage.  If you come aboard, you may find yourself rowing to Fiery Mountain."

"You also said no chains, or whip.  Your captain will accept honest labor in exchange for our passage."

"Aye, I did say that, squirrel.  No chains will bind you, though you'll feel the whip if you disobey our captain, or any of his officers.  In that respect, you will be treated no different than anyone else sailing this vessel."  His eyes looked down at the grey squirrel standing by his side, who kept her muzzle pointed at the planked wharf.  "She works too.  Decks need scrubbing, and railings polished."

A hare poked his head over the sideboard.  He waved at Dusty before shouting down to the wolf.  "Would you mind ending your gabfest?  Captain said the tide is changing; he wants us underway within the hour."

Dusty, with Bushface clinging to his side, followed the wolf to the ship's main deck.  He joined a dozen hares as they stood along the railing watching the island recede.  As it faded from view, Dusty listened as all talked of home.  He felt a momentary regret at leaving his, but this island held no allure for him.  He would not miss it.

A paw tapped him on the shoulder.  When Dusty turned, he recognized the male hare that guarded them in the kitchen.  He glanced down at the plaster cast that encased his leg, uncertain what to say.  They again stared at the rolling sea, neither one bold enough to break the silence.  At last, the hare offered his name.  Dusty introduced himself, and his companion.  Once the island became a dirty smudge on the horizon, the hare leaned closer to him.

"Where you're headed, you'll need proper attire.  I know you see nothing wrong prancing about as you are, but it isn't civilized."

"And what would you have me do, Channar," inquired Dusty.  "All I own is a simple comb and brush I keep within this bag.  If I missed this ship, another will not come for three months.  I must leave while the weather in your homeland is warm.  Travel in winter holds no appeal, if the descriptions of that season are accurate."

The hare chuckled.  He asked the squirrel to follow him.  As Channar led the way below, the girl tagged along.  Her paw kept a tight grip on Dusty's hip as they followed a passageway aft.  As Dusty trailed the limping hare, the sound of drums grew louder. 

He shivered.  All his life his masters used the threat of rowing an oar as the ultimate punishment for any disobedience.  No one desired such a life, or sought it out.  Yet here he stood on a ship where his paws would soon experience that fate.  The hare beckoned him a third time, but his fears rooted him to the deck.  Only a supreme effort to conquer his fear allowed Dusty to follow the hare.

Channar held a door ajar until Dusty entered, but insisted the girl stay outside.  While the hare struggled with a heavy chest, Dusty noticed an opening in the wall behind him.  He poked his head through the hole where he could see a nervous Bushface leaning against the closed door.  He had no opportunity to soothe the girl's anxiety as Channar's voice drew Dusty's attention.

"Before we left Fiery Mountain, the captain stocked the ship with some replacement garments.  Figured anyone liberated might need them.  When we found out none of the slaves wore clothing, he kept this secret.  Our captain didn't have enough for everyone, and he did not intend outfitting some, while leaving the rest without.  Figured that might cause even more problems.  There should be something here that would fit a bloke like you."

The hare rummaged through the open chest.  Sometimes Channar lifted his head over the lid, staring at Dusty before he bent down again.  Whenever he disappeared beneath the open lid, Dusty could hear the hare muttering.  Channar circled the chest and held out a pair of trousers for Dusty's inspection.

His fingers rubbed the dark blue fabric.  Its course feel appealed to him as did the color.  Unsure what he should do next, he just held it.  The hare mimicked the act of putting the pants on, and Dusty copied his motions.  Before stepping back to inspect the squirrel, the hare helped him string his long tail through the rear vent.  Dusty felt strange having fabric rubbing his fur, but did not find the garments too restrictive.  Judging by the smile the hare gave him, the fit appealed to him as well.

"Methinks there is time enough for learning how to wear a shirt, or fasten a sandal."  The hare shook his head.  "Thought I stopped teaching such things when my youngest son turned three.  Let me find one more pair, since you'll need to change them if one becomes torn or dirty."

Something made a loud thud outside the room, and Dusty leaned out what would pass as a window if it faced the exterior.  Three doe hares crowded Bushface until her back pressed against the door.  One hare leaned down close to the grey squirrel, her paw pushing the squirrel's tail to one side.

"She's adorable, even if she isn't a hare," the doe cooed.  "Just about the same age as mine back home if I had to guess."

"A real cutie," agreed the second doe as she reached out to pet a frightened Bushface.  "I could squeeze her all day."

When Dusty stuck his head out the window, the third hare reacted to the movement.  "I see the story about us having a pair of former slaves aboard is true.  You must be the big brother that wolf told us about.  I'm glad somebody is caring for your needs as well, sir."

The second hare gave Dusty a quick glance before she started petting Bushface.  "This one must be his sister.  Hard believing them related since he is such a light shade of brown and she's a dark shade of grey."

The first hare laughed.  "With my silvery pelt, you wouldn't think me related to my father.  Colors have ways of blending that are sometimes hard to predict."  As she stroked Bushface's arm, she glanced at her two companions.  "Are you does thinking what I'm thinking?"

Each hare stared at Bushface like a hungry snake; they moved closer.  Dusty pleaded for them to leave her alone, but they crowded the small squirrel even more.  Bushface let out a frightened wail.  Dusty fumbled with the door latch as he struggled with the unfamiliar device.  The door opened. 

Halfway down the passageway, Bushface hung above the deck. One hare held her left arm, and a second had a firm grip on the right.  The third led her companions towards the bow.  With her feet never touching the deck, the mute squirrel could do nothing.  Her wide-eyed expression spurred Dusty as he gave chase. 

He lost sight of them when they made a turn.  As he reached the cross hallway, all three hares rushed into a room carrying a struggling Bushface.  They closed the door, leaving Dusty outside.  A feeling of dread washed over him.  His paws found the door secured from the inside and with no room for a charge, too firm to break.  He pressed his ear to the door.

One female yelped.  "She bit me.  Watch out, she's making for the porthole."

"Not to worry, I got it closed.  She'll not escape," another female yelled.

"Come on girls, how hard can it be controlling one toddler squirrel?"  The third female's voice sounded like an irate master.  Back home such a voice preceded the crack of a whip, which had Dusty wondering if the girl might be in real danger.

A rhythmic thump reminded Dusty that Channar moved at a slower pace due to his cast.  When the male hare reached Dusty, Channar motioned him away from the door.  He looked at the smiling hare, not sure what to do next.  A loud squeal sounded like a terrified Bushface did not help, as he envisioned dire things happening in the room.  He pounded on the door, his voice pleading for the girl's safe return. 

Channar leaned against the bulkhead.  "Those ladies mean no harm.  Let me give you a word of advice from one who has spent the last ten years living with a strong-willed female."  The hare's smile made Dusty curious, but his eyes darted to the door every time he heard an unidentifiable sound.  "You may rule outside your hutch, but inside, the lady commands."

"So what do I do now?  I'll wear the deck into sawdust waiting for them to come out."

Channar's face took on the same serious expression he wore when they first met topside.  "I saw fear in your eyes when we went aft.  I don't know what scares you so much, but you have to face your demon alone.  I suggest you do that while the ladies tend to your sister."

The hare turned to the nearest stairway.  Each time the plaster-encased foot hit the deck, it made a heavy thud.  Without giving Dusty a second look, he climbed the steps.  In the ensuing quiet, the drums challenged him.  He approached the stern until he came to a stairway.  His eyes closed as he listened to the beat.  When he opened them, he licked his lips as he tried calming his nerves.  He slid down the stairway railing to the rowing deck.

When he turned towards the bow, he found himself standing behind an otter drummer.  His paws rose and fell at a steady pace, with each fall heightening his panic.  Beyond the otter, a collection of woodlanders stretched out on both sides of the ship.  They sat on benches that faced him.  No guards patrolled the aisle between port and starboard rowers.  Dusty found it impossible to move.

He forced one foot forward.  He repeated the motion.  With his third step, Dusty moved beyond the otter drummer.  He stepped down the passageway between the two sides of rowers.  He studied the faces of those he passed.  They glanced his way, but then focused on the otter.  When Dusty reached the bow, he turned.  Most wore no shirt and not one had a mark on their back.  As he moved towards the stern, his eyes searched for chains, but found none.

He stopped three rows away from the drummer, too paralyzed with fear to advance any closer.  The nearest two woodlanders moved in time with the sound that scared him to his very core.  He fought the sudden urge to run while his heart thumped within his chest louder than the drum. 

Dusty asked the two crew beasts sitting closest to him to stop rowing, telling them he wanted to replace the hedgehog sitting by the aisle.  They complied, and the hedgehog patted the squirrel's shoulder as he left the bench.  Dusty stared at the empty spot.  He sat.  As he reached for the oar, his paws trembled.  Twice he tried, and twice his paws refused to close around the shaft. 

The other beast, a russet-colored male squirrel no older than him, remained silent as he watched.  Dusty closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his paws held the oar.  The male squirrel sitting next to him spoke softly.  Together they slid the oar outward.  They fell into the same rhythm as those sitting one row in front.  As they pulled the oar, Dusty waited for a chain to bind him, or a whip to strike.  His mind could not let go of his terror as he labored with the others.

Dusty pulled on the oar as the drumbeat commanded.  He concentrated on the drummer until a series of light chuckles washed over the rowers behind them.  Dusty's frightened mind tried grasping what the others found humorous in this living nightmare.  He stole a look down the aisle, expecting his worse fears would come to life.

When the former slave turned towards his partner, he saw what caused the laughter.  The diminutive figure of Bushface climbed onto the bench between the two rowers.  She placed her paws on the oar and mimicked his motions.  Dusty smiled at the girl in her new green dress, and she hid her face with her tail.  His misgivings evaporated when he heard her giggle.

All three squirrels continued rowing until the drummer gave the order to ship oars.  The sudden sideway shift of the oar knocked Bushface off her feet.  Dusty slammed his paw onto the squealing girl's back saving her from a hard spill onto the deck.  Bushface lay pinned across his knees.

From the row behind him, a hare leaned forward.  He tapped Dusty on the shoulder, his voice loud enough that all could hear.  "I say, no need spanking that tyke.  She's pulling her weight." 

Everyone laughed at the joke.  With a gentle touch, Dusty stood the girl upright on the bench.  He smoothed her dress while telling her how nice she looked.  His partner on the oar added his own compliments, which caused the girl to giggle while swiveling her hips.   

"Where will you and your sister go now that you're free," he inquired.

Dusty hesitated, wondering how these strangers would perceive his words.  "Six weeks ago, we did not even know the other existed.  Today, we are more than friends, and less than blood.  I cannot explain it any better than that.  As to where we will go, we seek something I fear doesn't exist, except in legends.  Have any of you heard tales of a place called Redwall Abbey?"

Silence followed his question.  Dusty tried reading their expressions, wondering if they considered him a fool for believing in such things.  Behind him, the hare laughed.  Then the woodlanders around him joined in until their merriment rippled outward.  Soon every beast on the deck seemed to be enjoying a joke at his expense.  The russet squirrel patted his leg while the others moved to the stairways.

"Hold both your paws up and splay all your fingers.  Before that many days have passed, you will be gazing upon Redwall Abbey."

Bruno awoke from a dreamless sleep.  With a flick of his paw, he shifted the flap of his tent to the side.  For a moment, he imagined this night sky as the same one over his homeland.  The constellations matched, the same moon hung in the heavens, yet this place felt different.  Where home held a nostalgic appeal, his present destination offered the prospect of something better.  Such pleasant thoughts chased sleep away.

He stepped outside and took a deep breath, enjoying the warmth of a late autumn night.  On the other side of the fire, their lone sentry now had a companion.  He understood their kinship, both warriors dedicated to their duty.  Bruno remembered how Major Eytomin entertained everyone last night with his stories.  He spoke of bravery without touching the fear battles foster.  For him, his mind fixated on the innocents that died.

He lifted the flap of the tent next to his.  One look at the mussed bedding showed Kurella had endured another restless night.  He remembered their voyage homeward.  The female mouse had terrible nightmares, and then spent the rest of that night pacing the upper deck until she fell into an exhausted sleep.  He tried talking to her, but she remained unreachable.

Bruno thought Kurella had found her sounding board with the warrior mouse, Jazzin.  They greeted each other like long lost friends when she first reached port.  The two spent that first night in the common room of an inn at the base of Fiery Mountain recalling their escapades at the Abbey until the innkeeper chased them back to their rooms.  Though they spoke of the distant past, they avoided the events since her capture.  Even Bruno could see that whatever sparks existed, her time in slavery had extinguished them.

He let the tent flap fall back into place as he glanced a second time in the direction of their sentries.  Jazzin stood next to the Long Patrol hare as they talked.  He spotted Kurella sitting near the feet of Redwall's champion warrior.

During their trip home, Jazzin confided to him that the girl had erected a wall he could not breach.  Though both shared the same number of years, she could not confide with her male companion about the time since Plintar.  Jazzin voiced his frustration at her stubborn refusal.  Major Eytomin recommended patience; give her time since the horrors of her captivity still weighed heavy on her mind.  Bruno could offer no better counsel.

A light flared to life within a neighboring tent.  Bruno meandered closer and lifted the flap.  The older of the two squirrels sat cross-legged under the lantern.  Dusty's brush swept the grey fur of the smaller squirrel before him.  Her small paw rubbed her eyes even as she tried suppressing a sleepy yawn.  Not wishing to disturb the girl's grooming, Bruno allowed the tent flap to fall back in place. 

He grinned at the memory of what happened yesterday morning when Dusty's growls became quite audible to those passing his tent.  The older squirrel found his footwear had a mind of its own and nothing he did could get the series of straps fastened in proper order.  It took the guidance of his younger companion to accomplish the task.  Something the elders teased Dusty about all day, much to the squirrel's chagrin.

Bruno found the older squirrel almost as anxious as him to reach Redwall.  Dusty chaffed at each delay after his ship docked.  The more he learned about the Abbey from those he met at the inn, the more impatient he grew.  Once they departed Fiery Mountain, Bruno assured him they were moving as fast as they could.  He needed to do no more than point to his grey companion when the sun reached its zenith.  Either Bruno or Dusty had to carry the sleeping squirrel exhausted by her long morning trek.

He stepped around the campfire, following the scent of fresh brewed tea.  Bruno helped himself to a steaming mug as everyone talked of home and any plans for the future.  When they heard a twig snap, all turned as one.  Dusty walked forward until he found an open space next to the fire.  He poured another mug while Bushface joined him.  The hare offered the mute girl a cooler cup.  She executed a deep bow before accepting it, which caused the hare major to laugh.

"A well behaved child," Major Eytomin said, "but I do wish she would stop acting like I'm her bloody master."

The brown squirrel stroked the girl's back.  From where Bruno sat, the girl's expression suggested she wanted to know if she did the right thing.  Dusty smiled.  The girl's face beamed with pride as she sat closer to him.  Bushface buried her muzzle in the mug she held.

Dusty kept rubbing one of the girl's ears as he turned to the major.  "I too find it hard not bowing to those I see as my superiors.  It is something beaten into us at an early age."  Dusty noticed how his inadvertent choice of wording disturbed the hare. 

Bruno didn't give the hare any chance to respond.  "Do you think we will reach the Abbey today?"

Major Eytomin threw the dregs of his cup into the fire where it hissed.  "These hills will take another three or four hours to cross.  An hour after that, we'll be at the gates.  So we should be there just after lunch but well before dinner, dependent on how many times we need to rest."

Bruno rubbed his chin.  "I'm thinking the others will be just as antsy to reach home as our young squirrel here.  What say we rouse the others and get an early start?  Maybe we can reach our destination before the sun gets too high."

Everybody bustled about the campsite as each beast prepared for departure.  When word spread that they would reach the Abbey later today, each camper moved faster.  As the sun peaked over the horizon, tents fell.  In rapid order, everyone awaited the Major's signal to move out. 

The sun passed its highest point, and the hills proved formidable to the weary travelers.  As they crested the next hilltop, all pointed as one to a building at the far edge of the forest.  Its reddish hue stood out; a stark contrast to the vibrant colors of an autumn forest and the deep green of cultivated fields.  Those traveling with Bruno cheered, knowing their long journey would soon end. 

Bushface stood beside Dusty.  She drew nearer, her expression displaying both anticipation and wonderment.  Bruno listened to the brown squirrel speak of Redwall as if he never really believed it existed until this moment. 

To Bruno, the abbey became the reality of a witch's prophecy.  He understood Dusty's joy since the squirrel displayed the same anticipation he experienced the first time he beheld Redwall Abbey.  Even the little one seemed energized by the prospect of visiting such a fabled place.

An abbey lookout must have seen them while they followed the road.  By the time they passed through the last bit of forest, bells tolled a merry series of notes.  Along the walls, a multitude of creatures waved colorful flags of every hue, shouting to friends that traveled with them.  Those working the fields stopped to clap and cheer as the travelers crossed the wooden bridge.  Many exchanged greetings with friends as they approached the wide opened gate.

A crowd surged out of the Abbey, unwilling to wait any longer.  The two hare teens Bruno met on his first day, led the other residents as they rushed out the gate and embraced their father.  Major Eytomin tried questioning them about their lack of correspondence, but the teens preferred learning more about their father's exploits.

Bruno smiled as Bushface clung to Dusty, her eyes drinking in the menagerie of woodlanders.  Some of the Abbey dibbuns ran through the crowd, drawing her attention to their antics.  Bushface kept pulling on Dusty's arm and pointing until Dusty finally swept her off her feet and sat her upon his shoulder.  From her high perch, she swiveled her head in an effort to take in everything at once.

Kurella took a position between him and her friend, Jazzin.  While the crowd swirled about them, a figure dressed in a green habit approached.  He maintained a dignified pace until he stood before the three of them.  Unlike the riotous voices around them, the father abbot spoke just loud enough that the three could hear him.

"So good seeing your quest proved successful, Bruno.  I know a certain lady badger will be most enthused at Kurella's return."  Father Hughnaught gave the mouse a fatherly kiss on her brow.  "As for you, young lady, there will be a special festival held in your honor tonight.  And talk about good fortune, we have a band of entertainers visiting us.  I'm sure I can convince them to give a repeat performance this evening."

Jazzin spoke when the mouse said nothing.  "Our mission is over.  I'm proud to report the slave auction is no more.  Lord Brisson said it might be another year before all of those stolen from their homes return, but it will happen.  It will just take time unraveling the records and tracking them down."

"And what of those who betrayed their fellow woodlanders for gold?" the father abbot asked.

"They will receive the justice due them," Bruno said.  "Count Delupo had a certain bartender and mouse flogged in public before he exiled them for not reporting such crimes.  As to the mastermind behind the spy ring, she fled the same day she received a letter from her sister, Zoranna.  The Count put his best bounty hunter on her trail.  For all I know, she might already be in custody."  Bruno's smile changed to a more serious expression.  "Her final fate might fit the crime, but harsh doesn't come close to describing what awaits Madame Sultakka."

One couple drew Bruno's attention.  He figured they had to be mates as neither strayed more than a step from the other.  Where everyone within the crowd showed a happy face, these two had a more frantic appearance.  They grabbed each traveler by the wrist, and asked one question.  With each creature that shook their head, their actions reflected a growing sense of anxiety.

At last, the couple made their way to their small group.  Though Bruno did not know their names, he saw the bandannas that identified them as one of the many members of the Pine Tar tribe, residing within the Abbey.  When they spotted Kurella, they ignored the father abbot and pushed their way closer until they confronted her.  The female grabbed the mouse's paw.

"You were captured with our son.  What can you tell us about him?"

Kurella tried prying her paw loose without success.  The female squirrel continued to squeeze the mouse's arm as she awaited the Kurella's response.  "We were together until we reached the island of Vratadoe.  I never saw him after that first day."

The squirrel's voice became even more frantic.  "But you're here.  That means the slaves are free.  Where is our son?  Why didn't he come home?  Tell us."

Bruno placed his paw on the female squirrel's shoulder.  "When we left those islands, everything was in shambles, the former slaves disorganized.  Your son might still be there, unaccounted for in the confusion of our invasion.  Since most of the fleet remained behind in case the vermin tried recapturing the islands, we had limited space for our return voyage.  He might have chosen to stay for a time to help those former slaves."

The female released Kurella as she nodded vigorously.  "Yes, that must be it.  Our son always did feel the call of duty.  He wouldn't come home if he thought he could help others.  The next ship, he'll return on the next ship."

Her companion guided his mate towards the open gates while she kept repeating her expectation that her son would return with the next ship.  They made their way through the crowd at a slow pace, their sad faces a counterpoint to all the merriment surrounding them.  Bruno pointed back at the couple as they entered the shady gateway. The father abbot remained silent until the two squirrels entered the Abbey. 

"The distraught female is Blossombranch, her mate is Flashtop.  No doubt, seeing Kurella free has them worried about their son, Firecrown.  I'll make sure those two attend tonight's festivities.  They need to know we haven't abandoned hope for their son's safe arrival."

A paw tapped Bruno's arm.  He turned.  The two young moles he escorted to the Abbey stood next to him.  He knelt so he could face the two former slaves at their eye level.  The girl held onto the paw of her brother as if she feared the crowd might spirit him beyond her reach.  Though she smiled, she appeared ill at ease around so many strangers.

"Sir, you said we would find a new home here with others our age.  Can we see this place?  If it pleases you to do so now."  Her muzzle dipped towards the ground as her eyes focused on Bruno's feet.

Bruno chuckled.  His paw mussed the girl's fur.  "You'll have to excuse us, Father Abbot.  I found these two on the same island as Kurella.  Since they have no elders to care for them, I brought them with me.  I'm wasting daylight standing here when I should be introducing them to Tassel."

Dusty gave a slight bow, cautious about spilling his younger companion from her perch.  "You'll have to excuse us as well.  Bruno tells me, we too will be under Tassel's care, so it would be best if we went with him."

He noticed how the three youngest members gawked at the marvels within the abbey as he led them to the main building.  As they drew closer, he realized something disturbed Dusty.  Instead of trying to drink in the sights, the older squirrel acted as if he saw nothing.  Bruno wondered what caused the sudden change.

Dusty placed Bushface on the top step before entering the building.  "I have a feeling tonight's festivities are going to be memorable in more ways than expected, and things here will never be the same."

Elders carried tables from Cavern Hole to the wide courtyard in front of the main building.  There they grunted and groaned as others directed their efforts.  Those not involved in moving furniture helped the visiting entertainers erect stages.  Ladies sat in circles weaving the many flowers the younger residents gathered into centerpieces for the tables.  Every resident Bruno passed pursued an activity.

As one of the honored guests, Bruno found himself chased off every chore.  His efforts at assisting the residents received a gentle rebuff until he retreated to the top of the outer wall.  From his high perch, the aligned tables formed a half circle.  In the middle of the wide space before these tables, the residents built a low-walled hearth stacked with firewood.  Beyond that, the main table sat on a raised platform. 

By the time shadows filled the stone courtyard, the area in front of the main building offered enough seating for all the residents.  Colorful flags and bright lamps hung over the tables like miniature fireflies.  The musicians tuned various instruments, their notes masking the many voices.  Actors made last minute changes as they prepared for the night's entertainment.

Sandals scraping across the stone battlement heralded the arrival of another beast.  After a quick check behind him, Bruno continued watching the preparations.  Tassel strolled over to the low wall and joined him.  They observed the workers for several moments before she spoke.

"Our father abbot asked me to make sure you wear your finest.  Since you are the one who found our future lady healer, he gave you the seat next to Kurella."

"Speaking of our guest of honor, how is she," he inquired.

Tassel grunted.  "We spent this entire afternoon discussing what happened.  My past life gives me insight others don't have; it helped.  I do believe her far too sensitive a beast; she wasn't ready to handle such open displays of cruelty.  Our future healer will need time to heal herself."

"How are your newest additions?"

Bruno stole a quick glance at Tassel, but she did not look at him.  Her muzzle kept pointing at the activity within the courtyard.  She remained quiet.  Just as he decided to repeat his question, she responded.

"This festival is providential.  Those two young moles feel so enthralled by the idea of a party they can attend as guest that neither one has asked why I wear a mask.  They still think of themselves as slaves, but I'm sure those two will adjust to freedom over time."

"And what of Dusty and his companion?"

"Dusty shows the maturity of an elder.  What he needs is a task worthy of that title.  I will discuss that with the Father Abbot tomorrow.  As to Bushface, she will be a challenge, but I'm up to it."

Bruno gave the masked badger a slight head bob before he departed.  A quick run to his room, and in a matter of moments, he felt ready to face the crowd.  As he made his final visual inspection, one of the Abbey's residents knocked on his door.  Together, they strolled over to the main building where he joined the other guests who would share the main table.

After a series of instructions from a female vole, Bruno stood in line.  The elder kept the door open just wide enough that she could see outside, while preventing anyone from slipping past her.  At last, she tapped the Father Abbot's shoulder and the old woodchuck exited the building dressed in his best green habit.  Bruno listened to the fanfare and the loud applause from the gathered residents.

In quick order, the female vole released the others.  Major Eytomin marched out in his finest dress uniform.  Darlow followed a few seconds later attired in a green dress that matched her father's formal wear.  Kurella needed a firm push out the door, and judging by the vole's hissing, dawdled too long.  She then approached Bruno.

"You are to take the next open seat on the platform.  Jazzin will follow you once you reach the table.  Remain standing until the Father Abbot tells everyone to sit."

She no sooner finished her instructions than she opened the door, her eyes daring him to hesitate.  Bruno knew better than to fight a determined female, regardless of their species.  He stepped outside.  The father abbot's secretary guided him to his seat while another beast announced his name.  Like the other honored guests, his arrival came with a musical introduction, and the applause of the gathered residents.

Once the head table's guests sat, the kitchen staff relayed food to the tables.  Music floated over the crowd as musicians played a series of merry tunes.  Laughter from the many tables sometimes overwhelmed the melodies as everyone got into the festive mood.  As the first course ended, Father Hughnaught rose.  He waited while the crowd shifted from boisterous to a respectful silence.

"Nine months ago, slavers raided villages all along the western region.  Despite the best efforts of the Long Patrol, they struck where, and when, they pleased.  Five months ago, they attacked the village of Plintar, capturing our apprentice healer, Kurella.  Tonight's festivities celebrate her safe return."

When the cheering stopped, the Father Abbot continued.  "It grieves me that her return came at such a high price.  We lost many brave comrades in this campaign, but we succeeded.  The raiders died within our walls, the vermin ship sails no more, and those enslaved are free."

The Father Abbot turned towards Major Eytomin.  The hare rose after the woodchuck took his seat.  The hare waited.  The silence had the crowd leaning forward in anticipation.  With a strong voice, he spoke.  His written speech remained unread next to his mug.

"We owe our success to one brave lady who paid the ultimate price.  Thanks to her, we learned about an espionage ring within our lands that assisted the vermin for gold.  That girl provided information about future raids, which safeguarded others.  Without her help, The Red Sharkeye would still be sailing unimpeded, and the slave auctions would continue uninterrupted."

Major Eytomin hesitated; his muzzle ceased its sweep of the assembled beasts.  The hare took a deep breath while staring at his untouched mug.  He again faced the crowd, but his eyes remained focused on one side of his audience.

"To Foremole, and his wife Loamripper, I have been asked to extend the King's deepest condolences for your loss.  Terranoir was a true hero.  Your daughter will be forever remembered for her bravery."

When the major again took his seat, Kurella stood.  She looked around the assembled multitude and told them of a slave who fought and died for freedom shouting the word Redwall.  She wiped a stray tear off her muzzle.  Though others called her vermin, Kurella honored her friend by speaking the name Snarllyn with the same reverence reserved for any fallen warrior.  The crowd maintained a respectful silence until their guest of honor returned to her seat.

After a short pause, Jazzin spoke of a slave he met in battle.  Though bound in chains, she inspired others to fight for their freedom.  He told the story of one female who fought against impossible odds for the benefit of others.  Jazzin's voice cracked when he came to the part where the vole thought him the legendary warrior, Martin.

"With your kind permission, Father Abbot, I would like the woodworker's shop to be renamed in her honor.  From this day forward, we shall know it as Splinters Haven.  May her name be inscribed as one that shall forever be honored, whenever we recall Redwall's fallen heroes."

A thunderous applause punctuated his request.  Jazzin smiled.  From his seat, Bruno heard the warrior mouse toast the memory of his father and Splinters.  Like the mouse, he hoped both could find eternal rest with kindred spirits within Dark Forest.

The entertainers started one of their shows as soon as Redwall's champion warrior took his seat.  Dibbuns and elders alike sat transfixed as the actors performed magic tricks.  The performers declared a short intermission and the chef announced another round of culinary delights.  Every beast applauded.

As the servers finished distributing the next course, Dusty rose from the table where Tassel sat.  Dressed in a dark red outfit, the squirrel approached the open space.  Dusty stepped forward like a visiting dignitary with every strand of his wheaten fur displaying an impeccable sheen.  Standing before the head table, he gave a deep bow as he awaited permission to speak.

Bruno wondered what would cause such a serious expression on one who seemed so jovial during his trip.  Dusty's solemn demeanor crumbled when another squirrel squirmed out of Tassel's arms.  Bushface rushed to Dusty's side, and without prompting, knelt facing the head table.  With her tail tucked, she laid there shivering as if whatever judgment the father abbot passed on Dusty would also affect her.

The father abbot stood, asking for quiet as one of their guests wished to speak.  Residents focused their eyes on the brown squirrel as he lifted the small child off the ground.  From his seat, Bruno could just make out Dusty's words as he spoke to his young companion while everyone waited.

"This isn't something you must do, Bushface.  What I say could be taken wrong, I would not want you hurt because of me."

Bushface held out her paws and waited until Dusty gave her a gentle hug.  When he stood, the older squirrel's eyes scanned the crowd that had grown so quiet.  One look at his small companion, and Dusty assumed the pose of a soldier at parade rest.  His voice no longer quivered. 

"I speak to those who are the parents of Firecrown.  Since his arrival at the slave camp, we have been companions.  Perhaps we were even friends; though that is something I will never know.  What I do know is that I called your son a fraud.  Every time he spoke of a place where all lived in peace, where all shared the work, and where there was time for play, I knew he lied.

"Firecrown spoke of values I never believed anyone possessed in the real world.  He spoke of kindness, but I knew others would take advantage of anyone so foolish.  He spoke of generosity, but others would steal all that you have, if given the chance.  He spoke of hope, but I could not envision anything better than a life of slavery.  He spoke of love, and I laughed at the idea of one creature caring for another without the expectation of gain."

Dusty paused.  An eerie quiet grew as the squirrel faced the crowd.  Bushface leaned against his hip.  He reached down, rubbing her ear.  The older squirrel took a deep breath before he continued.

"Firecrown did not just say those words.  He lived them.  If another became sick or injured, he did their job as well as his.  When our masters denied somebody food he gave whatever he had to them, even when it meant going hungry.  He told us tales of adventure, and they gave us much pleasure.  Be proud of your son, for he never surrendered his spirit to our masters.

"Six weeks before our rescue, disaster struck our mine.  A pickaxe must have loosened a plug, and when removed, the tunnels flooded.  The rushing water swept support beams away and sections of the mine collapsed.  Firecrown could have saved himself at any time by climbing the main shaft up to the next level.  Instead, he remained behind helping others towards safety.  By the time the mine tunnel disintegrated, he had saved at least ten others from certain death.  It is my saddest duty to inform you that he could not save himself.  Firecrown drowned deep within the lightless mines.

"Because of his example, I challenged my masters to protect this little one.  From Firecrown, I learned such noble virtues exist.  Now I ... no, now we beseech you, the parents of Firecrown.  Accept us as your own.  Teach us as you taught your son.  In this way, we can both honor his memory, and give his brave sacrifice true meaning."

From a back table that seemed so distant from the festive mood of the others, two creatures stirred.  The two distraught squirrels Bruno met earlier, stood.  The female leaned on her husband's arm.  They stopped a few paces past the table.  The husband patted his mate's arm as they stood together.  Her soft crying remained audible to Bruno.

The male's voice carried such sadness that every beast felt his pain.  "We always held out hope, even after Kurella's return, but that hope is now gone forever.  You know our son's fate.  That knowledge, as terrible as it is, allows us closure.  Though your words have broken our hearts, we are grateful.  We can move on with our lives."

Flashtop held onto his wife's paw, as he looked deep into her weepy eyes.  He whispered something first and she replied before the male squirrel continued.  "Join us at our table, both of you.  Let us begin a new life together in memory of a beloved son, and a steadfast friend."

Blossombranch chimed in; her voice sounded so gentle though all knew her heart must ached from the loss of her only son.  "Both of you will find my mate a loving father, and I shall be a devoted momma."

Dusty took a step towards the adult squirrels.  A high-pitched wail pierced what had been a quiet night.  Even the crickets ceased their chirping. 

"Momma!" 

Back where Dusty stood when he spoke of Firecrown, his young companion remained.  Bushface's expression exhibited a private terror while she kept screaming that one word.  Her eyes focused on the fire as if she saw something within the flames no other beast could see, or fathom.

Blossombranch stepped further into the open space.  She beckoned the small child with her softest voice as she called, "Momma's here." 

Firelight reflected off the tear tracks that cascaded down the side of the young squirrel's face.  Each time Blossombranch called, the girl's eyes grew wider.  A third time the older female beckoned. 

Bushface looked away from the fire, her head turning in every direction.  She spun in place, her frantic eyes searching.  Again, the elder called.  The young squirrel charged around the fire until she saw the kneeling female, paws outstretched.  She did not stop until she was in the embrace of the older female.  Both parents tried to comfort the trembling girl by kissing her forehead and holding her close.  Bushface buried her muzzle deep within the folds of Blossombranch's dress.

Dusty approached, his paw reaching out to the child he always thought mute.  He hesitated, afraid to disturb Blossombranch as she held the bawling dibbun.  Both elders looked at Dusty who stood transfixed, uncertain what he should do.  Flashtop reached out to Dusty, drawing him into the embrace of his mate.  Together, the four became one.

Loamripper placed her paw atop her husband's.  "I've changed my mind.  I'll not wait until morning.  That filthy beast will not have them for even a single night."

Foremole tried soothing his irate mate.  "If the Father Abbot said he would talk to her on our behalf, I'm sure it's as good as done.  She cannot go against his orders, regardless of how she feels about us."

She stood, her eyes pleading with her mate.  Foremole joined her.  Husband and wife circled the other tables.  She held onto the paw of her mate as they moved past the other celebrants who sat spellbound by a minstrel singing a song about another gallant quest from long ago.  As they walked, Foremole realized how nervous his mate must feel since she kept squeezing his paw for reassurance.

At last, they reached their objective.  Both moles stood near the badgermom's table, paw in paw.  The couple moved closer.  When Tassel turned in their direction, the youngsters sitting at the table also faced them.   Loamripper ignored everyone as she approached the two young moles who sat next to the masked badger.  The female mole dropped to one knee as she gazed into their eyes.

"My husband and I planned on making our intentions known to you tomorrow, but now seems a more fitting time.  We are offering you a new home with us as your parents.  This doesn't mean we have forgotten our beloved child, Terranoir.  What it does mean is that we want to commemorate her memory by offering the two of you what she had."

Before the dibbun moles could respond, Badgermom Tassel commented.  "She speaks the truth children.  When you entered Redwall this afternoon, Foremole and Loamripper asked about your adoption."

Loamripper's voice registered a bit deeper than usual.  "Would you oppose us badger?"

"Oppose you," Tassel said with a startled voice.  "Adoption by a loving couple of their species is something I desire for every child under my care.  Life with parents devoted to their welfare is what any child deserves.  Their happiness is my highest priority."

The dibbuns shifted their eyes from Tassel to the adult moles.  The boy and the girl appeared a bit confused as they pondered the idea of parents versus guardian.  When neither made an immediate response, Loamripper stood, and took a step back.  She moved so close to him that they touched.  With every second that passed, Foremole felt her body shiver and suspected it had nothing to do with the chilled night air.  She gripped his paw as they waited for the two youngsters to decide.

The boy spoke first, his voice quivering.  He tried to make eye contact with either elder, but then dipped his head. 

"Why do you ask me?  I am but six autumns old, and shall be seven with the next full moon.  As slaves, nobody asked, they ordered.  Is it not the same here?"

His sister chimed in.  Though she tried to hold her head higher than her brother did, Foremole heard the same tremor in her voice.  The wind carried her scent, which betrayed the depths of her fear. 

"I am no older, and no wiser.  How am I to choose what is best?"

Loamripper answered the children, keeping her voice low, but friendly.  "We could make this change in your life without your consent.  Such is the power of elders over dibbuns.  Join us and learn the values our daughter believed worth her life.  Help us move on from a tragedy no parent should ever suffer."

The two youngsters rose almost as one.  They knelt before the two older moles and crossed their wrists before them.  Holding their arms towards Foremole and Loamripper, they offered themselves as willing slaves, swearing their unconditional obedience.  They continued holding out their crossed arms while pressing their heads to the ground before the two adult moles.

He sensed his rage growing stronger while his mind replayed their actions.  He balled his fist; he shook more than his mate did a few seconds earlier.  He recoiled.  Foremole latched onto his wife's arm with such a tight grip that Loamripper gasped.

The two dibbuns waited, but he did not give them an immediate reply.  Brother and sister raised their muzzles off the dirt and glanced at the elders.  Each of them kept their ears back and their tails tucked.  Foremole maintained a low voice, but he could not hide his anger.

"My wife and I seek two children that will see us as loving parents, not as their masters.  Perhaps we were wrong to make such an offer."

The sister's voice froze both adults.  She cried out their names.  Foremole refused to acknowledge her plea.  He tried steering his wife back to their table, but she would not move. 

Loamripper interposed her body between him and the dibbuns that still awaited some reply.  She kept her voice so low that he had to bring his head closer to hers.

"Sodroof, open your heart.  Your ears deceive you."

"You haven't used my given name since I became Foremole."

"It wasn't just your skills at building that earned you that title.  Back then, you had a heart that listened.  Look at those two youngsters.  They need us, now, more than ever."

Though the girl raised her head off the ground, she did not gaze at either elder.  Foremole could hear her whimper as she called them by name.

"Please don't leave us.  We don't understand the proper way to accept your offer, so we did it the way we learned back home.  Tell us what we must do if we are to become your property."

His fury grew even stronger, despite the honesty of the girl's plea.  He leaned closer to his wife so the two children could not hear his words.  "They have no idea how insulting their words are to me.  She still thinks we want them as our slaves." 

"The moon has not gone full cycle since they became free, and yet you expect them to understand the difference between a master, and a parent?  They sense your anger and don't know why.  When we lost our daughter, you blamed yourself.  Please don't take it out on two innocent children."

He gazed past his mate.  He saw two children who still knelt before them.  Their eyes showed the sincerity behind their confusion.  For the briefest moment, he saw tears flowing down their muzzles.  His anger waned.

"Perhaps I expect too much from dibbuns so young."  Foremole leaned closer to his mate.  "I have forgotten their past in my zeal to have a family once more.  They did nothing wrong.  Will they forgive me?"

Loamripper patted his arm as she faced the two youngsters.  She used her softest voice while beckoning the two closer.  "Come to us of your own free will.  Greet us as any child would a beloved elder."

The two youths stood up and trotted over to them.  They hesitated just beyond Foremole's reach.  They drew nearer, and gave him a timorous hug.  When they hugged him, it filled him with such joy.  He dropped to his knees, embracing the youngsters.  One look at his mate and he knew she too experienced the kind of happiness they thought forever lost when they buried their daughter.

He took his wife's paw as they returned to their table.  Behind him, the two children followed.  They stood erect, their muzzles pointed at the ground.  Each kept their paws crossed at their wrist.  Two obedient slaves followed their masters.  Once again, Foremole's felt his rage grow.  His wife's words came back to him, and his anger disappeared.

* * *


While Bruno enjoyed a dance with Tassel, he learned the fate of the two moles he escorted to the Abbey.  When he rejoined the others at the head table, his reported the pleasant news.  Every beast at the head table raised their mug in salute to the adoption.

Major Eytomin turned to him as the performers started another show.  "I can understand you wanting to dance with a female of your species, though I do find your growing infatuation with her quite disturbing.  Please tell me you're not smitten by that foul beast.  How can such an honorable fellow find her company enjoyable?"

Darlow jumped to Tassel's defense.  "Are you still looking for vengeance?  Perhaps she did go too far when she punished us, but we have forgiven her.  We tried telling you that this afternoon, but you ignored everything we said if it sounded too much like a compliment."

"The law has declared her vermin because of her crimes.  I've pledged my life to ridding our land of such ilk."  The older hare's voice took on a hard edge.  "What she did to the two of you only proves it.  She had no cause to act that way.  If this abbey were under our good king's jurisdiction, I would personally mount her severed head on the longest pike I could find and dump it in the nearest dung pile."

The father Abbot held up his paw for silence, claiming he couldn't hear the actors.  With the argument between the two hares deferred, those at the head table leaned back in their chairs enjoying the show.  Good food and drink soon turned the conversation to the quality of the performance.

As the evening wore on, those residents with younger children withdrew.  Elderly couples also called it a night in spite of the many games and activities offered.  Even Kurella begged the Father Abbot's indulgence as she quietly slipped away for a good night's sleep.

With so many gone, Bruno had no trouble hearing the female badger.  As the musicians took another rest, Tassel's paw lightly rapped the tabletop, rousing those who had again fallen asleep.  A chorus of voices argued with her that they wanted to stay.  She had Markus awaken those nearest him while she did the same.  Despite sleepy protests to the contrary, she ordered everyone back to the dormitory.

Tassel stood.  Bruno interrupted the Father Abbot's discussion with the hare major.  As Father Hughnaught turned, Bruno slid out of his chair.  His eyes kept watching Tassel herding her young charges.  "Father Abbot, I do hope you will wish me good fortune."

He jogged around the head table.  Bruno cut across the open courtyard and intercepted the Badgermom.  He seized her arm and pulled her back towards the head table.  When her sleepy charges followed like sheep, Bruno held his palm out indicating they should remain where they stood.

Bruno led Tassel close to the fire at the center of the open area.  Before she could react, he pulled her right glove off her wrist and dropped it to the ground.  As his paws reached for the drawstring on her hood, Tassel reacted by slapping his paw away.

Bruno trapped both her wrists in one paw and held them tight.  With his free paw, he admonished her with the waggling of his finger.  With an ever so gentle touch, he untied her hood and slipped it off her head.  Tassel tried to hide her face.

"The night is dark and the fire too low.  None can see you, but me."

Bruno pushed her muzzle to the side so that he stared into the disfigured right side of her face.  He seized her right paw in both of his and dropped to one knee.  His firm voice carried to every table.

"Last time we spoke and the moon was full, I asked for your paw in marriage.  You set several conditions to my proposal, no doubt hoping I would refuse.  Before all who are assembled here, I hereby accept your terms, and again ask that you take me, with all my faults, as your mate."

Tassel turned to face to the head table, ignoring Bruno, who stood before her.  The woodchuck remained in his chair.  He sipped some of his wine.  Like Bruno, he waited for some response.  When none came, he laughed.

"Perhaps I am the ultimate authority within these walls, but not for something that involves the heart of two lovers.  Decide for yourself, old girl.  I'll support whatever course you choose."

"Deny her," growled the hare.  "The bloody fool has no idea what he is doing."

Tassel looked at Bruno.  "He's right.  If we marry, you will be forever bound to this place.  My reputation will tarnish your good name.  I offer you so little.  Are you certain I am your choice for a mate?"

Bruno said not a word.  Pulling her paw down, he kissed the bare patch of scarred skin that encircled her wrist.  He then stood and kissed her once on each cheek and once on the forehead before he again stared into her right eye.  With an unwavering patience, he awaited her answer.

Tears coursed down her face.  Unable to say anything, she nodded.  In seconds, the orphans surrounded them.  They rushed both badgers, not sure which they should hug first.  From some of the tables scattered about, there came the sound of light clapping.

Major Eytomin stood so fast his tankard clattered to the ground.  His paw encircled his daughter's arm as he pulled her from her chair.

"Your schooling here is done.  I'll not allow either of my children to stay some place that coddles vermin.  Markus, we leave within the hour.  Get over here."

Markus made no move to leave the badgers.  Darlow yanked her paw free of her father's grip.  She returned to her chair at the head table, rubbing her wrist where her father held her but a second earlier.

"I am no longer a baby or some private you can command" Darlow growled.  "Mother believes our education too important, which is why we're here.  When the school year ends, pull us out if that is your wish, but I intend staying long enough to see what happens next."

"You dare use such a disrespectful tone of voice with me.  Apologize, or I shall give you a thrashing like none you have ever experienced before this day, young lady."

"And you have the nerve to call her vermin?  Neither of you ever raised a paw to us in the past because of our actions, but you will if we don't accept your opinion.  You're no better than the vermin you claim she is."

Bruno and Tassel looked at the main table as the voices of the two hares rose to a shout.  When the major charged the main table, his paws became fists ready to strike.  Darlow never moved.  At the last moment, Major Eytomin must have sensed how everyone stared at him.  The older hare lowered his arm, pivoted on his heel, and without a backward glance, marched back to the main building.

In the awkward silence that followed his departure, Bruno pointed to the Abbey.  Tassel nodded, and they led the youngsters to the dormitory.  For them, the party had ended.



* * *

As Badgermom Tassel, Bruno, and the gaggle of young woodlanders made their way across the courtyard, Darlow leaned closer to Father Hughnaught.

"You know, I do think we need to rename this festival.  So many good things have happened.  Instead of calling it the Festival of Return, what say we rename it the Festival of Many Joys?"

Smiling and nodding in unison, the two celebrants clicked tankards, one filled with October Ale and the other with strawberry fizz, toasting the latest betrothal.

Bruno's sleep ended when several young voices invaded the quiet of his room.  They hissed like a mass of snakes.  He ignored the noise when it stopped as fast as it started.  A few seconds later, he heard a grunt followed by another round of hissing.

He opened his eyes.  Tassel's four youngest charges scurried around his small room unaware that he saw them.  Some had their paws filled with the garments that had hung within his closet.  Others held items snatched from his bedside chest that now hung open.  The youngest clutched his broadsword.

"I'll assume there is some reasonable explanation as to what you dibbuns are doing in my room."

The children gave a slight jump when his soft voice echoed within the small space.  One of the girls let out a startled squeal when she faced him.  Those closest to the door darted outside for a few seconds before peering back inside when nothing happened.  Their eyes displayed a cautious but curious look as several slipped back into the cramped room.

One female vole approached Bruno, though she kept far enough back that she remained out of his reach.  "You're leaving, and we're here to see you out of this abbey."

The young girl displayed such a serious expression that Bruno fought a sudden urge to laugh.  "Tassel and I have been discussing wedding plans for the last seven days, and now you dibbuns are going to evict me?"

When she nodded and several of the others mirrored her actions, he lost all self-control.  Bruno laughed.  Though he smiled, he ordered everyone out of his room.  A few hesitated until he promised to do whatever they wanted if they allowed him to dress.  All of the dibbuns raced outside except for the vole that had spoken to him.  As she backed out, she closed the door.

Bruno rummaged through the disarrayed clothes the children dropped when he startled them.  Once dressed, he folded everything else and laid it on the bed.  He opened the door, and the children raced into his room a second time.  Like vultures at a fresh carcass, they divvied up his possessions among them.

Flashfoot struggled with his weapon.  Bruno relieved the young squirrel of the burden as he slung the sword onto his back.  He watched Flashfoot's facial expression change from determination to dejection.  Bruno slid the sheathed weapon off his back, adjusting the strap to its shortest length.  He draped it over the squirrel's shoulder.  The boy's smile eclipsed the sun in brightness.

All of Tassel's young wards complained about Flashfoot's slow pace.  Each time Bruno called a halt, they watched the squirrel dragging a sheathed sword longer than he was tall.  If any of the others offered a helping paw, Flashfoot snarled.  Elders they passed grinned at the youngster's as he struggled with the heavy weapon.

The group eventually made it beyond Redwall's outer gates.  There, the rest of Tassel's youngsters stood next to a large tent.  Sarweed, Tassel's eldest charge, supervised the others as they placed his possessions inside.  Once Flashfoot shucked off the broadsword, the mouse approached Bruno, her expression grave.

"You will remain here.  The guards will bar your return until the day of the wedding.  We shall serve your meals here, so you'll not have any reason to enter the Abbey."  Her face relaxed into a wide grin.  "We understand it is considered bad luck to view the bride in her wedding gown before the ceremony, and we're taking no chances on that happening."

As the children withdrew, the female woodchuck Nassella dawdled.  Before Bruno had an opportunity to speak, two male woodchucks exited the main gate and made straight for him.  The older male used a cane as the young male lugged several bolts of fabric.  The girl raced toward them, offering her assistance.

The elder leaned on his cane as he eyed the badger.  "Redwall's tailor said his current work load doesn't allow him time for special projects that have to be rushed.  Fortunately, I was the local tailor for Quagland.  Let's get started, shall we?"

For the next hour, Bruno submitted to the elder's commands.  Both the boy and girl hurried to fulfill his orders as they recorded measurements and displayed different fabrics.  With the work done and the cloth selected, the elder sent both youngsters back to his workshop.  He waited until the two dibbuns disappeared within the main gate before speaking to Bruno.

"My wife and I lost our baby daughter to those slavers when that fox gutted her while we watched, helpless to stop him.  Then I took a spear that left me crippled.  Without Tassel's help, those slavers would have killed all three of us."

"So you do this as a way of repaying her?"

The woodchuck shook his head.  "In part, maybe.  Nassella has been such a great help to us since that day, and she thinks the world revolves around Tassel.  Seems only fitting we help her make her Mother T happy." 

The tailor laughed.  "Redwall's resident tailor now talks of retirement, my son spends his free time with the scribes, and my wife adores Nassella.  When winter comes, we shall adopt her.  Keep it a secret; we have it planned as a special surprise."

Bruno assured him he would say nothing.  Over the next five days, the tailor frequented the badger at his tent home.  Both youngsters did whatever they could, helping the elder as he made the necessary alterations.  When the boy delivered the finished suit the day before the wedding, Bruno thanked him and watched as he ran back inside the gate with Nassella at his side.

He examined his outfit, a well-tailored suit colored ashen grey.  The collar and cuffs had a ruffled, antique-white lace that gave the male badger's bright white fur a softer look.  His matching grey trousers came down to the top of his high-gloss polished leather boots.  While he modeled the outfit, females working in the nearby field shouted out several complimentary comments about his finery.

The next morning, Tabeston came dressed in a suit that matched his.  Bruno smiled as his former traveling companion tried to maintain a serious demeanor while he ushered Bruno to the Abbey's main building.  As they walked between the outer and inner gate, the warriors of the Pine Tar tribe formed an honor guard on either side of the connecting tunnel.  Each squirrel snapped to attention as Bruno passed.  Captain Karteel held his salute until he acknowledged him with a slight bow.

Inside the Abbey, the groom and his best beast proceeded straight to the Tapestry Room.  There, Father Hughnaught waited.  As Bruno strolled into the large room, he noted how few residents attended.  A female hedgehog he remembered sitting at Tassel's table held a basket filled with rose petals, her face showing a less than joyous expression.  Before he passed her, she tapped his arm.

"Most here have called Tassel mother at one time.  Many of the others we invited said they wouldn't come to a vermin wedding."

Bruno saw her pout and hesitated.  He leaned down so he could keep his response as private as her initial comment.  "Then it is their loss, not ours."  The girl's smile returned as the badger moved to the opposite end of the room.

Tassel arrived.  She stood in the doorway behind her flower girl.  Bruno found Tassel's eggshell-white gown stunning.  Her mask, gloves and stockings were of a grey color that matched Bruno's outfit.  A white lace veil covered her head while a matching train trailed down her back.  The vole who evicted him stood at the end, holding it aloft.

The female badger approached them with a regal grace.  The bride held her head high.  As the masked badger drew nearer, Bruno noted the lace pattern displayed a series of light delicate chains running the full length of the train.

Bruno bade the Father Abbot to delay the ceremony for a moment.  He lifted Tassel's headpiece and eased her mask off her head.  He offered Tassel a comb from his inside pocket while Tabeston fetched a small looking glass. 

"Your flower girl said you cared for most of those here.  All will only see a beautiful bride.  There is no reason why you should hide your face on this special day."

Tassel combed her facial fur.  Bruno once again placed the veil and train on her head.  Before he took her paw, he moved to her right side.  He smiled at his bride, noting how she first tried hiding her disfigured face with her paw.  Tassel giggled.

"I'll not be wearing this mask every hour of my life.  As you said, most of those here know my face, and something tells me it doesn't matter to you."

The Father Abbot raised his paw and the guests quieted.  A quartet of Tassel's youngsters serenaded everyone as they awaited the exchange of vows.  Even Darlow sang a solo ballad about two lovers during the exchange of rings.  When the master of ceremonies pronounced Bruno and Tassel a mated pair, the newlyweds kissed.  The audience joined the choir in a rousing song of joy.

Father Hughnaught leaned closer to the new couple.  "I regret there will be no bells.  Our bell keeper said emergency repairs were scheduled for today, and he forgot about this wedding."

"I know the vole who tends to them," said Tassel.  "During the battle with those slavers, I faced a terrible decision.  I could guard his mate's back or help the defenseless slaves.  It is no secret he blames me for her death."

Bruno leaned closed to his mate's ear.  "She was a warrior doing her duty.  If your places were reversed, she would have done the same.  Let's not have such gloomy thoughts."

Tassel nodded.  "I'll always be haunted by my choice, wondering if I did the right thing.  I'll not let him ruin such a beautiful ceremony on this special day.  Within my mind, I hear those bells ringing loud and clear."

As the wedding feast wound down, the newlyweds prepared to return to the dormitory.  Markus cornered the new couple as they spoke with Father Hughnaught. 

"Honeymoons must be spent somewhere other than home.  What say you hole up inside one of the towers?  The uppermost room houses a dozen officers during battle.  They should prove quite spacious for two badgers.  I bet you would love one on the east side so you can enjoy the rising sun."

Henrietta's voice interrupted whatever response Tassel had.  "Markus told me about reserving the tower, so my mate and I will watch your youngsters.  Consider it an additional wedding gift from us."

"An excellent suggestion," said the Father Abbot.  "If you bar the battlement doors from the inside, you will be guaranteed privacy.  Stay as long as you wish, I'm sure Henrietta and her mate can handle those youngsters of yours."

Markus led the two newlyweds across the night-shrouded courtyard to the tower.  He followed the newlyweds to the uppermost room and stood outside.  Bruno cleared his throat and pointed down.  The hare caught the less than subtle hint.

"I hoped our father abbot would accept my suggestion.  I left the two of you a special wedding gift by the bed."  With that, the hare meandered down the stairs while humming the notes of a bawdy love song loud enough that Bruno had no trouble hearing the melody.  Moments later, the newlyweds had their privacy.

Henrietta greeted them after their honeymoon seclusion.  She reported no problems from any of the children.  The vole left them at the door to their private quarters just as the last notes of the dibbun bell sounded the end of another day.

Inside, they checked out the oversized bed built special for them.  It dominated the bedroom, leaving little room for any additional furniture.  Tassel removed the mask she wore when they left their honeymoon suite, dropping it, and her gloves, on the bed. 

"Are you ready, Bruno?"

"After all the work we did before coming here?  I've been eagerly anticipating this moment.  Lead and I'll follow you, my dear wife."

The newlyweds left their living quarters together via the connecting door leading into the dormitory.  The lively banter the youngsters traded before lights out died.  Each child retreated to their bed, their young faces reflecting some concern.  Tassel shooed Darlow away from the bed next to Markus.  She sat facing the male hare.

"We enjoyed the two bottles of October Ale you left us and thought your gift most generous.  We were even more pleased when we saw a glass had been poured for each of us."

Markus turned toward his sister.  Darlow chewed her knuckles while she backed up several paces.  The male hare faced them.  He smiled an impish smile.  "I guess you enjoyed the two bottles?"

Husband and wife grinned as Bruno reached into his pocket and produced a badger-sized hip flask.  Passing it to Tassel, she in turn gave it to the hare.  Tassel ordered the hare to drink.  With a swaggering salute, Markus took a small sip of the proffered flask.  He gagged.  His eyes watered as he tried regaining his breath.

"That's right; we decided to return the favor and filled that flask with pure hotroot extract.  The same hotroot extract you used spiking the two glasses of October Ale you left for us.  Good thing the other two bottles retained their seals.  Tassel and I knew they were not tainted."

"You might think you're being poisoned, but Healer Fazbee assures us drinking such a strong and spicy extract will cause no permanent harm," said Tassel.

"Other than the memory of a horrible burning sensation," interjected Bruno. 

Markus glanced at Bruno, his eyes begging for compassion.  Bruno hovered over the hare, while both of his paws rested on his hips.  The other children remained at their beds, as far from the hare as possible while keeping vigil.

The male hare kept a brave expression and took another full swallow.  He gagged.  Markus tried lifting the flask for a third swig.  He couldn't do it without an uncontrolled shaking of his paws.  His eyes watered each time he glanced at the flask.  Markus started to tip the flask over, but Bruno held up a second flask.

"Spill one drop and I will sit on you and pour this flask down your throat as well as whatever remains in that one."

The hare squeezed his eyes shut.  The flask came halfway to his lips before he lowered it.  Twice more he lifted the flask, but could not bring it closer.  Markus offered his abject apology for his latest prank.  While speaking, he offered the flask back to Tassel, who accepted it without any comment.  Bruno retrieved the resealed flask from his wife and returned it to his hip pocket.

Tassel reached over and grabbed the boy.  She yanked him off his bed and over her knees in one fluid motion.  The other children stood nearby as Markus received a firm spanking.  When she finished, she walked away without a backward glance.

Markus whimpered, his paws rubbing his sore bottom.  Bruno moved to the hare's bed as his wife walk back into their room at the far end.  Tears still streamed down the hare's face when Bruno seized him, pinned his arms behind his back and spanked him a second time.  Despite his painful howls, the other children heard Bruno's calm voice.

"Since your offense was against both of us, it seems only fitting that we each punish you."

Hassellick threw down his chalkboard.  His one paw snatched the slate while the other grabbed a sodden cloth.  In seconds, the scrawl written earlier melted like butter within cake batter.  The pristine shine mocked him, and the woodchuck snarled at the inanimate object. 

"Such anger doesn't suit you, brother.  Perhaps you should find a sword and challenge the slate to a duel.  Better yet, grab one of the blacksmith's hammers and see how many pieces you can make with just one mighty blow."

He laughed.  "This story is so frustrating, Nassella.  I'm almost ready to burn every page of writing that I have."

Nassella squeezed the water from her fur as she joined him.  "I've had enough of the swimming hole for today."  The girl turned her head back to the pond.  "Mother's right, I'm old enough to be called an elder now.  Time I start acting like one."

The girl joined her brother, enjoying the cool breeze.  "I see a mound of written pages, which should have you dancing with joy.  So what's bothering you?"

He brushed his sister's arm away from his knee as he stared back at the pond.  His eyes noted how his favorite sunny spot had changed to one deep in shadows.  Through the foliage, the sun now hung in a clear sky but a finger's width above the outer walls.  In another hour, the dinner bell would summon everyone to Cavern Hole for the evening meal.

"Perhaps that is one of the drawbacks to history.  Too many things remain incomplete.  I wanted to mention how Kurella left here the day after the wedding.  She travels with itinerant healers, learning their secrets, and sending us her journals each year.  Our healer has five scribes cross-referencing the medical knowledge she gathers.  Her experiences have saved so many lives, yet that doesn't quite fit as an ending."

Hassellick grumbled while his fingers drummed the clean slate.  "Should I mention the horrors Madame Sultakka faced while imprisoned, or the fate of the captured slavers?  It would act as a good lesson on morality.  Does anyone care that Major Eytomin left Redwall within the hour after his dispute with his daughter, never to return?  Would anyone find Dusty becoming the Pine Tar tribe's most desirable male of any interest?  Maybe I should mention how Bushface joined a troupe of actors, or how Markus and Darlow are now members of the elite Long Patrol.  All of that is good to know, but it doesn't close this story."

When he faced his sister, he saw something beyond her that changed his gloomy mood.  His sister turned as well.  Foremole and his mate, Loamripper, walk alongside the two otter youths they adopted years earlier.  Though Hassellick and his sister could not hear their conversation, the four moles laughed and smiled as they followed the path to the Abbey.  Sometimes one of the elders gave the nearest teen a squeeze, which the teens returned.

"I remember overhearing others talking about how those two elders visited their daughter's grave every day and spent countless hours there before the Festival of Many Joys.  Now they go every full moon for an hour.  After ten years, those two have helped Foremole and his wife heal after the death of Terranoir.  Maybe that would be a fitting end to my tale.  It would show how life goes on, and that sometimes good things come from tragedy."

Nassella faced him.  Her lips curled back revealing her teeth.  Her expression duplicated a picture he saw of a warrior going into battle.  The girl's voice reminded him of a bully from his youth, who challenged him to a fight.  A fight he lost to a more determined foe.

"Do you know I still wear the key I got that first winter after Mother T's wedding?  That special present started a treasure hunt.  It ended when I found our new home and learned of my adoption.  Tell me our becoming a family isn't worth mentioning.  I dare you."

Hassellick paws mimicked the actions of a warrior holding a shield.  "A worthy ending to my tale, but like the others, it just doesn't feel right."

The girl's hackles remained up, though her voice lost most of its sharp edge.  "Perhaps you can read me your story, and together we can come up with an ending worthy of Redwall's newest historian."

Hassellick gathered his papers and strolled back to their home. 

* * *

Tassel sat on the grassy field watching the gaggle of children frolicking in the swimming pond.  As she looked about, she could see not just her own charges, but also the many youngsters that heralded another generation at Redwall.  They celebrated the end of one more successful school year and the start of a summer full of play.  Elders watched from the shore, smiling whenever their youngsters squealed.

She sat apart from the other parents fearing many would shun her but felt no animosity.  Gossiping with others her age held no attraction.  Tassel found her duties as badgermom fulfilled her need for purpose.  She savored the last warm rays of the dying day, wishing it could continue for the youngster's sake.  Yet she knew the bells would soon signal the end of this special day.

The folded garments of her charges as well as their towels sat in neat rows within easy reach.  Sometimes her paw would brush the clothing of one child.  For just an instant, she savored all those special memories she had of that child.  Tassel knew every dibbun she cared for came to her when they most needed the security of a loving pair of elders.  With Bruno at her side, the two became the bedrock the children needed.  Such thoughts never failed to make her smile.

Tassel envied those parents who could join their young as they frolicked in the water.  She consoled herself by counting the multitude of towels that surrounded her.  Her sharp eyes wandered over the pond as she ticked off each of her charges yet again.

As her eyes scanned the swimming hole, she searched for two specific dibbuns.  The first one proved no challenge.  The four-year-old male badger stood in water that came to the top of his knees.  Like a living statue, he did not move from his post, yet Tassel saw how his eyes swept the toddler section of the pond, ready to assist Redwall's nanny.

Like his mother, the boy possessed a fierce protective nature.  No older child ever teased any toddler within his sight.  The male badger defended them with all his might, something many older dibbuns learned the hard way.  His aggressive nature came to the fore whenever some younger waif faced a bully.

Next to him sat a squirrel.  Tassel recalled how the kit squirrel joined their special family after the birth of her own children.  What started as a pledge soon became a deep friendship.  At eight springs, the squirrel towered over her child.  It made Tassel wonder if her son would ever match her mate's stature.

Far out, in the deepest part of the pond, the water churned like a boiling pot.  From the depths of the water, a black and white striped head emerged.  With flailing fists, the creature thrashed the water as if she fought a ferocious enemy.  In short order, she vanquished her imaginary foe.

A female badger emerged from the pond.  Like her twin brother, her small size fooled many who tried to guess her age.  Unlike her brother, the girl displayed a rebellious streak.  She always tested whatever boundaries her parents erected like an invading army.  Tassel sometimes found her daughter both a source of pride and exasperation.

She watched the young sow shake the water from her fur coat.  Having dried herself as much as possible, the giggling girl ran to her masked mother.  Her happiness kept her tail swishing back and forth, as she approached.

She opened her paw and showed her mother the great treasure extracted from the depths of the pond.  A simple reddish colored stone, of no value whatsoever, sat nestled in her paw.  Tassel could see her daughter waiting for some comment on her discovery.  She made a show of examining the simple stone then returned it to the small sow.  The child grasped the stone and placed it against her mother's masked muzzle.

"Pretty.  Like mother.  Can I keep it?"

Tassel hugged her child and then gave her a growl.  The two tussled for a while before she spun the girl about and with a playful pat to her rump, sent her offspring back into the water.  The child raced to the pond.

As she entered the water, a male otter of sixteen shook his head.  Waterwing gave a sheepish grin and a shrug of his shoulders.  He followed the badger sow into deep water, but never too close to the adventurous tyke.  Tassel didn't worry.  So long as things went smoothly, the otter left the girl alone.  If a problem arose, the otter could intervene.

Though Tassel knew her young charges enjoyed the swimming party, she looked forward to tonight's dinner.  A river otter family needed an additional deck hand for their raft.  The family patriarch considered Waterwing an excellent candidate.  If Waterwing accepted the offer, he would accompany the otter family back to their home stream as a new elder in their clan.  The Mother Abbot claimed the boy would have his choice of many eligible females.

At that moment, Tassel felt teeth give her left ear a light nibble.  Without turning, she swung her paw about and swatted the thigh of her mate for startling her.  Even as her paw connected, she gave a girlish laugh before leaning onto the hip of her toothy assailant.  Bruno kneaded one of Tassel's exposed ears with a gentle caress.  Tassel purred.

"How about telling me what is making your eyes sparkle so brightly?"

Without looking up, Tassel replied.  "For the first time in my life husband, I am happy here at Redwall.  I have never before felt such true contentment.  I want to savor that feeling for as long as I can."

Look for the next installment in this series in March 2013.

Thank you to all who followed the story.