Redwall Abbey

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




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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And where would you like me to begin?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Replace offensive tapestry hanging in Baron Crumgin's bedroom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guess my unit enjoyed their liberty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How sick is this prisoner?"

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

"You have thir..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You believe this nonsense?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you know when she last ate?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"None, Sire."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then you already know what the message is?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Permission to enter granted, Corporal Sweetleaf."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May I ask what happened, Captain?"

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

"You succeeded?"

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

"Than things worked out nice for you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is there a problem, Captain?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shaking his head, the Captain remained silent. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're late, Captain."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They left the warehouse and stood in the middle of a deserted road.  The area remained dark as none of the area's street lamps were lit.  Captain Greypaw sent two hares forward as scouts.  When they returned, each said they did not see any resident moving through the area.  The usual peace officers who patrolled this section of town appeared to be missing.  Satisfied that none knew of their presence, he quick marched his unit to the harbor.

Captain Greypaw had no trouble locating his eventual destination.  The raft floated at the end of a pier that needed extensive repairs.  A glance to the next pier showed another four ships in various stages of loading or unloading.  The lights did not illuminate their area.

His unit rushed down the pier and clambered aboard.  The crew of otters snapped to their assigned tasks without a word spoken.  Sailors heaved the heavy lines from the dock to the deck while other crewmen secured the gear.  Those on the pier leaped onto the departing raft.  The crew raised a dark sail while one otter placed the sweep in its proper place.  With eight otters rowing, the craft made a swift departure.  While the otter at the helm tacked into the wind, the Skipper kept his spyglass trained on Salamandastron.

After a long pause, the old otter lowered his spyglass.  The fellow walked over to the cabin that filled the central portion of the raft and hung it by the open doorway where his squad stood.  Then the Skipper approached him.

"Major Greypaw, we're beyond sight of land now and there's no evidence we were spotted.  Did you run into anyone after you left the fortress?"

Corporal Sweetleaf's jaw dropped.  "I suppose congratulations are in order, sir.  I didn't know you received a promotion."

Greypaw laughed.  "It's an old mariner tradition.  A vessel can have but one captain, so any army officer of that rank receives a temporary promotion of one grade for the duration of the voyage.  If we stayed longer than a day, I would have the insignia on my uniform until we reached shore.  Not worth the bother for a trip measured in hours."

He faced the otter.  "Our Prime Minister is thorough.  He paid somebody to miss the street lamps in the warehouse district and scheduled a major disturbance at a nearby tavern.  I'm sure the brawl will attract every gossip and peacekeeper in the area.  None noticed your raft or our arrival."

The otter nodded.  "Aye, that ferret is a crafty one.  There's just a few rules for you while we're at sea.  We intend to run dark until morning, so no lanterns.  I'm confining all of you to this cabin.  My crew can do their jobs better if they know the deck is clear."

All night the craft journeyed north.  When faint hints of light outlined the horizon, the Skipper ordered the sail removed.  The crew spent the next hour stowing the black sail and replaced it with a white one.  Just as the first sliver of the new day's sun peeked over the world's edge, the Skipper ordered the raft shoreward.

A steady breeze sent the craft skimming across the waves as the otters steered a course into the rising sun.  Despite the glare, every sailor on deck welcomed the promised warmth of the new day.  Another hour passed before the growing sound of breakers to the fore signaled the end of their voyage.  When the noise became a dull roar, the raft raced shoreward.

For just a heartbeat, the raft's timbers squealed in protest as it grounded onto the sandy beach.  With the craft resting above the tide line, Captain Greypaw exited the cabin.  He heaved a sigh of relief as his paws touched firm ground once more. 

The badger sow staggered between the two guards holding chains running from either end of the yoke.  Several times she let out a loud yawn and blinked her eyes as the sun rose higher.  She gave herself a mighty shake.  Big mistake since the cuffs about her wrists and the wooden yoke scored her flesh.  On a deserted beach, her yelp sounded like a mighty clap of thunder.

Over the first two hours inland, the soldiers tried covering ground but the chained badger slowed their progress.  The hares prodded the prisoner with their weapons, which had her move a little faster.  Then the female badger would trip over some obstruction and the unit waited until she regained her footing.  The privates became irate with their prisoner and did not hesitate heaping both verbal and physical abuse on their helpless captive.

"Call a halt, Captain."  Corporal Sweetleaf's whispered comment caught Greypaw off guard, but he recognized an inflection which warned him of some unperceived problem.

"Captain, we don't have enough personnel to continue like this.  With three soldiers on the prisoner and the two of us leading, we have just one scout and one rear guard."

Greypaw showed no reaction as he sipped water from his canteen.  His second took this as a form of tacit agreement.  She offered her recommended solution.  For several moments he discussed the situation with her.  Corporal Sweetleaf made her way to where the badger reclined.  She dismissed the privates and approached the prisoner.

"Tassel, I'm going to release your paws from the yoke and have the chain run down to your ankles, like we had during our training sessions.  It should help you travel a bit easier.  No chain between your ankles, that should avoid any further mishaps."

When one paw was freed of the yoke, the badger reached up to her muzzle and scratched.  She purred.  "You cannot imagine how irritating it is having an itch you cannot touch."  Tassel offered no resistance as the chains were reattached, luxuriating in the ability to relieve her distress.  "Is there any chance of ditching this yoke?"

As the Corporal continued making the final adjustments to her restraints, her voice hardened.  "Your wrists go on the yoke at nightfall or if you give us any trouble.  We need you mobile, not comfortable."

When she finished, Captain Greypaw bellowed out his orders.  Every hare rose to their feet.  For a moment, Vindicarr and the badger stared at each other as if preparing for some upcoming battle.  The former general left the prisoner and moved alongside the Captain.  The fellow hummed an old favorite marching tune and kept pace with the rhythm.

"You seem in grand form, General.  Just wish I had an opportunity advising you earlier about our sudden departure.  I had my orders."

"Not something worth worrying about, Captain.  After thirty years in the army, I've been subject to, and have issued similar orders."  Their companionable silence continued for another dozen paces before the brown hare spoke again.  "Ever wonder why a soldier would retire in a time of war, Captain?"

"It did seem . . . odd.  I would think your talents were best served on the battlefield."

The former general smirked.  "Speaking of battlefields, did you know your badger and I share a common past?" 

He stared at the brown hare, hoping he would continue his story without any prompting.  Vindicarr complied to his unspoken request. 

"Oh we didn't meet, not personally.  But my unit was involved in the first action on the unnamed island where she lived.  My unit got the north shore by the forest; the Long Patrol took the dockside town where our lady prisoner made quite a name for herself.  Pity she got away."

"With all due respect, it doesn't answer the question about your retirement, sir."

For a moment, Vindicarr remained silent.  "Perhaps the heaviest fighting was in the small port city, but the huge estate we captured had a heavy contingent of pirate warriors.  I learned the hard way fighting bandits half my years can be a dangerous job."

Vindicarr patted his hip.  "My injuries took several weeks healing and in the interim, the war had moved on to another island.  Then some upper echelon decided my former post would be a better fit for my talents.  I disagreed; a garrison command is like babysitting restless dibbuns.  High Command gave me two choices, accept or retire."

"I know what you mean about fighting," said Greypaw.  "Sometimes a skilled opponent dies due to a bit of bad luck.  You wonder if the next fight will be one where the luck favors the other warrior."

The former general nodded.  "As a Long Patrol officer, I have no doubt your sword has drunk long and often in many a bloody battle.  I had the misfortune of being in the regulars throughout my career.  The Long Patrol always stole the glory while the regulars followed their orders.  But that's the past, and I have a date in some Abbey courtroom.  The outcome will be no less bloody, but our weapons will be nothing more than words."

For two days the group marched.  With her paws in a more relaxed pose, the prisoner moved at whatever pace the squad set.  Whenever they halted during the day, the prisoner spent her time resting.  By the third day, her continued good behavior had her paws removed from the yoke at bedtime.  That first night, she and Private Kindrell dueled for the title of loudest snoring beast, much to the dismay of the others.

Another three days passed without incident as the unit traveled in a southerly direction.  When he announced the final stop, every soldier proceeded to their assigned task.  Tassel remained standing, her muzzle pointing into the northern wind as everyone scurried about setting up camp.

Corporal Sweetleaf approached the badger.  "The way you're sniffing, one would think you caught the scent of some other inhabitant or traveler, but we haven't seen anyone since we left those otters on the beach."

"Oh I'm catching a scent all right, but it's of no living creature.  Tell your Captain he better pull out another blanket.  We're going to get snow tonight, and a lot of it."

"There is an extra chill, but what makes you think it will snow?"

"I have lived my whole life outdoors and in a climate further north than this.  You learn the smell of snow and the feel of an approaching storm.  This is a heavy one."

The doe didn't respond.  Instead, she assisted the badger out of her backpack.  While the badger rummaged through the gear, the Corporal drove a stake into the ground and secured the prisoner's chain.  Moving a short distance back, she watched as Tassel raised her small shelter.  Satisfied she couldn't go anywhere without some guard noticing, Sweetleaf approached her commander.

"Captain, I think you better hear what Tassel has to say, it's important."

"What have I told you about giving a name to our prisoner?"

"Sorry sir, but according to," and here she hesitated until Captain Greypaw turned towards her, "our prisoner, we're in for a heavy snowstorm tonight.  May I suggest we alert everyone to the possibility?"

"I'll admit its cold enough, but I've never known of snow coming this early in the season.  Even if it does, I doubt there will be anything more than a heavy dusting; whatever falls will melt before we're packed tomorrow morning.  No need worrying the others."

That night the familiar nightmare came again to Captain Greypaw.  Once more in his dream he had his weapon drawn.  The keening wails of the dead and dying surrounded him.  Though he saw a cloudless sky and a fiery sun, he experienced a freezing sensation that dug deep within him. 

His opponent, a male fox, displayed great skill.  Each time Greypaw made a sweep or lunge, his opponent parried the blow.  Once or twice he managed to defeat his opponent's blade, but the metal breastplate the enemy officer wore deflected the killing blow.  A quick counterattack forced him a pace back as the two continued their duel.

As they circled, the fox caught his foot on a stone.  For just an instant, his deadly blade dipped.  Greypaw lunged at his opponent while pushing the fox's sword arm away from him with his free paw.  With his weapon now resting against the fox's unprotected back, he shoved the sword upward. 

Lieutenant Greypaw stared into the face of his opponent as the blade plunged deep within his enemy's body.  There was a sharp intake of air and a look of disbelief on the fox's countenance as the inevitable dawned on him. 

Time stopped.  Greypaw recalled every detail, every sense engraving this moment on his mind with a permanence he could not deny.  He smelled the lingering scent of shampoo being overpowered by the stench of death.  The slow exhale dominated every sound and the following silence frightened him.  Fingers felt the strength within his opponent's arm fail.  His eyes noticed the sheen of every tuff of fur on the fox's face and how it shifted color whenever the wind ruffled it. 

Then Greypaw experienced the true horror of personal warfare, watching the life leave his opponent's eyes.  At no time did the enemy warrior utter a cry as he breathed his last.  Releasing his grip, the fox soldier slid off the his blade and slumped lifeless to the earth.  No longer did Greypaw feel the warmth of the summer sun; he felt the cold of his opponent's grave.

Greypaw awoke.   He panted in the darkness as a bone-numbing chill enveloped his body.  Instead of a quiet night, his ears detected a banshee standing just beyond the tent's flap.  With trembling paws, he crawled to the closure and threw back the covering.

Outside, winter had struck with a vengeance.  Before bedtime he gazed upon rolling hills of dry grassland.  An impenetrable white nothingness existed beyond the confines of his tent.  Snow swirled through the camp shrouding anything greater than three or four paces from his tent.  The embers of a fire were nothing more than a bump under the heavy blanket of snow.  Already it buried one side of his tent as the winds built heavy drifts.

Exiting his tent, he set off for the one place he preferred avoiding.  It took only a dozen steps, but in that time the snow obliterated whatever tracks he left.  Unlike his tent where the snows were mounting on one side, just the back half of the badger's tent was covered.  He circled to the front and soon had the flap untied.  In one fluid movement, he hurled back the cover, darted inside, and closed it.

In an instant, total darkness returned, yet he sensed the sow had awakened.  Though he couldn't see her, Greypaw's eyes remained fixated on the spot where he expected her.  Neither spoke for several moments as the winds outside sang a dirge.

"Tell me, sow, how do you sleep at night?"

"Since I come from a colder land and have lived all my life outside, my fur is much thicker than yours.  The blanket you allowed me is more than sufficient, though I cannot keep my paws and feet warm enough because of the chain.  The metal draws the cold like lodestone does iron."

Having responded to his question, the badger prisoner said nothing more.  While the winds outside shrieked, the space within the tent remained quiet.  Greypaw withdrew and retraced his steps.  Just as he prepared to reenter his tent, he spoke to the fierce winds.  "You misunderstood my question; I wasn't talking about the weather."

Instead of abating, the storm intensified.  In the morning the snows pelted the soldiers as they packed their gear.  No fire could be lit as either the wind would snuff it out or the tinder turned soggy from the swirling snows.  After several abortive efforts, Captain Greypaw had everyone prepare for departure.  Blankets remained out and everyone wrapped them about their bodies, hoping they could evade the insistent chill.

When the Captain drew close to Corporal Sweetleaf, he saw the badger standing at the ready.  Ignoring the prisoner, Captain Greypaw issued his orders for the day's march.  At first the doe hesitated, though she did not voice any challenge, she complied.  The prisoner's paws were once more shackled to the yoke despite her pleas about being cold. 

Once his unit was ready, the Captain shouted over the wind.  "According to my map, we should reach the Abbey in about two hours, just in time for a late breakfast or an early lunch.  So let's get moving; a hot meal and a warm fire await us."

The storm continued throughout the night and showed no signs of stopping.  Captain Greypaw found the experience of packing his gear much like pushing himself through sheets hanging on a laundry line.  One moment he saw something, the next it laid hidden under a layer of snow.  Unlike an enjoyable childhood memory, the prospect of his command wandering off like scattered sheep galvanized him into action.

The Captain withdrew a whistle from his uniform vest pocket and gave it three long blasts.  He counted to twenty and blew it one more time.  Now came the hard part, waiting for his command to respond.  Like spectral ghosts from some troubadour's horror tale, shapes materialized around him as the others answered his call.  Good fortune smiled on him this time as none wandered too far from camp.

"Empty your backpacks and put on every garment you're carrying.  Corporal Sweetleaf, when you finish, see to the prisoner's needs."

All hurried as the temperature continued its swift downward spiral.  Corporal Sweetleaf secured a rope around the former general's waist while he fastened the other end to a member of his squad.  In rapid succession, a series of ropes belayed each soldier to another.  With everyone linked and Corporal Sweetleaf holding the prisoner's chain, nobody could loose contact with the others.

The snow deepened.  Mounded drifts standing higher than them, forced the unit off the stone road as they pressed forward.  The prospect of a warm meal acted as a siren's call; the squad continued moving, always keeping the northern wind at their backs. 

Without the sun's presence, time could not be measured.  The swirling snow and the overcast skies removed all reference points.  They marched, each following the path left by the one in front.  When one private tripped, he recognized the obstruction his foot uncovered.  "Captain, I found a road marker, but I can't read it."

Everybody gathered about the protruding stones and soon eager paws worked clearing the milestone.  As the indicator became visible everyone groaned.

"The wind must have shifted.  We've been going in the wrong direction and are now a good dozen clicks from where we camped last night."

Captain Greypaw felt as dismayed as the rest of his unit and understood their disgusted expressions.  He barked out commands.  In quick order two privates located the roadway.  Using the butt end of their spears, they maintained contact with the stony surface.  Now they knew the correct direction and set out with a determined step.  Whenever snow drifts blocked their course, instead of skirting them, they shoveled a narrow path so at least one soldier always remained in contact with the paved pathway.

Progress remained slow under whiteout conditions.  Each soldier continued moving forward without knowing if they were going up or down some hill.  At one point the winds subsided enough so the squad could see further than the usual three paces.  Up ahead Captain Greypaw glimpsed their destination, a mighty fortress built of red stones.  Like an exotic dancer who enticed the unwary into some seedy tavern, the welcoming vision evaporated when the storm returned in all its fury.

Darkness came and still the Abbey remained nothing more than a distant illusion.  If the unencumbered  soldiers were having problems moving through such deep snows, the fettered prisoner suffered even more.  Several times the female badger fell and picking her up proved more difficult each time since their paws turned numb from the frigid weather. 

None spoke as teeth gnashed if anyone unclenched their jaw.  Snow soaked their garments and the continual drop in temperature had all uniforms coated in a thin layer of ice.  The sound of the crunching ice competed with the wind.

By now the translucent light of day had faded.  Darkness, as well as the heavy snow, isolated each member of the unit as they pushed onward.  As the lead private probed for the road, his spear struck wood.  Though nobody cheered, he knew the bridge spanning the stream meant their destination was but a short distance away, perhaps no more than a hundred paces.  Every soldier pushed themselves even harder.  Like his command, the Captain anticipated the warm fire that awaited their arrival.

One by one the hares started across.  They walked single file along the trail carved by those before them.  Just as the scout's spear shaft again struck stone, the badger staggered out of line.  He wanted to shout a warning, but the cold slowed down his reaction time.  Her foot missed the bridge and the prisoner toppled into the frigid water.

Corporal Sweetleaf skimmed across the icy wood while her feet sought something that could arrest her movement.  When her heels struck the raised siding, her uncontrolled slide halted.  The chain she had wrapped around her wrist bit her like an enraged adder, but the doe hare held onto the chain. 

Her screams alerted the other hares as they converged on her voice.  One private assisted the doe and together they drew the chain towards them.  With enough slack, the two could stand.  While they struggled with the metal leash, Captain Greypaw led the rest of the squad to the Abbey side of the stream.  He joined the other soldiers as they hacked at the ice encrusted stream.  He had to step into the water as his command cleared a channel for the struggling female badger.

After much pushing and pulling, his unit managed to get the drenched female badger to shore.  Captain Greypaw considered it providential that none fell victim to the icy waters.  A violent shake by the prisoner yanked the leash out of the doe's paws.  The chain then transformed into a metal snake, its link fangs striking several of them before the Corporal could once again establish a firm grip.

Tassel vomited.  Using the last dry towel, Sweetleaf patted down the head of a badger shaking harder than any hare.  The Corporal started to dry the prisoner's body. 

Greypaw shouted.  "We have no time.  Just tuck that towel around her head and we can do a proper job inside."

With everyone accounted for, Captain Greypaw led his troop along a path ending at Redwall's gate.   When a wooden door materialized before the Captain, he halted.  One by one, the remaining members of his unit gathered at the closed gate.  They reached their destination, but the residents secured the gate for the night and no sentry answered his hail.

A private used the butt end of his spear as a battering ram.  Two others followed his example and used the hilt of their swords.  Each hare struck the door hoping the noise would attract the attention of some inhabitant.  If none heard his shout, he had doubts about anyone hearing such feeble knockings.

As the wind continued flaying them, the Captain spotted a short cord sheathed in leather dangling off to the side.  Twice his trembling paws refused to grasp it.  Once he trapped the frozen rope between two paws, he gave a firm yank, which set some distant bell peeling.  Four times he rang the unknown bell before the cord slid from his grasp.

Just as he wondered if another effort at trapping the dangling cord might prove successful, he detected the sound of wood scrapping against wood.  An aperture opened on the far side of the door as a brilliant beam of light pierced the darkness.  As he turned towards the light, a form blocked it.

"What manner of beast seeks entry to Redwall on a night like this?  Step forward and show yourselves."

Too cold to give a proper response, Captain Greypaw approached the apparition.  When he drew nearer, the shadowy form held out a lantern, which illuminated several of his soldiers.  The silhouetted creature retreated and beckoned his command to the doorway.

"Redwall is always willing to offer a warm berth and a full belly to any traveler.  Come inside and I'll inform our Father Abbot hares from Fiery Mountain seek sanctuary from this weather."

One by one, they moved through the gate and into an open passageway.  Though the snow continued falling, the wooden barrier and stone walls kept the wind at bay.  Captain Greypaw crossed the threshold and beheld the gatekeeper.  The female hedgehog stood a bit taller than him, garbed in a heavy woolen coat.  If it hadn't been for her exposed head spikes, he would not know what species she represented.

"Follow me; I'll light your way to the Abbey."  With those words, she ran down the stony corridor.  The gatekeeper ran so fast the light receded until it reminded him of a distant star.  By the time everyone reached the end of the tunnel, the female hedgehog had crossed the wide courtyard and stood atop a low stairway before another building.  Without the howling wind, he could hear the voices of those assembled at the Abbey's entrance.

"If we have guests," growled an unknown male voice, "where are they?  No creature would dawdle on a night like this."

"I thought they were right behind me, Father Abbot.  Never knew I could outdistance hares, even on the best of days."

Captain Greypaw heard every creature murmuring when the gatekeeper said hares.  No doubt the Abbey residents knew the presence of hares could only mean that they were bringing news about the war.  Though Redwall and its surrounding region had not suffered from any of the many pirate raids, some must have been familiar with them. 

When King Meles announced the formation of an alliance to combat marauding pirates, the Father Abbot had declined the monarch's offer.  Redwall preferred their independence.  He understood the inhabitants reluctance to subject themselves to the dictates of a creature they considered too distant from their homes.  They might think King Meles honorable,  but the badger lord was unfamiliar with their problems or concerns. 

Based on what he learned about the Abbey, this didn't mean they unilaterally ignored the King's call for assistance.  Once war had been declared and the Abbey beasts learned of its noble purpose, many enlisted.  Even the Abbey's champion had signed up for what many considered an honorable quest.  Captain Greypaw would have liked meeting this warrior as the stories he heard at Fiery Mountain said he carried the legendary Sword of Martin.

As curious residents shuffled forward, former General Vindicarr and the other hares joined their commander.  They stepped through the Abbey's open doorway.  In quick succession, Greypaw's unit followed him into the warm foyer. 

Each hare quivered so hard their paws couldn't work the buttons of their coats.  Blankets draped over shoulders during their long trek to the Abbey were now frozen, stuck to the hare's fur despite their continuous shaking.  Thick ice coated each of the soldier's heads and plastered their long ears against the fur on their faces.  None responded to the resident's inquiries as jaws remained clinched in an effort to keep from chipping a tooth or biting their tongue.

Corporal Sweetleaf entered the Abbey as the last member of his squad.  She held onto a chain which trailed outside.  She gave a firm tug and their prisoner approached the door.  With a loud crash, their prisoner collided with the doorframe.  Twice more their prisoner smashed into the opening trying to enter before turning sideways.  Greypaw wondered why the doorway proved such an obstacle.  A slight turn would allow the yoked captive to enter the warm building, yet she acted as if such a thought beyond her comprehension.

It didn't take long.  Based on everyone's facial expression, Greypaw knew they recognized the prisoner as a female badger.  Though the fettered sow duplicated the Abby's Badgermom in coloration, the assembled woodlanders whispered about her lack of a tail.  None could see the face of the chained badger as ice sealed the towel hood to the wooden yoke.  Only an occasional puff of air gave credence that she breathed.

His mind refused to believe what his eyes saw.  Despite a layer of ice covering the towel over the prisoner's head, no outside indication showed that she felt the bitter cold.  She remained upright just a few paces past the still open doorway, oblivious to all around her.  She continued her sluggish approach until she bumped into one of the other shivering hares.

"Will somebody close the door," the Father Abbot shouted.  As the gatekeeper hustled to do the Father Abbot's bidding, the shrew continued issuing orders.  "By all the Eternals, let's get our visitors into the kitchen.  Once we fire up a few of the ovens, we'll have them toasty warm in no time flat."

Most of the crowd parted so the still trembling hares could proceed to the warmth of the kitchen.  A few approached with a helping paw.  From above, a strong male voice shouted down at them causing an immediate halt.  The unknown resident bellowed his warning a second time.

"Whatever you do, keep the prisoner away from those fires."

He leaned back in his chair, placed his book on the table, and checked the mantle clock.  Almost time for bed.  His mind tried to find the right word to describe this day and settled on boring.  For any healer, that one word defined the best kind of day.  It said none suffered either a serious injury or died while under his care.

Last night's unexpected snow storm continued to howl outside his private quarters.  The Captain of the Guards cancelled sentry duty due to the near whiteout conditions.  The Father Abbot told the Gatekeeper she could keep the main entrance shut.  Young and old alike stayed inside and as close to the common room's fireplace as possible.  With the exception of a few elders seeking painkillers for their arthritis, none disturbed his solitude.

The healer lifted his spectacles off his muzzle until they rested atop his head.  He kneaded the area between his eyes and checked the time once more.  The day didn't end until the final bell, more than two hours from now.  Perhaps the Father Abbot would accept his challenge to a game of Siege.  A good game seemed like the perfect way to end a quiet day.

A trip from his private quarters always took him through the Infirmary.  Habit had him check the hallway for any resident seeking his help.  Though the rooms should be empty, he opened each door in turn.  Nobody sat in any of the examination rooms.  He passed the last door and made for the stairway down to the main level.

What is causing all that commotion?  Sounds like everyone decided to go outside for a night stroll. 

He hastened his pace until he stood opposite the marble stairway.  From here, he could observe the crowd.  His paw reached up and he adjusted his glasses.  Most of the residents filled the corridors leading to the door.  A few, including the Father Abbot, stood near the center of the main entrance foyer.

They had visitors who braved this unholy weather.  Seven hares stood in the lobby.  Even from his elevated observation point, he knew these visitors needed his attention.  An eighth hare passed over the threshold, this one holding a chain.  The final guest entered the room after a bit of difficulty. 

His keen medical eye revealed the danger even as he heard Father Draccon issue his orders.  He must act, and fast.  The healer shouted down to those assembled around their guests.  Nobody responded to his warning.  He yelled even louder.  This time he had their attention.

The healer raced down the stairway, his sandals slapping each step in turn.  He reached the switchback and now faced the gathered crowd.  None had moved in the short time it took him to reach the main level.  The crowd parted and he rushed forward.  Then the Father Abbot stepped between him and the latest arrivals.

"Mister Fazbee, our guests are freezing.  I may not be a healer, but even I know if somebody is cold, you should warm them."

"Do that Father Abbot and you'll kill the prisoner.  As Redwall's healer, you will just have to accept my judgment in this matter."

The silence became deafening.  Healer Fazbee cinched the housecoat he wore before confirming the Father Abbot's order regarding the kitchen fires.  This foyer turned into an extension of his Infirmary where he commanded.  He selected several elders, assigning two helpers for each hare.  These elders came forward and led the frozen hares to the kitchen.

However, the doe holding the prisoner's chain issued a deep growl when the two elders approached.  Her fingers gripped the chain while her other paw tried freeing her weapon.  He motioned the elders to stand back.  He snagged the chain and with a gentle tug, pried it out of the hare's clenched fist.  Then he rested his paws on her shoulders, keeping her shaking to a minimum and her questing paw away from her weapon.

"Your prisoner needs immediate medical attention or she will die.  If you would like to accompany her to the Infirmary, I can arrange it."

At the doe's nod, the Healer turned towards the on-looking residents.  He called to Henrietta and her two hedgehog companions.  All three teens drew closer.  He placed the doe under Henrietta's care, instructing her to follow him to the infirmary.

"Dale, go into the kitchen and get me the biggest pot of boiling water you can carry.  Take it to Room Seven."

One hedgehog followed the elders towards the kitchen.

"Egress, you and I must carry this one upstairs.  But there is one thing I must emphasize; whatever you do, be as gentle as you can."

"Sir, I might work with the blacksmith, but I'm not all brawn and no brains.  Unless I'm mistaken that's a badger.  Her fur's a lot thicker than mine if she can withstand this kind of weather without it affecting her."

Healer and hedgehog took positions on opposite sides of the sow badger.  Together, the two lifted the prisoner, cradling the unresponsive badger between them as they carried her upstairs.  As they reached the first landing, he caught a glimpse of the hare and vole climbing the same marble staircase, but at a much slower rate. No time to dawdle.  He didn't need to explain himself, but speaking his thoughts aloud sometimes helped him focus on the emergency.

"Hypothermia comes in three phases.  We all experience the first one.  If we are rational, we come inside when cold and suffer no ill effects.  Those hares are in phase two, which is when the affected beast shivers so hard they find other tasks too difficult.  I'll check later, but they might have a minor case of frostbite.  Give them time by the fireplace, and they will recover."

Egress reached the Infirmary room marked with a bronze seven on the door.  A gentle push with his foot and the door swung inward.  They shuffled into the room sideways, careful not to jar the prisoner or bang the yoke on the doorframe.

"This sow is entering the third stage of hypothermia," said Healer Fazbee.  "At this point, her body has figured out she is losing too much body heat, so it has stopped shivering and is now initiating its final, and most desperate measure.  It's shutting down.  One by one, her organs will cease functioning.  Eventually, either the lungs or heart will fail and when that happens, the chances of saving her drops to near zero."

"That's all fine and dandy, Healer, but it doesn't explain why we're treating such a strong beast like a glass vase.  To my reckoning, it seems you would be rushing this one into the kitchen first if she's so bad off."

"Strange as it seems, heat is even deadlier.  Any sudden shock, such as an abrupt increase in temperature, could cause a heart seizure.  In her present condition, I don't know if I could get it to restart.  Warming her will be a very dangerous operation.  Do it too slow, she dies from the cold; do it too fast, she dies of heart failure."

Together, the healer and hedgehog sat the sow badger on a metal table.  They released their grip and stepped back a pace.  Healer Fazbee watched his patient for several seconds and let out a sight of satisfaction.  A quick examination of the yoke revealed it had been locked.  He cursed.  After lowering his glasses, he sent Egress downstairs for every key the hares carried.

As the hedgehog left, Henrietta escorted the still shivering doe into the room.  The vole led the hare to a stool next to the fireplace.  Healer Fazbee rushed to the hare and searched her backpack while the vole threw another log onto the fire.  He found nothing more than a few soggy rations.  As Henrietta stripped the hare, he searched each sodden garment.

A series of bells began pealing.  Henrietta tilted her head and when the final note sounded, turned toward the door.  Her paw hadn't yet reached the latch when he called her.

"Just where do you think you're going, young lady?  I have no apprentice and I'll need some assistance.  Since you're female, I do believe my patients will feel far more comfortable with you here."

"Sir, that was the Dibbun Bell, I'm expected back in the Dormitory.  Anyway, I have no interest in becoming a healer."

"I'm not asking you to become my apprentice; I simply need another set of paws.  Lady Pellanore will understand once I tell her why you're here.  Now start rubbing that hare down with those towels."

Henrietta stared in the direction of his pointing finger and darted to the indicated door.  She found herself standing before a supply cabinet filled with sheets, towels and blankets.  While she grabbed several of the larger ones, Healer Fazbee paced the room.  He glanced over at his other patient who remained where he left her.

A sharp knock on the door had him running over and sticking his head outside the room.  When he closed the door, he held a large key ring.  Healer Fazbee inserted one key after another into the yoke's lock until the right one produced a loud snap and removed the confining yoke.

A wide-eyed Henrietta inquired.  "Where did you learn about how that thing works?"

"My dear girl, before coming to Redwall I lived by the Tisenit Swampland where bounty hunters were forever leading some hapless vermin bandit away in one of these contraptions.  Removing one became second nature for a Healer, or his apprentice, in our town."

While the vole returned to tending the hare, the Healer removed the badger's other restraints and with gentle movements, helped the sow badger recline.  Then he went about the task of erecting a tent over his patient's head.  Another knock interrupted his work.  When he opened the door, Dale carried a pot of boiling water, which he placed on a wheeled bench.  Healer Fazbee rolled the bench until the pot sat under the tent.  He almost laughed when he saw the vole's expression, than remembered she knew nothing of medicine.  He positioned a camp stove below the pot, which kept the water near boiling, before explaining his actions.

"If I am to keep her lungs working, this badger needs warm, moist air.  Too dry and she will lose more body heat, and she can ill afford it.  Another benefit to putting this steaming water near her head is it will help warm her blood."

With a deft move, the healer sliced the prisoner's garments off and laid several blankets over her body.  He gave Henrietta a sharp snarl when she appeared ready to abandon the doe hare and help him give the badger a vigorous rubdown.  He scooped up an armful of fresh towels from the supply room, hurried to the door, and handed them to a waiting elder.  Several moments later, they were brought back steaming hot.  The Healer then exchanged the now sodden blankets covering his patient with the heated towels.

"Shouldn't we try getting her blood circulating by rubbing her arms and legs," asked Henrietta.

The healer lowered his glasses as he examined the reclining badger.  "The coldest blood is in her arms and legs.  We'll have to warm them using the hot towels, but without too much movement.  It would force the coldest blood into her heart, which could shock her into cardiac arrest."

Just as he finished explaining the badger's precarious situation, there came a hard shudder from the patient.  Then the body stilled.  Moving quickly, the Healer removed a heart tube from a nearby drawer and after several aborted attempts, placed it on the badger's chest.  He stayed in that position for a moment before he stood.  For the first time that night, he sensed an improvement in his patient.

"Her heart beats and her lungs still work."  The healer wiped his forehead, removing the sweat.  "I have to be so careful putting any pressure on her chest, no matter how gentle."  He polished his steamed spectacles and placed them in their usual resting place atop his head.  "Now you stay here until I return.  When I do, we'll work some more on warming this badger."

A few moments later, he barged into a kitchen as hot as any summer day.  Elders had erected cloth walls, which gave each hare a private room.  Their garments hung from the rafters, dripping onto the tile floor, creating puddles.  Everything else sat in a collective pile near one of the ovens.  Each hare sat on a stool with some attending elder spoon feeding them soup as if they were infants.  One look and he figured an infant might overpower any of these hares in their current condition.

Without any forewarning, he grabbed the first hare's ankle and brought his foot up to his muzzle.  He sniffed the foot and massaged the toes.  He repeated the action with the other foot.  Next, he took a firm grip of one ear and pulled it upward.  While one paw held the ear, he examined the base and tip of the long ear with his other paw.  He did the same with the second ear.  Now he held the hare's head between his paws and stared into his patient's eyes for a moment, feeling how hard he shivered.  Satisfied by what he saw, he moved on to the next cloth cubical until he inspected each of their unexpected guests. 

"Alright, which of you is in charge," he asked.

A shaking paw waved from one cloth cubical and he approached the older buck.  The healer reached up and reset his spectacles atop his muzzle.  He stared at the hare for a few moments, determined not to yell at this fool.  At least the fellow had the courtesy to introduce himself, though it took him three tries.

"Mind telling me what in Hellsgate happened out there?  All of you are showing some minor frostbite, but nothing like your prisoner.  Thanks to those metal cuffs, there's enough damage to her skin I seriously doubt if her fur will ever grow back, assuming she survives the night.  Why didn't you hunker down and wait for the storm to pass?"

Captain Greypaw held a steaming mug of cider close to his chest, savoring the warmth.  "When the blizzard hit, we were just two hours from your gate.  We became disoriented and our journey took a bit longer than anticipated.  Thank goodness we found the right path or we may have frozen out there.  Once we reached the Abbey, your gatekeeper ushered us here."

"When did your prisoner vomit," asked Healer Fazbee.

"How did you know?"

"I'm a healer, I'm trained to know such things.  Now answer my question."

Captain Greypaw told him.  Healer Fazbee snorted, turned his back on the officer, and made for the exit.  Two other patients needed him.  He kept up a steady tongue clicking, much like an aggravated mother with a dense child.  Just as he reached the kitchen door, he heard the Father Abbot.

"I don't think our healer is too impressed by your actions, Captain.  It might explain why your prisoner is worse off than the rest of you, but I'm sure he'll be wondering what possessed you to go trekking off in this storm instead of making a shelter and waiting until it passed.  Since you're here now, I'll arrange quarters and we can get the full story in the morning when everyone is feeling a lot warmer and a bit more civil."

Henrietta's weary footsteps echoed down the Abbey's corridor as the hallway clock struck another hour of a new day.  Since the Dibbun Bell, she either ran wet towels down to the kitchen or retrieved the dry and toasty ones she left on a previous trip.  Inside the Infirmary, she did nothing more than make a doe hare comfortable at the hearth, or watch the healer exchange the hot towels she brought up for the wet ones that covered the patient.  Satisfied both patients would sleep, Healer Fazbee dismissed her.

No other inhabitant stirred as she made her way to the Dormitory, which didn't surprise her at this time of night.  She reached out for the door latch, pressed the lever until the lock opened, and slipped inside the room.  She did not move, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light of a single lamp.

Once the door closed, she released the breath she hadn't realized she held while entering the darkness.  Henrietta's ears swiveled in an attempt to capture any wayward sound.  All remained quiet.  She tiptoed to where the dibbuns slept. 

Henrietta almost squealed when her paw knocked a sodden coat from its hook and onto her foot.  After replacing it, she continued towards a faint light that flickered in the distance.  As Henrietta reached the end of the dark corridor, she came to a wide and shadowy room.  A series of beds lined the far wall, each separated from the other by a series of hanging sheets.  Somebody slept in each bed, with the exception of one.

She moved with all the stealth she possessed and approached the empty bed.  She sat on the nearest corner.  If that's the life of a healer, I want no part of it.  She groaned, too tired to stifle the sound.  None of the sleepers reacted.  Henrietta removed her sandals, careful not to drop them on the hardwood flooring.  Her tired fingers worked the buttons of her garments free and with a quick motion, exchanged them for her night shirt.

Crawling along the length of the bed, her paws worked the heavy covers off the pillow.  Her body gave a shudder as the wintry air swirled about her flimsy garment.  She scooted under the blankets and shivered even harder from the cold mattress.  For a moment, no sound could be heard and her eyes grew heavier as the bed warmed.  Sweet oblivion was but a few short breaths away.

Just then, a weight landed on her chest.  Such a sudden blow had her expelling whatever air she had.  She struggled to claw her way out of the bed.  Henrietta tried sitting up, but the tucked blankets and the unexpected weight held her in place.  Then a low voice called out to her with far more enthusiasm than the early hour warranted.

"Want to know what silly vole saw.  Want to know if that was a silly badger or not.  Wake up and tell me now.  Please, please, please?"

Henrietta forced her weary eyes open.  There, sitting on her stomach was the unexpected weight.  The young hogget straddled her body jumping in place with eager anticipation.  The youngster might not weigh much, but she felt every pound of the girl each time she landed on her.  Shortspike continued her pleading.

"I swear, if you don't stop bouncing, I'll have to return to that Healer's Infirmary . . . as a patient.  Now get off me so I can breathe."

The hogget slid off the bed and stood near her, oblivious to her recent discomfort.  For a moment, she thought of ignoring the girl, but feared a repeat performance.  She sat on the pillow and patted the bed.  When Shortspike settled next to her, Henrietta tried answering all the questions the tot kept spouting.

From the next sheeted cubical, a female voice gave a sleepy snarl.  "For the love of the Eternals, try and shut that brat up.  Put her to bed and be done with it.  She can wait 'til morning like the rest of us.  Even my sheep have sense enough not to go bleating throughout the night."

A male voice answered in just as groggy a tone.  "Ignore her.  When Shortspike gets animated about something, she cannot stop talking.  I don't think I could take her jabbering through whatever is left of the night."

"The two of you can go back to sleep; I'll take care of it."  Henrietta kept her voice low, but her snippy attitude came through to the two complainants.  She stood.  Shortspike held her paw as the two of them returned to the child's cloth room.  Henrietta waited until the young hedgehog was nestled in her bed.  At least the dibbun no longer spoke in a non-stop manner.

"Where to begin" Henrietta mused.  Not able to get a cohesive thought going at this late hour, she decided the best course was to just answer the questions fired at her by the super inquisitive dibbun.

"Healer Fazbee is treating a badger sow and she's suffering from the cold.  Good thing our doctor knew what to do; she'll make a full recovery."  She tapped her forehead with a claw.  "Let me think now.  I remember the hare guarding her said her name is Tassel and they are taking her to some courtroom for a trial.  Hard believing she's as evil as the hare hinted."

"Silly beastie had her head covered so I couldn't see what the silly badger looked like.  Is she as pretty as our silly Badgermom?"

Henrietta's expression soured.  "After seeing her face, I can assure you it would be the last thing you'd want to see before sleeping.  Her face would crack a mirror.  Healer Fazbee said her scars are either too old or too deep to fix.  He said her muzzle is broken; he doesn't want to put her through the pain of repairing the damage since he cannot guarantee it would be any better looking when he finished." 

Again Shortspike fired off a long list of questions, but this time, Henrietta sidestepped them.  Pleading with the hogget wasn't working and the other room's occupants were becoming more distressed.  Then inspiration hit her.  She promised the hedgehog if she went to sleep, she would tell her everything in the morning, which satisfied the now yawning child.

She returned to her own mussed bed and pulled the covers over her chilled body.  The bed had cooled since she left it, but it quickly warmed.  Just as her eyes drooped, the large form of Lady Pellanore hovered over her, tucking in the loose ends of her blanket.  She felt a light kiss to her forehead just as she slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep.


Henrietta hesitated at the Infirmary's door while balancing a food tray.  She thought going to the kitchen before the others woke a prudent idea.  It allowed her to verify the doe's uniform had dried as well as her other garments and gear.  A few words with the cook and she had a tray for their guests.

Shortspike cancelled all of her good intentions.  The dibbun must have raced downstairs when she found her missing.  Now, the young hogget held a pitcher of apple cider.  No amount of persuasion convinced the girl to stay in Cavern Hole.  She insisted on helping.

"Remember your promise," Henrietta said.

The girl raised one finger and tapped her nose in the universal sign for quiet.  She emphasized her promise with a loud shushing sound.  In spite of Henrietta's dreaded anticipation, she had no choice.  She pushed the door open, slipped inside, and allowed it to close after Shortspike entered.

Within the Infirmary, two slept past the morning bells.  A doe hare rested on the wooden floor just past the hearthstones, her head resting on a folded towel.  Her long ears twitched in time to the sound of her light breathing.  The hot blanket used to warm her hours earlier now covered her body while arms and legs remained exposed.

Since Henrietta didn't see the badger, she made the assumption that she rested upon an elevated table in the center of the room.  Unlike the chilled floor, a small fire kept the patient warm by heating the metal.  The Healer must have replaced the smaller hot towels she used last night with a heavy blanket.  This blanket rested on a wooden frame, which acted as a tent that hid the second patient. 

Several voices whispered just beyond the door.  When quiet returned, the door latch moved.  The Healer entered first.  Behind him came two hares and Lady Pellanore.  So much activity proved too much for the young hedgehog standing next to her.  The child didn't shout, but even a quiet voice in a silent room came across as a scream.

"I don't see no silly badger.  Where is she?"

Such an unexpected noise resulted in several things happening at once.  One of the hares accompanying the Healer reached for his weapon, but made no move to draw it.  The sleeping doe came to her feet while her paw patted the towel around her waist.  Her confused look almost had Henrietta laugh since she knew whatever item she wanted was nowhere within the room.

Healer Fazbee leaned down until he could meet the dibbun at her eye level.  "Could you do me a big favor?  Take our guest down to the kitchen where she can inspect her gear and see if any of her garments dried overnight.  Bet if you ask real nice, our guest will tell you all about her exciting adventures as a soldier."

Corporal Sweetleaf blushed as she realized somebody noticed her initial panic when she first awoke.  The doe mouthed a quick thank you for letting her know where she could find her gear.  The Corporal followed the jabbering child who kept pulling her paw.  The two stepped into the corridor and when the door closed, the animated voice was mercifully silenced by the wooden barrier. 

The healer extinguished the small fire under the metal table and lifted the blanket at one end of the gurney.  He exposed the head of a still sleeping badger.  For several moments, the woodchuck watched as his patient's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.  He left the blanket folded back.  No doubt satisfied with his patient's progress, Fazbee lifted his glasses off his muzzle and rested them in their customary resting place atop his head.

"At this point, Tassel will be more interested in food; she should offer you no trouble, Henrietta.  Give a shout if the unexpected does happen; I'm sure I can handle one under-aged and starving badger."

"And if our esteemed Healer cannot," said Lady Pellinor, "I've raised my fair share of pups.  No child, regardless of her age, will get the upper paw on me."

So many voices roused the sleeping badger and she stretched her paws above her head.  Reaction to her movement had the two male hares shouting in unison.  The one wearing a uniform withdrew his sword, ordering everyone outside while the brown hare stated the obvious by noting the missing restraints.

Such a hue and cry had the badger shift her weight away from the noise.  Her sudden movement toppled the metal cart and wooden frame, creating a deafening crash that added to the bedlam of shouts and curses from every occupant.  Tassel scooted backwards, which started another round of screamed orders from one hare, and counter-orders from the Badgermom and Healer.

Once again the door opened and a shrew dressed in green stepped into the midst of the fracas.  He watched the young badger wrap the bunched blanket about her while the elders continued their verbal tirade.  Henrietta turned into a living statue who held a food tray, not sure which way she should move.

The shrew let loose a piercing whistle that sliced through the hostile air like a knife through a fresh baked pie.  When all noise had ceased, the shrew closed the door behind him and moved to a point where he could observe every occupant.  The brown hare got no further than opening his mouth when the shrew held up his paw for silence.  The Father Abbot stared at the others letting the silence grow.

"Since this area of our Abbey is the province of our Healer, what say we let him speak first," said the shrew.

"Thank you, Father Abbot."  The woodchuck glared at each hare in turn.  "I expected two hungry patients, but these three bullied their way into my Infirmary.  Next thing I know, this one," he pointed at the uniformed hare, "draws his weapon and the other bellows about my patient's missing restraints."

A glance from the Father Abbot had the Badgermom speaking, though she too fought to maintain a calm demeanor.  "I too have reason to be here and accompanied our guests.  All I was trying to do was be the voice of reason."

Healer Fazbee almost exploded at the comment but seeing the Father Abbot's expression, kept his peace.  Now the shrew moved through the room and approached each occupant in turn.  His eyes bored into each and he didn't flinch at the sight of the mangled face of the younger badger.  Once finished his circumnavigation, he returned to where he had begun.

"It seems obvious our business must start now rather than later.  Captain Greypaw, have two armed guards stationed outside the Infirmary with orders not to enter this room unless necessary.  Henrietta, stay here with our patient as long as you wish, but don't be afraid to call for help.  Everyone else shall follow me downstairs; unless you have some medical reason for remaining, Healer?"

Mister Fazbee gave a low snort.  "She's recovered from the cold and I can check her for any additional injuries later.  Lead the way, Father Abbot."

Like reluctant children given an unpleasant chore, the three elders followed the Father Abbot from the room.  When the door closed, Henrietta stared at the mess and shook her head.  A gravelly voice startled her.

"If that food's for me, mind letting me have it before it becomes as cold as the ice outside?"

She felt the heat of a light blush touching her cheeks.  Henrietta searched for a flat surface, not sure where to set the tray.  The badger gave an exasperated grunt, pulled the serving tray out of her paws, and sat in a far corner.  Lifting each lid produced a light purr of approval.  The badger reached for the first item of food and hesitated.

"My guards have sickened the first few times they saw me eat.  You might not want to watch."

"With a face like yours, I can believe it."  Henrietta's paws flew upward, grabbing her muzzle and holding her mouth closed.  She stared at the badger trying to gauge her reaction to the inadvertent insult.

"I've said worse things about my beauty, so I take no offense.  If you're going to wait until I finish, just keep your back to me."

Henrietta sat against the near wall and stared at the door.  "Unless you prefer me leaving, I would like to sit and talk a while, Tassel.  It is Tassel?"

The gravelly voice gave a light laugh.  "You got the name right and I would enjoy having somebody speak to me without it coming out like a series of commands.  Other than those bloody hares, I haven't spoken to anyone since I left my home."

"Well than, let me tell you about the badger, Lady Pellanore.  She's our Badgermom and you'll not find a nicer elder.  Why one time I remember a funny story where a birthday party didn't go as planned. "

Once beyond the confines of the Infirmary's examination room, everyone followed the Father Abbot.  Captain Greypaw kept pace with the former general as they followed the badger and healer.  None spoke.

A loud commotion had him glance forward.  His entire command followed Corporal Sweetleaf, and they were racing towards them.  Each soldier held their weapons at the ready.  He doubled his pace, which had him standing next to the Father Abbot when they drew closer.  His command stopped and saluted.

"Corporal Sweetleaf," Greypaw said.  "There is but one entrance into the Infirmary.  Assign one guard at this end and another just beyond the prisoner's room.  Be sure there are two guards on duty at all times.  Unless you hear somebody call for help or you see the prisoner outside that room," and here he pointed at the closed door behind him, "remain at your post.  I don't want anyone distracted while she's loose."

A paw pressed against his side and he gave way to the Father Abbot.  "Our Abbey is renowned for its peaceful inhabitants so I will ask you to keep your weapons sheathed while on duty.  I see no need upsetting anyone as to why we have armed guests."

The doe gave the Father Abbot a quizzical look before checking with her commander.  When Captain Greypaw nodded, the doe barked out orders to the privates who either dashed to their assigned stations or retraced their steps.  With order restored, everyone trailed the Father Abbot.

The Father Abbot, General Vindicarr, Captain Greypaw, the Healer, and Lady Pellanore, followed a long corridor that bypassed the main staircase.  The Father Abbot led them down the hallway.  Turning right, they circled a balcony that ended at another stairway.  This staircase led down to the Tapestry Room. 

As he descended, his eyes were drawn to the portrait of the Abbey's famous founding warrior, Martin.  The image may have been fashioned of wool, but such was the skill of the artisans who maintained its beauty, Captain Greypaw swore the image seemed to live and breathe.  Though the mantle above his image was bare, he knew the legendary Sword of Martin rested there when not needed. 

Captain Greypaw shuddered as he gazed into the face of Martin, a warrior renowned for his courage in battle.  He could feel the penetrating eyes of the portrait examining his very soul as he walked by in awed silence.  Without conscious thought, he brought his right paw to his heart, clenching it into a fist as a salute to a comrade in arms.  From the corner of his eye, he caught the former general mirroring his action.

After a quick march down to another door, the shrew stepped to the side and indicated his desire that they enter.  Each passed the Father Abbot, who held the door open.  As Lady Pellanore entered, the shrew stepped aside and the door closed on them.  They stood near the closed door, not sure what to do next.

Healer Fazbee strolled to the corner under a wall-mounted lamp.  The woodchuck picked up a nearby book, settled in a nearby chair, and started thumbing through the pages.  Having found something of interest, he lowered his glasses, which effectively cut him out of any further conversations.

Vindicarr took a stance at the opposite corner and Captain Greypaw joined him.  The two of them maintained a parade rest stance as they awaited the return of the Father Abbot.  Like the healer, neither of them initiated any speech.

Lady Pellanore went to a chair at the end of a long table closest to the door.  From her seat, she could turn in one direction and observe Healer Fazbee.  A shift of her muzzle in the opposite direction had her gazing at him and Vindicarr.  Her inspection left her muttering to herself as she leaned against the chair's hardwood backing.  When the other room inhabitants remained silent, she fixed her eyes on the closed door.

Their wait ended with a light rap at the door before it opened.  A tall female squirrel entered first.  Her fiery fur matched her expression and all watched as she quick-marched into the room.  The blue dress she wore swirled about her hips making a light rasping sound in the quiet chamber as she approached the table.  At the end furthest from the badger, she selected a chair and stood behind it. 

Next came a male otter who sauntered in as if he ruled this Abbey.  He held an ornate cane in his left paw.  The cane's dark wood contrasted his grayish brown fur and the reddish garments he wore.  Though the touch of grey about his muzzle hinted at his age, his movements displayed a more youthful vigor belying any need for his walking stick.  After a fast nod to the female squirrel, the otter approached the seat across from the lady squirrel.  They sat.

The Father Abbot entered last.  He took the seat between squirrel and otter.  This allowed him an unobstructed view of anyone sitting at the table.  He beckoned to the room's remaining occupants directing them to join him.  Once everyone found a seat, a tense moment of silence passed.

"Let me open this meeting by introducing my two associates.  On my left is Lady Sudditta.  She is bonded to the Red Maple Tribe's chief.  According to her mate, she has settled many disputes, thereby averting trouble necessitating his intervention.  I requested her presence as a female's viewpoint may prove valuable."

The red furred squirrel nodded to each occupant in turn as she made eye contact, working her way from Redwall's Badgermom to the Father Abbot.  She gave a hasty lick to her paw and slicked down the cowlick, which remained jutting at an angle from her right ear.  A flick of her dampened ear had the errant tuff of fur separating once again. 

"And on my right is the leader of Yosum Holt, Chief Merkez.  His otters have proven themselves in numerous skirmishes against the bandits King Meles is fighting.  But it appears the Skipper of Otters, who is acknowledged as the leader of all otters, will not consider any alliance with Yosum Holt.  This slight has created a rift, which is why Merkez migrated south to Redwall with his clan."

Like the female squirrel, the otter's eyes bored into each beast seated at the table.  Using his cane like a swagger stick, the otter saluted them.  Captain Greypaw acknowledged it with a slight head bob.  Merkez's eyes lingered on the woodchuck Healer and the lady badger for several seconds before he leaned back in his chair, an inscrutable expression etched upon his face.  He then acknowledged the presence of Lady Sudditta and Father Abbot Draccon.

Without preamble, the Father Abbot explained their presence.  "The three of us shall preside over the upcoming trial of the female badger brought here last night.  I know you knew nothing of this, Healer Fazbee, so let me ask the question uppermost in our minds; is your patient fit to stand trial?"

Those words had the woodchuck sputtering.  "Stand trial?  I thought the hares were taking her somewhere else, Father Draccon."  When no further clarification came, Healer Fazbee sounded a light harrumph.  He shifted his glasses to their customary place atop his head before he offered his medical assessment.  "She is a bit undernourished, but otherwise in reasonably good health after her weather related injuries.  If you're intending to have her tried, I see no reason for voicing an objection."

"Then let's get started.  Our first question is when.  I would recommend a week after the Dibbun Day celebration, which is in ten days.  We can then concentrate on this serious matter without cutting any festivities short."

General Vindicarr shot to his feet.  "That is totally unacceptable, sir.  This trial has been delayed far too long.  If we start tomorrow morning, we can have her convicted by noon and buried by nightfall.  With nine more days before your festivities, nobody will suffer from dampening spirits."

Now Lady Pellanore bolted upright.  "You are aware King Meles asked me to defend her in this trial?  Have you so little faith in my ability or is it your own sense of arrogance?"  Her lips pulled back and her hackles rose.  "Perhaps the King's courts are willing to convict this child without hearing any evidence, but I will not allow it to happen here."  Her reddish eyes blazed at the brown hare.  "You try to deny her due process and I will take it personally, and you dare not get on my bad side, hare."

"Enough, both of you."  The Father Abbot's palm slapped the table's surface creating a thud that captured everyone's attention.  "Present an alternative and we shall consider it."

Over the next hour the Badgermom offered various choices.  Each time she did, Vindicarr explained its shortcomings.  Sometimes the female squirrel or the male otter proffered a question on some point.  This started another round of comments, sometimes requiring the intervention of the Father Abbot.

Captain Greypaw considered it odd that the king selected both the prosecutor and the defense counselor for this trial.  As a disinterested observer, he had no idea why his presence might be needed.  With no valid comment or suggestion to offer, he remained quiet during the most heated of exchanges.  He almost missed the next comment directed at him by Father Draccon. 

"Based on what we have learned, it appears Captain Greypaw knows the prisoner far better than any of us.  Care to give us your opinion, Captain?"

All eyes shifted to him.  Greypaw in turn stared at the Father Abbot for several protracted seconds while he considered how best to answer his inquiry.  "Other than the time she suffered from a high fever, she has been controllable and has obeyed our commands.  If she kept a civil tongue, I would refer to her behavior as exemplary."

The Father Abbot stood.  With a beckoning paw he directed the squirrel and otter to join him at the far end of the room.  There the three elders conferred in low voices even his heightened hearing couldn't discern.  An occasional outburst from one had the others issuing a quick admonishment, which preceded a hasty glance at those sitting at the table's far end.

Judging by the snap of Lady Sudditta's tail and the occasional thump of the walking stick, they were having problems coming to any consensus.  Even Father Draccon was not above an open display of opposition to whatever words passed between them.  As they continued their discussions, the three elders wandered to the far corner where they remained in an animated verbal repartee.

A clock marked the quarter hour twice before their conference ended.  Each then returned to the table without looking at those awaiting their decision.  When all were seated, the squirrel and otter nodded in near unison and the Father Abbot revealed their final decision.

"The trial shall begin the day after Dibbun Day and any verdict shall require the unanimous decision of our panel.  Until then, the badger child will be placed in the custody of our Badgermom, but under restraints each night within the Dormitory.  Since I prefer seeing children earning their keep, I shall allow her some latitude so she may work with Father Hughnaught in our kitchens.  We can have cutlery sent to another area for washing while she scrubs pots and pans.  A guard shall be with her each night, but during the day, no hare will approach her unless their intervention is warranted.  If her behavior in public is inappropriate, I alone will determine what corrective action shall be taken."

Bedlam broke out as these decrees were issued.  Both Badgermom Pellanore and former General Vindicarr shouted their objections.  Even Captain Greypaw added a point of dissent.  Father Draccon allowed the uproar to continue until all took a short respite.

"Special arrangements must be made before our decisions can be implemented, but those are nothing more than logistics.  Shall we discuss them now or would you prefer working out the details at a later time?"


"Stop twisting my tail."  Henrietta held her sides as tears slid down the side of her muzzle.  "You're lying.  No beast could be so stupid."

Tassel continued giggling.  "It's all true.  The stoat got lost in the woods and thought he had found a hidden fishing pond.  He walked out on the ice figuring the deepest part would be where all the big fish hid."

Henrietta swiped her paw across her face drying her tears as she continued shaking with mirth.  When the badger delivered the punch line about the stoat going through the thin ice and into the cesspool, she doubled over howling with laughter.  The sound of the badger hiccupping as she said it through her giggling had both of them leaning against the wall.

"By the time he pulled himself to shore, he was soaked.  I tell you, nobody wanted him within a hundred yards downwind, even after a dozen soapy washings.  Somebody told me his mate refused to let him in their home for a whole week."

The two fell silent as each pictured the exact moment when the ice broke.  Imagining the male's expression as he realized what he fell into had them pantomiming the special event.  Each girl tried showing a wilder wide-eyed stare than the other, which had both collapsing into still more hysterical laughter. 

When quiet returned, neither made any further comment.  Without warning, the door flew open and seven uniformed hares entered the examination room with their weapons drawn.  They stood in a ragged line, each hare pointing their weapon at the two of them.  They squeezed into the far corner.  Several soldiers moved to one side of the room in a flanking maneuver.

Captain Greypaw kept his eyes fixated on Tassel.  "We heard a commotion and responded.  Don't be afraid, we will protect you."

For a moment, Henrietta hesitated.  Then she jumped to her feet and placed her balled fists against her hips.  "Right now I'm more afraid of a bunch of crazed soldiers who don't know the difference between a cry for help and genuine laughter."

Corporal Sweetleaf lunged in and hooked her elbow.  Before she could react, Henrietta found herself lifted off her feet and launched towards the open door.  As she regained her balance, she noticed how fast the badger's smile melted.  In its place a smoldering anger manifested itself in a menacing growl.  She shivered in fear from the unexpected change in her new friend's attitude.

"I prefer to err on the side of caution.  Have the prisoner placed in restraints." 

Henrietta continued watching the hares as the restraints were placed about the badger's wrists and ankles.  A light cough and a pointing muzzle from one of the hare privates had the Captain glancing over his shoulder.  The hare officer first sheathed his weapon and with a less than gentle shove, propelled Henrietta into the hallway.  Before she could protest, the door slammed shut. 

Tassel paced the confines of the Infirmary's examination room.  Since the departure of the hares and Henrietta, she had but one visitor, an old woodchuck who preferred muttering to himself.  This fellow gathered the fallen debris from the morning and placed everything on the metal cart.  When he finished, he left the room without responding to any of her inquiries.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened the same door the Healer used.  A long corridor ran in both directions.  She thought it empty until somebody shouted.  One hare sentry stationed near the door moved in her direction.  His paw rested near his weapon while another hare came towards her from the opposite end of the hallway.  Tassel retreated and neither soldier followed.

With nothing to do but pace, she soon became bored.  Though she noticed the other door, she didn't open it, fearing another confrontation.  Eventually the monotony of walking the perimeter of the small room had her welcoming the possible distraction such an altercation might generate.

Casting aside her apprehension, Tassel eased the door open.  She almost slammed it shut again, fearing another hare stood nearby.  Upon closer inspection, she discovered not an exit, but a closet filled with towels and bed linens.  She replaced the sheet she used with a large blanket from one shelf, wrapped it about her body, and curled up in a corner.  Within moments, she slipped into a light sleep.

She sensed someone else had entered the room.  This must be the badger Henrietta mentioned.  It took no powers of deduction to judge her mood.  The older badger stood within the doorframe, glaring at her.  If that wasn't enough of an indicator, her tail kept sweeping the spot behind her with such vigor Tassel wondered if it would wear down the wood grain.

"Listen here, child, it's time we set the ground rules."

Tassel matched the badger's stern voice with one of her own.  "With me wearing nothing more than a towel about my person, I would imagine your ground rules will have me staying right here."

How did somebody that big move so fast?  Tassel found herself slammed against the far wall and staring into the eyes of one incensed lady.  The threatening growl she heard convinced her to remain quiet.  The elder held her for several seconds before she released her.

"I have handled many a pup in my days and realize older teens sometimes come with an attitude, but that gives you no right to act in such a crude manner.  When next we speak, you will use my name, Lady Pellanore, or my title, Badgermom.  Do so with a civil tongue or I shall treat you like a dibbun half your years."

Tassel made no retort and Lady Pellanore's expression softened, but not enough to be called friendly.  "Tomorrow morning, I'll bring you a change of clothing so you can leave this room.  Our Father Abbot wants you working in the kitchen scrubbing pots and pans during the day.  It will give you something to occupy your time.  Come nightfall, you'll bed with the other children under my care.  I'll explain any other ground rules as they become necessary."

The older sow marched to the exit.  The loud slam of the door punctuated the elder's displeasure and the sound of the timbers closing echoed in the room long after her departure.  Tassel remained where she was, staring at the closed door until certain Lady Pellanore would not return.

Morning brought a welcome change.  A set of dry clothing and a pair of sandals allowed her to leave the Infirmary.  Tassel growled at the two hare guards she passed, which had Lady Pellanore rapping the back of Tassel's head as they continued their journey to the kitchen.  When she noticed the two hares remained behind, Tassel smiled, which sent two other Abbey residents they passed scurrying off in a different direction.

They entered the kitchen.  Lady Pellanore introduced Father Hughnaught, who remained speechless whenever Tassel looked his way.  After the Badgermom made several aborted attempts at getting Redwall's chef talking, she led Tassel on a tour of the massive kitchen.  At times the chef added a detail, but he always directed his comments to the elder badger and not at her.

Lady Pellanore explained the limitations imposed on her by the Father Abbot before she exited the area.  For several moments, Father Hughnaught stood rooted in place staring at the door through which the Badgermom had vanished, his back to her.  Tassel's light touch made the woodchuck jump, but he responded to her question by escorting her to a series of deep washbasins.

Father Hughnaught acted as a genial host by offering her a hearty breakfast before starting work.  The fellow stood nearby, but than dashed over to his ovens claiming he smelled something burning.  By the time she finished her meal, one basin had a mound of dirty pots awaiting her attention.  With her back to all the kitchen workers, Father Hughnaught found conversation somewhat easier and the earlier tension dissipated as comments passed between them.

By early afternoon the delightful odor of baked apple pies filled the room.  The voices of the other workers reminded her of the buzzing insects back home and she ignored them since none were ever directed at her.  One voice she did monitor was that of the chef, who had the habit of talking to himself as he hustled between the ovens and cooling racks located behind her workstation.  "I do hope we don't lose any more pies.  I've had a few disappear over the last few days."

Tassel continued scrubbing the never-ending pile of crockery dismissing the chef's comments.  A glance at the latest cleaned pot hanging off a high rack afforded her a mirrored view of the cooling racks.  She had just placed the next dirty pot into the sink when the reflected movements of two unknown creatures caught her attention.

Whirling about, she caught two mole children lifting one of the cooling pies off a lower rack.  She lunged towards the unsuspecting tots.  Tassel fastened her claws into the nape of their necks and gave a quick twist, which yanked both youngsters off their feet.  She held the two miscreants at eye level and gave a mighty roar.  Both moles tucked their tails and lost their water.  As the two moles stared into the nightmarish face of their captor, Tassel gave each of them a vigorous shake.  That had both crying out in pain.

Within seconds, a contingent of elders rushed into the kitchen.  The two moles continued wailing as Tassel shifted her eyes from one mole to the other as she held them suspended above the messy floor.  Three hares entered with weapons drawn, but hesitated.  Father Hughnaught pushed his way to the front.

"Release those dibbuns right now."  Tassel complied with his orders.  She loosened her grip and the two sniveling moles fell onto the messy floor.  Father Hughnaught helped the two to their feet, handed the moles another pie and shooed everyone outside.  With relative order restored, the woodchuck turned on her.  For some reason, he appeared distressed that she captured the ones responsible for the recent thefts.

"Missy, I've known about those two pinching my treats for the last two weeks.  It's just a game they play.  I saw them hiding behind the sacks of flour earlier this morning and so I made the comment about the thieves for their benefit.  Lets them think they're getting away with something naughty."

Shaking her head, Tassel returned to the soapy water.  "Where I come from, such thieves would be given a harsh beating for the first offense and could lose a paw if they ever repeated such a crime.  Your reaction only encourages more thieveries."

The proof of her statement came when the next batch of pies was laid out on the cooling racks.  Tassel spotted movement in a pot's reflection and sounded a low growl as she turned from her wash basin.  Two young female squirrels gazed over at her, tucked their tails, and slinked out of the kitchen on all fours without disturbing any of the pies.

The two latest would-be thieves had not been long gone when Tassel heard the familiar no-nonsense voice of Lady Pellanore behind her.  "I hear you have been causing quite a disturbance.  Between Vindicarr's legalistic tirade, the Captain's vivid descriptions, and the dibbun's parent's indignation, there isn't an elder within Redwall who doesn't want your hide tanned.  Give me one reason why I shouldn't."

Without turning from the half-cleaned pot sitting before her, Tassel answered in a flat voice.  "Do as you will; I was following the directive voiced by Father Hughnaught." 

When the Badgermom did not give an immediate reply, Tassel added a comment that carried a note of frustration.  "For somebody so dedicated to what is proper, your tolerance of such criminal actions by those among you is most confusing."

A gentle paw gave her shoulder a light squeeze.  "I shall try and quench their fire, Tassel."

For the rest of the day, she had no reason for speaking with any of the other kitchen workers and remained silent.  When Father Hughnaught presented her next meal, she wandered outside by the woodpile.  Though the winter weather kept others inside, Tassel found it tolerable.  It also offered her a quiet respite.

At least it did before Captain Greypaw marched around the building's corner.  In anticipation of his question, Tassel reminded the hare she was allowed outside, though no further than the stacked wood needed for the ovens.  The Captain made no comment as he cleaned off a nearby tree stump and sat.

"That's not why I'm here, badger.  If those privates were telling me the truth, they believed you intended doing harm to those youngsters.  I'm curious why a killer like you held back."

"My orders were to obey Redwall's chef, which I did.  He wanted the thieves apprehended; nothing more."

Captain Greypaw mulled over her response before he returned to the Abbey.  Just as he moved out of her line of vision, Tassel caught sight of another hare leaning against the building.  Knowing the hare guard was stationed there intensified her resentment of their presence.  Now this former peaceful setting lost its allure.  Tassel bolted her food and returned to the warmth of the kitchen pleased at least one of the hares remained outside suffering in the frigid weather.

At day's end when the last polished pot was hung in its rack, Tassel gave a mighty stretch and rubbed her back.  It had been a long day.  She felt the chill of winter invading the once summer hot room and knew the many ovens within the kitchen no longer held a fire. 

With everyone having been dismissed some time earlier, the only other worker in the room was Father Hughnaught.  Something displeased him.  She glanced in the direction of his voice, which had her frowning.  Four pairs of hare ears sprouted above a cutlery cupboard.

The hares followed the chef as he came from around the cabinet's corner.  Two of the hares carried a series of chains.  A third held a weapon at the ready.  All of them followed Corporal Sweetleaf as they made their way to where she stood.  Tassel offered no resistance and in swift order, her guards led her beyond the kitchen. 

Once inside the Abbey proper, they herded her through a series of rooms to a staircase.  If she wanted to check out her surroundings, the guards never gave her the opportunity.  They almost raced through the first floor and climbed some marble steps to the second floor.  One guard opened a door and all entered a room containing a series of beds aligned along the far wall.

They approached a metal ring screwed into the wall.  In quick order, her chains were secured.  Corporal Sweetleaf handed the badger two thick blankets while the privates unfastened a hanging sheet by each wall.  Unfurling the sheets created two more walls that enclosed her.  Satisfied with their work, the hares withdrew.

A series of bells rang just as Tassel arranged her bedding to her satisfaction.  Moments later, she detected the scent of several other residents.  One voice she recognized.  It belonged to one of the hare guards who escorted her upstairs

"Now hear and obey me, hogget.  Nobody is allowed within this room; I make no exceptions for some silly dibbun wanting to look inside."

A female voice growled.  "Of all the words you could use, you had to say that one."

As if in answer, a shrill voice sang out a sing-song litany of words that attributed the word silly to every object she saw.  Four other voices begged for her silence, without much success.  When Lady Pellanore intervened, the cacophony ceased.

The lights had just dimmed when a new disturbance could be heard from the opposite end of the dormitory.  Once again the hare guard shouted, ordering somebody not to move.  Along the Dormitory floor an apparition scooted under the fabric wall.  Tassel's jaw dropped at the sight and she remained sitting wrapped in her blankets gazing at a small figure.

The hogget stood just a little higher than Tassel's knee and had a bright yellow ribbon weaved through her head spikes.  A slight shift to the side confirmed the small child before her was indeed a hedgehog.  Her eyes misted.  She extended her manacled paws towards the dibbun and cooed.  The young beast darted back under the cloth wall.

"Shortspike, you naughty girl.  Didn't I tell you not to go in there," Lady Pellanore growled.

The shrill voice Tassel had heard earlier responded.  "Wanted to see what the silly badger looked like, wanted to know if her silly face really could crack a mirror."

"Well I hope it was worth your morning dessert.  Now be off to bed or I'll have my paw meet your rump."

Tassel remained squatting on the blankets starring at the spot where Shortspike had stood; unshed tears clouding her vision while she whispered the word chaff.  She continued her vigilance until she heard the sound of the room's other residents sleeping.  Once more she curled up within the blankets and stared forward.  When the silhouette of a hare appeared on the fabric where the young hedgehog had disappeared, Tassel gave a low but angry snarl before she too curled up in her blankets for a good night's sleep. 

Stiles laid down his quill as he again checked his notes.  A few more strokes and he gave Badgermom Tassel his undivided attention. 

"My little sister was one of those squirrels you spotted before they could steal a pie.  Don't think she tried pinching something from the kitchen ever again.  We laugh about it today, but back then I can still remember just how angry my parents felt."

The masked badger continued staring at the ceiling.  "And how is your sister today?"

"She remains with the Red Maple Tribe.  Each year she sends me a letter insisting we move since squirrels need wood, not stone, but my mate and I love Redwall too much."

Tassel stretched from her prone position and with a mighty push, lifted herself off the sofa.  Without any prompting, she set a pot over the fireplace and waited until it boiled.  Once they each had a hot cup of tea warming their paws, she returned to the couch.

Stiles sipped his tea.  "After your first night, Lady Pellanore insisted the guards be removed.  According to the Father Abbot's diary, she found them too intimidating; I just wish our former Badgermom kept a journal.  It would've made my job easier."  The scribe remained quiet, hoping his guest might provide additional insight.

"Nothing special happened.  Over the next few nights I met the others.  With one exception, each would stick their head into my area and offer a good night before returning to their bed.  Even after all these years, I'll never forget the day before my trial because it started out as something magical."

The squirrel scribe laughed.  "The magic was thanks to Lady Pellanore, much to the objections of two certain hares.  Our Badgermom must have been pleased our cook kept you working late as you slept through her surprise."  Placing fresh paper before him, the scribe dipped his pen before looking at his guest.  "I would love hearing about that day from your viewpoint."

Scratching her ear with one claw, the badger played for time by draining her cup.  "Oh dear, not my best attribute you know.  Telling stories about oneself is difficult, but let me see if I can.  I suppose the beginning of the tale is with the morning. "


Tassel blinked her eyes as she peered from her woolen cocoon, uncertain as to what caused her to stir.  Her nose sniffed the air and detected no unpleasant scent.  Then her eyes focused on the cloth cell that defined her sleep area and finding nobody there; she gave a snort before digging deeper into her bedding.

She had just gotten comfortable when a shrill voice disturbed the peace.  A soft moan escaped her lips as the voice turned more animated and persistent.

"Get out of your silly beds, its morning."  Shortspike continued repeating this phrase as her voice marked her progress within the room.

When the hares take me to the kitchen, everyone is still asleep.  What in the world would have her up this early?

A male voice groaned.  "Say Dale, were we ever this excited about Dibbun Day?"

Another groggy male replied.  "According to Badgermom Pellanore, you threatened to jump on her, quills first, if she didn't get up one year, Egress.  So yes, I would say we were a bit excited when we were her age."

The first female voice she heard sounded as upset as it did sleepy.  "Oh for the peace and quiet of home.  You do your morning chores and then you can enjoy the rest of the day.  We acted with far more dignity than a certain hogget." 

"Well, she's up and I'm betting a lot of the dibbuns in this Abbey are making their way to the Tapestry Hallway."  Of all the voices, Tassel remembered Henrietta's the best since they had talked long into the night on several occasions.

"I'm no dibbun" growled the voice of the black squirrel.

"Neither are we elders, Robertasin, but for this one day, we can enjoy acting like a child."  Knowing Dale's words were intended as an admonishment to the one inhabitant who never directed a civil comment at her pleased Tassel.  She snuggled deeper in her blankets.

A sudden weight landed on Tassel's side.  Giving a menacing growl, Tassel poked her head beyond the confines of her blankets.  The young hogget stepped backward until she encountered the cloth wall, though the exuberant expression remained plastered on her face.  How could she be so miffed at such an excited child?  Tassel pulled the blanket over her head.

"Father Hughnaught kept me working past the last bell scrubbing pots and pans.  I swear I must have scoured everything in the kitchen at least three times.  So let me sleep until those blasted hares come for me." 

"Silly badger, no dibbun works today.  Big, big, party."

"And just where do you think I can go wearing these chains?"  Tassel didn't hide her anger.

Sticking her one paw forward, she saw Shortspike's blank expression.  Her eyes shifted to her wrist.  Though the shackle remained around her wrist, the chain had disappeared.  In slow motion Tassel extended her other arm.  Both arms were missing their restraints.

Tassel jumped to her feet, scattering her bedding in her haste to stand.  The cuffs binding her ankles remained, but not the chains.  A check of the nearest wall showed the metal ring, but nothing else.

Her unfettered foot prodded her bedding.  Nothing metallic hidden there.  She remembered Corporal Sweetleaf testing each lock before withdrawing like she did every night, so it made no sense.  Chains cannot disappear.  Tassel did a quick pirouette, enjoying her freedom of motion.

An inquisitive voice spoke from the indentation made in the cloth wall.  "Is silly badger going to keep doing that silly dance or are you coming downstairs?"

She approached the small hedgehog.  Tassel leaned closer until both were at eye level.  She kept her left side facing Shortspike knowing her profile was not as frightening a sight.  Only an old red scar that ran from the tip of her nose to a point under her eye marred that side of her face.

"I'm not so sure I would be allowed downstairs without those hares nearby.  Why don't you go without me?"

Shortspike darted through the seam of the cloth walls.  Once out of sight, she shouted.  "That silly badger isn't leaving her silly room."  There was a strong note of disappointment in this pronouncement.

Just as Tassel started folding the first blanket someone pulled the front cover to her room back.  Three of the room's residents stood there like miniature elders with an expression reflecting disapproval, which she did not understand.  Shortspike stood a pace behind, tears hanging unshed.  Henrietta spoke volumes with nothing more than a simple gesture.  She held out her paw.

When her foot crossed the threshold, Tassel shuddered.  A quick glance down the corridor showed no other resident stirred and yet she hesitated.  Tassel tested the air for the scent of any approaching hare, but one small paw pulling and three pushing, propelled her down a carpeted hallway.  Another quick turn and Tassel stood at the top of a stairway.

Below her rose a cacophony of excited youthful voices shouting to one another.  A glance over the railing revealed a swarm of young residents of every woodlander species in high spirits.  Some carried colorful packages off to the side while others paraded around the room displaying something they carried.  For Tassel, the festive air overwhelmed her senses as she became transfixed halfway down the stairs viewing a scene defying her powers of description or understanding.

"And what are you doing out here, badger?"

All turned towards the displeased voice.  Seven uniformed hares and an eighth one dressed in formal attire stood at the top landing.  Next to them, another youth Tassel knew all too well from her time within the Dormitory, glared down at her.  The black squirrel advanced to a point out of her reach and high enough Tassel needed to look upward. 

"I don't know why these others have befriended somebody we are fighting, but I'll wager you don't have permission to move about without an escort," said Robertasin.

There was no denying the deep hatred burning behind the green eyes.  Neither was Robertasin's pleasure at discovering her committing some transgression.  The black squirrel seemed embolden by the presence of the hares as she awaited the consequences of Tassel's error.

At the base of the staircase another resident appeared.  Without rushing, the female badger started up the stairs.  When Lady Pellanore drew even with Tassel, she faced the black squirrel eye to eye.  The tone of her voice brooked no discussion.

"For today, Tassel has the Father Abbot's permission to attend the festivities without anyone shadowing her movements.  Do nothing that will have him regret making such a decision."  The elder badger glared first at the squirrel Robertasin, and then at Tassel and her entourage.  "Any of you."

One by one Tassel and her four escorts descended the staircase.  Badgermom Pellanore acted as a rear guard between them and the hares.  Tassel made a rapid exit merging with the other celebrants, but staying close to the others.  Her last sight of the black squirrel had her descending the stairs like an aristocrat, unaffected by those around her.

The jabbering hogget pulled Tassel's paw as they moved deeper into the room.  Despite the heavy crowd, others gave way as Tassel advanced.  Anyone looking on her disfigured face found their festive mood interrupted.  However, once she passed, the gayety resumed.  Shortspike continued pulling Tassel until they stood at the hallway's closed doors.  There, under several hanging lanterns, a pile of colorful bags and boxes sat. 

An old otter wearing a heavy shawl rested on a stool.  When the hogget spoke her name, the elder pushed herself upright and using her cane, prodded the jumble of decorative boxes.  While she did, Tassel's companions joined in the search.  Just as the elder found what she wanted, each teen snagged one of the decorative objects and darted away.  Upon receiving her bag, Shortspike bounded off, disappearing in the maelstrom of youthful exuberance leaving Tassel facing an unknown elder who frowned at her before returning to her chair.

"Well badger, take what is yours and be gone."  The elder must have noticed her confusion, the otter again prodded the strewed items until she spotted one box.  Using her cane as a pointer, the otter poked her gut with a light prod and then indicated the box.  Once Tassel lifted the object, the elder returned to her chair.

Tassel tucked the decorated box under her arm and joined the milling crowd, not sure what she should do.  Her wanderings took her past tables filled with confections of every description that left her salivating.  Youngsters would rush over, scan the table's contents, and then pop one of the goodies into their mouth.  Following their lead, Tassel reached for one, but then quickly withdrew her paw when she spotted an elder walking past. 

Henrietta's unexpected voice startled her since she thought herself alone in this crowd.  "Take whatever you like.  It's why they are there, Tassel."

A quick look at Henrietta and her nod was all the incentive Tassel needed.  Taking one hard treat, she placed it in her mouth, allowing the item to melt.  Her pleasure evident, Henrietta mentioned the name of the candy.

"Is this the only time peppermint is used?"

Henrietta laughed.  "I hear some elders add it to tea for flavor."

There was no chance at replying; the crowd swept Henrietta to another part of the room.  With those she knew disbursed throughout the room, Tassel sought a quiet corner where she could examine her gift without being disturbed.  She found a space between two tables that kept her out of the milling crowd and sat.

She inspected the box the elder said was hers.  Somebody wrapped it in several pieces of colorful fabric and sewed it shut.  The sewing held the fabric covering, but not too well.  A clawed finger slipped under the stitching would snap it without much effort, which  seemed intentional.  Others didn't hesitate breaking the seals and discovering what treasure was within their box. 

Tassel found the four corners far more interesting.  The gift had a fabric tassels attached to each corner.  If nothing else, it indicated which side should remain up.  Her finger batted the one closest to her paw: the flipping threads mesmerized her.

Other slaves told her she got her name from an indiscretion committed at a party.  While her mother worked in the kitchen, she slipped into the master's ballroom.  Every lady in attendance wore fancy jewelry around their neck or attached to their ears.  She envied their beauty.  The next day, she bit off two curtain tassels and tied them to a loop of thread, turning them into earrings.

The master did not find it amusing and banished her to the fields.  He renamed her Tassel to remind her why she could no longer enter the great manor.  She would have asked her mother the truth of this story, but a loose rug and a high staircase ended her life a month later.

Her finger batted the tassel closest to her paw; her mind a jumble of pleasant memories.  Two voices disturbed the trance created by the gyrating fabric.  They were close and neither noticed her.  The brown hare reached for a bowl of treats sitting near the edge where she squatted.  His paw so close that a quick lunge and she could sample his fingers.  She resisted that urge.

"I haven't seen the badger since Lady Pellanore relayed the Father Abbot's decision," said the brown hare.

"Not to worry, General.  Just because the shrew is willing to let her wander about doesn't mean I've forgotten my duty.  I stationed my unit just outside every exit; she'll not go far if she tries escaping.  They can also respond to any incident should the need arise."

"These Redwallers are too lenient; allowing this vermin unsupervised movement, even for a day, is begging for trouble.  And even worse, I hear somebody left her a gift."

"If she did get something, I'll confiscate whatever it is at the end of the day.  Anyone objects, I'll claim she could use it as a weapon and I'm safeguarding their welfare, which should be sufficient.  I doubt the Father Abbot would knowingly endanger the residents."

Captain Greypaw drained his tankard and placed it on the table with a heavy paw.  "I'm more concerned about this trial tomorrow, General.  These Abbey beasts might excuse her behavior since she isn't an elder yet.  And let's not forget some here see her as a well-behaved teen."

"Convicting this vermin badger will be no problem.  What bothers me is carrying out the sentence.  Considering their misplaced sentimentality, we'll have to execute her somewhere private.  Will your unit be able to do their duty?"

Tassel couldn't hear the reply as the two hares moved away from the table, joining many late-coming elders.  As the party swirled around her, Tassel studied the unopened gift box.  It lost all its appeal.  She placed it on the floor under the table, rose from her place of concealment, and moved closer to where she had an unobstructed view of the musicians.  Neither the melodious tones nor the delicious foods could recapture the sense of wonder the day held such a short time ago.  She sensed the fall of a single tear that meandered down the side of her muzzle.

Regardless of the conversation Tassel overheard, she still found the festive occasion an enjoyable experience.  She tried to watch the many skits performed and listen to the musicians, but Shortspike's efforts to have her play with her new doll acted as a distraction.  All too soon the daylight shinning through the overhead windows gave way to evening stars and the hares escorted her back to her cloth cell in the Dormitory.

True to his word, Captain Greypaw demanded whatever gift she had received.  Tassel emptied her pockets.  She insisted her gift consisted of a selection of candy treats, which she ate while downstairs.  The lie sounded so reasonable that Captain Greypaw did not press the issue.  Instead, he joined the brown hare and returned to the holiday party.  She  welcomed a good night's rest after so much activity.

The next morning, sounds from beyond the cloth barrier disturbed her rest.  She scented the hares, but they remained distant.  The other occupants stirred as they prepared for the new day.  Tassel listened to the banter going back and forth between them until the sound of a closing door marked their departure.  All became quiet and Tassel remained curled in her snug, warm blankets.  If these residents decided her services were not needed, she would relax.

Her quiet interlude evaporated when Tassel's cloth walls snapped back with a loud popping sound and six hares followed Lady Pellanore into the room.  Several of the hares carried chains, which had the teen backpedaling until she wedged herself in the corner with her knees tucked under her chin.   The hares remained where they were when the older badger waved them back. 

It took some effort and there was a bit of grunting and groaning, but Lady Pellanore did manage to sit near her.  They remained there, facing each other for a few moments, neither wishing to disturb the silence.  A discrete cough by Corporal Sweetleaf elicited a frown from the older badger.

"Your trial begins today, Tassel, and these hares are here to escort you to the courtroom.  I argued you would come without the need for such restraints, but there are some who fear you might initiate a bloody battle within our Abbey.  As you can guess, I lost the argument.  If you cooperate with me, it will show our Father Abbot how trustworthy you are."

Tassel stared at the older one, recognizing the lie within her words.  "It's not trust, Lady Pellanore.  None want me to escape.  We all know this trial will end with me dancing at the end of a very short rope.  I could be the most docile creature and every elder would wonder when I would turn.  I grow tired of fighting my fate; let's get this thing done."

Tassel stood and approached the hares.  In quick order, four long chains were attached to her limbs and the lone private not holding a chain, held his weapon at the ready.  Once Badgermom Pellanore rose, Corporal Sweetleaf led everyone along the same path Tassel took yesterday.

As they descended the stairs, she noticed the stark change to the room.  Workers removed yesterday's festive decorations during the night.  A series of heavy black drapes hid the magnificent tapestry that ran the length of one wall.  Benches filled with the Abbey's inhabitants ran across the width of the hall where merry musicians, clowns, and actors performed.  At the place where the gifts had been stacked, a raised dais with three chairs behind a bare table dominated the room.  Tables sat on either side of a low platform that had a heavy wooden railing on three sides.

As the hares led her to the witness box, Lady Pellanore moved to Tassel's right, opposite the table where General Vindicarr stood.  Like a well rehearsed operation, her guards strung the four chains through eyebolts then fastened the chains at a point beyond Tassel's reach.  From her position, she could face either of the two tables or the bench before her, but could not step off her platform.

No sooner had the hares retreated than the door before her opened.  Captain Greypaw, wearing his best dress uniform, marched three paces into the room, and lifted the pike he carried as high as possible.  When the hare brought his arm down, the butt end of the shaft struck the marble flooring.  Thunder echoed through the room.  In the ensuing silence, the hare spoke in a voice devoid of emotion, yet loud enough all could hear his invocation.

Three woodlanders entered the room.  A female squirrel entered first and the Captain introduced her as Lady Sudditta.  She wore a black dress falling halfway between the floor and her knees.  Unlike the previous day, neither her deep red fur nor her garments were festooned with bright gems.  The only adornment she wore was a golden tail ring etched with the emblem of the Red Maple Tribe.

A male otter entered next and the Captain addressed him as Chief Merkez.  As he took his seat, he hung the ornate walking stick he used on a peg.  Like the female squirrel, his black attire remained bereft of any fancy baubles.  Only a silver collar around his neck and the large blue stone hanging from its center added color to his dark outfit.

The third judge Tassel knew.  The Father Abbot strolled to the central chair and with a flick of his wrist, hitched his green habit over the chair's back.  As Father Draccon adjusted his garments, his posture turned rigid, as if some artisan carved him into the wooden chair.  From his elevated position he stared down at her with a sour expression.  A wave of his paw indicated all should sit.

Tassel looked behind her, but seeing no chair, started to recline on the floor.  The sharp voice of Corporal Sweetleaf hissing like an angered adder kept her on her feet.  The Father Abbot banged a hammer on the table.

"The prisoner shall not speak unless asked a direct question.  Is this understood?"  Tassel made no response other than a simple nod.  After a short pause the Father Abbot lowered his hammer.  "Very well, would the prosecution open this tribunal?"

Vindicarr walked around the table and came to parade rest a pace closer to the raised table.  The overhead lamp highlighted the hare's brown fur, giving it a radiant luster.  The hare executed a slight turn, and now the light flashed off his many medals.  He glanced over his shoulder, making eye contact with her before facing the three judges seated in front.  For several seconds he remained quiet and the crowd waited.

"This is a straight-forward case.  The defendant has been declared vermin, since she was captured as a member of a pirate crew.  As vermin, the prisoner losses all rights under our law, including the right to a trial.  However, King Meles has ordered a judicial proceeding at a neutral location where the defendant can be given a fair hearing.  Were we to act in haste, others might judge our actions contrary to civilized standards.  Our Alliance must be based on laws, not the emotions of those wronged."

Once again the hare glared at Tassel before addressing the three judges.  "The accused willfully committed murder, assisted other vermin in the commission of piracy on the high seas, and is responsible for enslaving others.  There can be no forgiveness; there can be no excuse, and there is no other verdict than death."

Merkez stared first at Tassel, who stood in the witness box and then at Vindicarr.  He shook his head as if awakening from a bad dream.  "Such major crimes for one so young defy belief, sir."

Lady Sudditta rested her muzzle on the fingers of her interlocked paws while the tip of her bushy tail twitched a few inches over her head.  "I do believe you make a valid point, Chief Merkez.  We can resolve it by asking the prisoner."  Though her body never moved, her eyes locked on Tassel.  "State your age, girl."

Tassel gave a quick glance to the hares behind her and then to Lady Pellanore.  When none made any overt motion compelling her silence, she faced the squirrel.  "My sixteenth year started five days prior to these long-eared killers coming to our lands.  Since then, I believe half a year has passed.  I cannot be more precise."

The Father Abbot's expression never changed as he listened to the conversation of his fellow judges.  "The age of the badger prisoner is immaterial.  Though technically still a dibbun, Tassel is old enough she should understand right from wrong; it is all one needs to know.  We can debate later among ourselves if a period of time less than two years is sufficient for her to avoid the responsibilities of an elder." 

Using the hammer as if it were a pointer, the shrew turned his attention to the hare.  "You made some bold accusations, sir.  Can you prove them to this court's satisfaction?"

Vindicarr held his arms out before dropping them to his side.  "Whatever proof I had was left behind at the Fiery Mountain Fortress.  Our rapid departure prevented me from carrying such documentation."

Lady Pellanore jumped up with such vigor her chair toppled.  While Corporal Sweetleaf righted it, the older badger moved before the table.  However, the shrew stopped any comment with an upraised paw.

"Apparently King Meles anticipated my request for evidence." 

A wave of his paw caused a stir among the crowd sitting on the benches.  All looked to the back where six mice lugged a large crate forward.  They placed it behind Vindicarr's table and withdrew.  The murmuring crowd quieted when Father Dracon lifted his hammer.  He placed it back on the table.

"These records, along with mail from residents still serving in your army, came late yesterday evening.  Their arrival was delayed by an early blizzard that hit Fiery Mountain.  It kept everyone inside for six days and slowed travel between our Abbey and your king.  I trust these documents will suffice."

Former General Vindicarr pounced on the opened crate, his fingers rifling through the many papers.  With a simple exclamation, he slid one scroll out of the box.  He held it up for all to see.  The hare approached the Father Abbot and handed the document to him.  Both squirrel and otter joined the shrew in reading the proffered paper.

"What you have there is the proclamation declaring this prisoner vermin.  As required by military law, it has the signatures of twelve soldiers, half enlisted and half officers, who can confirm the validity of these charges.  It speaks of those she killed and what she did in their first encounter.  Since this document is the sworn affidavit of honorable soldiers still in combat, each signature required them to swear they personally witnessed these actions."

Lady Pellanore laughed.  Such an unexpected sound caught everyone's attention and each muzzle swiveled in the direction of the defense counselor.  Pulling out a kerchief, she daubed her eyes while exaggerating her efforts at regaining her composure.  She approached the bench and read what was for her, an upside down document.  With a wave of her paw, she dismissed it.

"What we have here is the after action report of a battle, not a valid charge.  Based on your dinner talk General, there were many creatures involved in the battle on both sides.  How could any soldier identify Tassel with absolute certainty?"

The brown hare maintained his military posture, his attitude one of a superior addressing a less than intelligent underling.  "Were this the actions of a mouse, mole, or ferret, I would agree.  There were so many fighting on both sides of the conflict.  But not when it came to badgers.  In this particular campaign, our allied badgers were fighting on another island, which made her presence memorable by its very uniqueness."

All three judges conferred.  Whispered comments flew between them until each nodded their heads in agreement.  The Father Abbot placed the document to the side.  "You may have declared her vermin by your law, but it holds no power here.  If it did, we need only pick the time and place of her execution.  This paper merely attests to her ferocity in battle or the lack of training by those she encountered; neither of which is criminal."

"Unless this trial anticipates charging the military for such a failure."  Lady Sudditta's quip caused a wave of chuckles throughout the room.

After another search through the box, Vindicarr presented another document.  "Surely you'll not dispute these slaving raids along our shores are criminal?  Our king has declared such actions those of villains deserving no mercy.  If you dismiss the words of honorable soldiers, will you accept the depositions of her fellow conspirators?  I can provide evidence supporting pirate raids where civilians disappeared, as well as a list of those liberated since this war started."

The Father Abbot unraveled the next scroll.  When he finished with the first page, it went to Lady Sudditta, then to Chief Merkez before being returned to the Father Abbot.  While the otter maintained a blank expression, there was no hiding the affect on the other two judges.  The squirrel's tail drooped close to the floor while the shrew's mouth gapped wider and wider as the panel of judges read.

"I have a lot more if you need them, your honor."  Vindicarr's syrupy voice may have sounded helpful, but it also contained a smug note to it.  The brown hare lifted other scrolls out of the box and proffered them to those sitting in judgment.  Each time one of the panel shifted their eyes away from the document they read, the hare prosecutor waved another scroll he discovered and added it to the pile.

Four times the hallway clock chimed the quarter hour as each judge scanned the material submitted.  While the three judges read or made notes, Vindicarr summarized the pertinent points covered in the documents for the attending crowd.  As the badger's actions were described, every resident within the makeshift courtroom debated Tassel's actions with whichever resident sat closest.  The noise grew in volume.

Father Draccon banged the hammer, stilling the crowd.  "I'm not convinced.  Were I to believe these documents, either this child is the greatest warrior ever known or she has somehow managed to appear in more than one place at the same time."  The brown hare's hackles rose, no doubt ready to defend the honor of those soldiers still fighting the war. 

The Father Abbot stopped him before he could speak.  "I don't doubt the honesty of the soldiers making such statements, but I'm wondering how much is post-battle hysteria or the suggestive talk of superiors to those underlings attesting to the validity of these charges."

Lady Sudditta then commented.  "Shall we reconvene at a later time?  If we are to render a fair judgment, we must read these accusations in depth.  As the Father Abbot said, I'm not convinced.  Perhaps if we have more time, alone, we may find the truth."

When the otter concurred, the three judges gathered all the documents on their table and with a hurried step, exited the hall through the door they used earlier.  For a long moment the crowd remained seated, uncertain as to what would happen next.  The hare guards released the prisoner's chains.  The residents filed out the opposite end of the Tapestry Hallway whispering with neighbors or friends about the proceedings thus far.

Corporal Sweetleaf led Tassel back to the Dormitory with the Badgermom following.  As the contingent of guards reached the cloth room, the hares made to secure the chains to the iron ring.  Lady Pellanore made a loud growl.  Every hare hesitated.

"You will leave her unfettered once she reaches this room."  Corporal Sweetleaf made an effort at registering a complaint, but the Badgermom remained adamant.  "Tassel has gone a full day and two nights without restraints.  If she intended escaping or causing harm, she would have done so before now.  On my responsibility, no chains will be used while she resides within this dormitory."

The hares complied, though Corporal Sweetleaf insisted she be allowed to post two guards outside the door as a precaution.  Badgermom Pellanore stood next to Tassel with her paw draped across her shoulders, effectively holding her in place.  When the hares exited the room, Lady Pellanore whispered into Tassel's ear.

"Don't make me regret this decision.  Be on your best behavior."

The older badger hadn't been gone for even a moment when an unexpected face poked into the cloth cell.  Her black fur stood out in stark contrast to the white sheet and her deep green eyes flashed with an inner fire, yet her voice came across as solicitous. 

"Quite a show General Vindicarr put on today."

The squirrel avoided Tassel since her arrival.  If she did speak, it was at Tassel and not to her.  Whenever the squirrel got the chance, she harped on her status as vermin or repeated stories about her parent's gallant exploits.  Never did she miss an opportunity reminding her she fought for the wrong faction in the war the Northern Alliance waged against the seafaring pirates. Despite her endearing tone, Tassel remained guarded.  It seemed too out of character for the squirrel to show such interest in her, especially after her actions the previous day. 

"Something you want to know, Robertasin, or are you just curious?"

Now Robertasin stood within the cell.  "I've always wondered how many badgers were on your island when our Alliance forces arrived."

"Since my mother's death when I was five, there have been no other badgers serving Lord Tinsaur, though I did hear stories of several living on another island a week's journey south, but they served another noble."

The squirrel's eyebrows rose when Tassel said the name.  Then Robertasin's eyes changed from inquisitive to deep hostility.  In the next instant the squirrel launched herself at Tassel with claws and fangs bared.  She had no time to react and the enraged squirrel bowled her heavier opponent off her feet and onto her back.  Sounding an ear-piercing shriek, Robertasin resumed her offensive.

Tassel tried pushing the black-furred demon off without success.  She tried dodging the crazed beast.  It proved impossible in such a restricted space.  With tooth and claw Robertasin maintained a vigorous offensive.  If not for the command of Lady Pellanore, Tassel would have unleashed her version of an attack, but she refrained.  However, such restraint has it limits, and she felt the anger rise within her.

Cloth ripped and the walls of Tassel's cell collapsed to the floor when two hares charged into the fracas.  Each hare hesitated as they sheathed their drawn weapons, not sure how to separate the combatants.  Their hesitation allowed another resident the opportunity at resolving the altercation.

With the speed of a lightning bolt, Lady Pellanore snagged the squirrel's whipping tail.  Having established a paw hold, she pulled the crazed squirrel into a firm hug, which restrained the snarling beast.  In spite of the strong arms holding her, Robertasin fought with such intensity the Badgermom requested the assistance of the hares.

Robertasin continued screaming at Tassel with words no female should ever use until Corporal Sweetleaf managed to grab the squirrel's muzzle and hold it shut.  Still, all could hear her muffled shouts of murderer interspaced with some dire threat as she continued struggling.  A deep snarl from the Badgermom finally silenced the squirrel.

"When the hare releases your muzzle, you will speak as a dignified lady or I'll give you a reason for howling while over my knee."  Lady Pellanore nodded and the hare release the squirrel's muzzle.  When Robertasin made no immediate resumption of the tirade, the Badgermom asked the obvious question.

Wrenching herself free of the older badger's paws, Robertasin pointed at Tassel.  "I received a letter from mother today, I now know she killed my father when she escaped aboard the vermin's flagship.  Tassel even admitted it when she said she was the only badger living there.  According to mother's letter, father died during a fight on an island ruled by Lord Tinsaur."

"I can understand your anger, but that gives you no right to attack any guest within this Abbey.  You will apologize for causing this disturbance and promise there will be no further fighting."

Robertasin's tail whipped from side to side and her eyes remained fixed on Tassel.  "Never.  If you leave us together, there will be no need for a trial.  I'll kill this vermin beastie myself."

Lady Pellanore's expression reflected her disappointment.  "Then you will follow me to the Father Abbot's office.  Perhaps we can find temporary accommodations for you until the trial ends."

Peace returned as everyone filed out of the room.  Just then, the other dormitory residents returned.  The four youngsters came to a standstill as they surveyed the carnage before them.  No longer did the sheets hang like a wall, they were strewed about the floor.  Though there was no blood, tuffs of badger fur floated in the drafty room.

The youngest member of the quartet approached Tassel, oblivious to the wreckage.  The hogget pushed her way through the older teens as she marched up to her.  One look at the hogget's dirty dress and Tassel knew the girl had been in some fierce fracas.  There was no hiding the angry tone in Shortspike's voice as she held her doll before her like a shield.

"Miss Stickerback has been telling my silly schoolmates you're not a silly vermin.  All of them say you're evil.  Even my silly teachers are giving Miss Stickerback trouble 'cause she likes you.  Tell Miss Stickerback you're a good badger."

Kneeling down to the girl's level, Tassel spoke to the doll as if it were a living beast.  "What all your classmates and teachers tell you is true.  The things they say I did don't come even close to what I have done, and I'm proud I did those things.  If that makes me something evil, so be it."

Shortspike's eyes brimmed with unshed tears before she shouted her denial.  With a stamp of her foot, the youngster turned and darted from the room, the sound of her weeping hanging like a dark cloud on what should have been a sunny day.  Both male hedgehogs followed the hogget.

Henrietta remained behind and waited until the door closed with an audible click.  The girl's expression shocked Tassel, the vole's eyes burned with an intensity matching the enraged squirrel.  Her body shook and her paws flexed into fists as she stomped closer to her.  Tassel wondered if her friend intended a physical altercation.

"Just what were you thinking?  That girl is about the only resident supporting you, and you go and tell her you're evil?"

Tassel leaned against the back wall and slid to a seated position on the floor, her voice devoid of any emotion.  "I'm tired of fighting elders who have already decided my fate.  First it was where I lived, then deep under a mountain, and now here.  If I'm going to die, let it be because I was honest."

"I can understand why you're feeling sorry for yourself, but I know what can help you."

Going over to one of the beds, Henrietta flipped open the footlocker.  Her paw disappeared within and what she lifted had Tassel gasp in amazement.  There was the Dibbun Day gift Tassel had discarded, still covered in the fancy cloth wrappings.  The vole moved before her and placed the box in Tassel's paws.

"A child like Shortspike thinks her special gift is provided by a benevolent spirit, but those of us who are older know they come from our elders.  Since we spent some time together, Lady Pellanore asked me what I thought would be an appropriate gift.  I didn't understand why you left it behind until those two mean hares demanded you give it back.  Good thing I slipped your present in my dress pocket or I couldn't give it to you now."

Once again Tassel examined the wrapped object, but this time her claws snapped the cloth seams.  The white cloth fell away revealing a long box with a carved lid.  Its crisscrossing markings gave it a woven appearance Tassel knew it must have taken some artisan a long time in making.  A brass latch held the box shut, but flipped open with ease when her claw flicked it upward.

Without looking, she reached inside.  Tassel's paw snagged the first object and withdrew it.  Her eyes squinted as she examined the curious item.  Its purpose defied her.  Tassel held onto a wooden handle with an oval loop of metal that resembled a double-edged saw.  One side of the metal band had long teeth that came to a point while the other side had a row of shorter, but rounded teeth.  When Tassel slid her finger over the edge, she could feel the sharpness of the metal teeth.

"What you're holding is often referred to as a large whip.  When a dibbun is old enough, this is the first thing an elder will give them as a gift."

She dropped the object and the ornate box as if they were poisonous snakes.  "And you have the nerve calling me vermin?  What kind of monsters would give such a thing to a child and have the audacity to call it a gift?"

Henrietta's expression went from confused to a mischievous grin.  Bending down, she gathered the box and the large whip.  The vole then grabbed Tassel's wrist and pulled her.  Though the vole was smaller, her insistence had Tassel following her to the far end of the room.  Henrietta pushed her way into an adjoining room.

The sharp odor of soap assaulted Tassel's nose when the door closed behind her.  At the far end of the room was a bench where Henrietta ordered her to sit.  Giving a gentle push, she positioned Tassel sitting on the edge facing her.

Henrietta grabbed her left arm, the teen vole held it tight as she raised the large whip.  "Think it's time somebody used this on you."

Using a quick stroke, Henrietta struck her arm.  Tassel's yelp had the vole giggling as she latched onto her arm once more.  Again the vole struck the same spot.  Tassel flinched and whimpered.  After the fifth pull, she no longer resisted and the vole used the whip with a practiced ease.

An incredulous Tassel opened her eyes, following the motions of the unusual apparatus.  "I have never heard of a whipping one would call enjoyable.  Such sharp edges, and yet it doesn't cut?"

Now Henrietta laughed as she stopped what she was doing.  "I know it was a cruel thing for me to do, but I couldn't resist."  The vole held the object up for her visual inspection.  "This is also called a fur whip; it's a common grooming tool used to remove matted fur.  One side is for your thicker winter coat while the other is for summer use.  Now do me a favor and keep your eyes closed until I tell you."

Though Tassel couldn't see what was happening, Henrietta kept up a steady monologue on her progress.  Several times she bemoaned the fact she couldn't take her down to the groomer's shop where she worked, but kept assuring Tassel others considered her a competent stylist.  Whenever she used a different tool, the vole identified it.

After what seemed too short a time, Henrietta pulled Tassel's arm.  She asked her to stand.  They walked a few steps before Henrietta asked Tassel to open her eyes.  The first fleeting glance into the looking glass was enough to have Tassel slam her eyelids shut.  Now she understood everyone's aversion.  A paw rested on her shoulder and gave a gentle rub.

"There's nothing I can do about your face.  Even our healer said your disfigurement cannot be repaired.  Please open your eyes."

"You said it yourself; my face would crack a mirror.  I prefer not being reminded just how ugly I am since I see the reaction in everyone's face."

In spite of her angry tone, Henrietta pleaded.  "Yes, I said that and you are ugly, but I know the girl behind the face.  She's somebody I'm proud to call friend."

"And doesn't my status as a criminal and a vermin affect you?"

The vole clicked her tongue before replying.  "My mother said every story has two sides and the truth always lies somewhere between them.  I'm willing to hear yours before I make any judgment."

Once more Tassel opened her eyes and stared into the mirror.  She gazed upon her full reflection and not just her face.  Never had she seen her fur glisten with such luster.   Tassel couldn't remember ever looking into a reflecting pool and thinking her matted fur worthy of any praise.  What she saw now was a pelt worthy of compliments.

Just then another commotion broke out in the dormitory.  One voice called for Tassel while a different voice summoned guards.  Henrietta shouted from the washroom.  She assured everyone Tassel was with her.  A few seconds later, Badgermom Pellanore strolled into the room.

"It seems our good Father Abbot has decided we will be reconvening the trial in another fifteen minutes."  Lady Pellanore froze in place.  "Best ... we  ... be ... ready ....  My word, just look at you, girl."

Tassel turned in place, admiring the results of her first grooming.  She could see where the fur needed trimming, but her coat had a luster to it reminiscent of General Vindicarr's appearance.  No longer did she appear like something dragged about, now she felt pride.  It gave her a newfound sense of confidence.

"I'm tired of being kicked around by every creature I meet.  I know I'm supposed to lose this trial, but I'm not going to just surrender."  The gravel in her voice turned her shouted words into a snarl.  "If it's a fight they want, I'm ready.  Let the war begin!"

"I'll give Lady Pellanore another ten minutes and then I'm sending somebody out to find her."

An irritated Father Abbot toyed with the hammer he used as a gavel as he sat between his fellow judges.  A quick glance to either side confirmed the others were becoming just as impatient.  Lady Sudditta might look bored, but the constant swishing of the squirrel's tail shouted her agitation.  Then there was the inscrutable otter, Chief Merkez.  It was a good thing his claws were well-trimmed or there would be three deep indentations in the table where he drummed his fingers.

If the judges were getting antsy from the long wait, those gathered for the trial were also restless.  First, a bench creaked when one resident shifted his position.  Then two or more engaged in a whispered conversation.  Other conversations filled the room with a continual buzz.  Unless Lady Pellanore arrived soon, the observers would be shouting to friends and neighbors as if this were the common room.

Father Draccon scanned the room and spotted the badger approaching from the back of the hallway.  Speaking over the din of the spectators, he let his annoyance come to the fore.  Now they could resume.

"Such a pleasure you deemed our gathering worthy of your attendance.  When you take your place, we can continue, unless something else vies for your attention."

Lady Pellanore never responded to the reprimanding tone.  She held her peace as she stood behind the table where she sat earlier.  She turned in place, gazing back along the path she had just walked.  Everyone mirrored her action.  Even he focused his attention on the far side of the hallway.

At the very back of the hallway stood the defendant.  Tassel held her head high.  She hesitated just a second, than she strolled forward.  Each step she took came at a measured cadence, which allowed everyone time to appraise her appearance.  Those who remembered the grungy attire worn earlier gazed with wide-eyed stares at a badger dressed in the finest of gowns.  Only the metallic bracelets encasing her wrists and ankles marred the image of a debutant parading before a room filled to overflowing with eligible mates.

Tassel took her place with decorum in the defendant's box.  In quick order the trailing hares strung the chains they carried and fastened them to the young badger's manacles.   Finished, the hares retreated three paces, which placed them halfway between the onlookers and the court's officers.  They assumed a parade rest stance.

Throughout this entire performance, General Vindicarr remained seated, his eyes following the movements of Tassel.  When he heard the Father Abbot clear his throat, he jumped to his feet.  In a voice expressing his indignation, the hare protested.  He then directed a comment to Captain Greypaw, who remained at attention behind the three judges, regarding the breach in protocol.

"Oh do be silent.  The hares were following my orders, so if you have problems with their actions, direct your concerns to me," said the elder badger.

"Lady Pellanore, those hares serve this court, not you," General Vindicarr retorted.

The prosecutor's fist pounded the table as he spoke those last two words.  His eyes blazed at the older badger while his long whiskers twitched and his ears lowered.  Before he could continue with his tirade, the sound of a hammer striking a wooden table brought everything to a sudden halt.

"I would agree this is a breach of court etiquette, but your remarks should be directed to this panel, not your opponent."  Father Draccon rearranged his robes before leaning back in his seat.  "However, none of us called you to task about your actions this morning.  A retired officer who must resort to grandstanding by wearing your uniform and its medals?  I even wondered if you practiced where and how to stand so we got a full view of your awards.  Such actions are undignified.  This panel has noted your honorable service to your king, but it will not influence my decisions.  Let's move on with this trial.  Chief Merkez, will you relay our findings?"

Merkez hesitated a moment before he spoke.  "We have reviewed much of your documentation and can ascertain the defendant was involved in two campaigns, one on the island estate of a fox named Lord Tinsaur and another on an unnamed island where this same Lord Tinsaur died in battle.  We need only ask the defendant if these facts are accurate."

Like the sound of water rushing through a rocky brook, Lady Sudditta laughed.  "My dear sir, what would we gain?  If Tassel is a dibbun, to avoid punishment, she will lie.  If she is an elder, her answer will come with an explanation just as imaginative.  We must determine the truth without confusing the facts of our findings."

General Vindicarr addressed the three judges with a soothing voice.  "I do hope this court recognizes the noble action of our soldiers as liberators against such a vermin scourge.  It would be most disconcerting if this is one of those confusing facts you mentioned, my lady."


The defendant let out a loud roar.  In her fury, she disregarded the cuffs cutting deep into her wrists as her fists pounded into the unyielding wooden rail.  Droplets of blood stained the floor.  Tassel turned in place.  Now she faced the hare prosecutor.  Standing tall, her gravelly voice carried to all within the room.

"Noble action?  Liberators?  Your soldiers invaded our lands, attacked us without cause, and killed all who stood before you, defenders and slaves alike."  Tassel wept, the tears tracking down the sides of her muzzle.  "Including my four-year-old daughter."

Bedlam broke out within the courtroom.  Shouts from both the hare and Lady Pellanore were directed at the three judges.  Father Dracon used his hammer in an attempt to restore the court's decorum.  Even the crowd of observers added to the din.  Yet Tassel heard none of this as her mind returned to the special day when she became a mother.

Spring arrived a little earlier than usual, and now the winter wheat needed harvesting.  One of Lord Tinsaur's subordinates assigned three slaves to the task and so she joined two others at the designated field.  Since no taskmaster joined them, all were in a jovial mood. 

Of the three, the lone male was a tall mouse who used a knife to cut the string feeding out of his pocket into manageable lengths.  Next to him strolled a female hedgehog with a belly that announced the imminent arrival of her offspring.  Tassel trailed the two elders, carrying a scythe. 

"Why would our taskmaster order you to work?"  The mouse flicked one of the lengths of cord at the hedgehog, landing a powerless blow on her distended belly.  "You look like you're ready to deliver any day now."

"By my count, I was due four days back.  As to why I'm here, I believe our master has grown impatient for the arrival of his newest slave."  The hedgehog patted her distended belly.  "When this babe comes, I'm sure it will be at the most inconvenient of times."

"What say you take the easier task of threshing the bound wheat bundles?  With no taskmaster, you can go at a slower pace.  Tassel is a real pro with her blade and we should be able to give you a paw before too long.  We'll still be done before nightfall as this is such a small field."

From the rear, Tassel blurted out a question that had kept her silent while walking from camp with the two elders.  "Why doesn't your mate help us?"

Now the hedgehog rattled her quills.  "For the last three years I rowed some merchant ship as an oar slave.  Last time I came in heat, I became pregnant.  Thank the Eternals my Captain decided to trade me for another on this island instead of throwing me overboard.  If I knew he would do that, I would have given in to some male's lust the very first time I came in season."

Tassel scratched her head, confused by the conversation.  The two elders walking before her laughed.  Then the mouse called back to her.  "You're not yet ready to learn all the facts of life just yet, missy.  Anyway, there's the field; let's get busy."

For the next two hours, Tassel swung the scythe and the mouse tied the wheat into manageable bundles.  When he had a dozen, he carried them to the threshing floor for the hedgehog.  Upon his return, the mouse would scoop up whatever more she had cut while he was gone and the whole process would be repeated.

Late in the afternoon, he again returned from the threshing floor.  This time he shouted out to her.  "Tassel, come quick, I can't find our lady hedgehog."

Rushing to the threshing floor, they couldn't see anyone.  Then a weak, but persistent cry could be heard from a nearby ditch.  Following the sound, they came across the body of the female hedgehog.  Next to her laid a whimpering babe.  The mouse located a large rock and went to lift it, but Tassel stayed his paws.

"Best this babe die a swift death now instead of a slow one starving, Tassel."  Again the mouse went to lift the rock but for a second time, Tassel stopped him.

"There's an otter in our barracks who had kits last week.  If she agrees, she can nurse this little one.  At least give the babe a chance."  She blocked the mouse, challenging her elder.  "Let me raise her.  I know I can do it."

"This be no pet cricket you can enjoy for a season, Tassel.  You're committing yourself for a lifetime."  They stared at each other, neither conceding to the other.  The mouse dropped the rock.  "Very well, what will you call her?"

"Her mother was separating wheat from the chaff because chaff is considered useless.  I'll call her Chaff so every time you hear her name, you'll be reminded of this day and how you thought her life worthless."

The continual banging of the hammer brought Tassel's mind back to her present predicament.  With the help of Captain Greypaw's commanding voice, the Father Abbot regained control of the courtroom.  Silence once more.


Rising to his full height, Father Dracon pointed his hammer at the prosecutor, demanding a reason why no casualty report showed the death of a badger pup.  The two other judges flipped through the documents on their table. 

Tassel interrupted the sputtering hare.  "My daughter was a hedgehog, not a badger pup."

Now the prosecutor laughed.  "Then she cannot be your daughter.  By law, a mother must be of the same species."

Corporal Sweetleaf tried silencing Tassel, but nothing could keep her quiet.  "I taught Chaff how to walk and talk.  She came to me when she wanted comfort and it was my paw that warmed her bottom when she was naughty.  It was I who tended to her needs and ministered to her when she was sick.  Sure sounds like the definition of a mother to me."

Lady Pellanore rose.  "Your Honors, it defines my duties too.  I have been mother to many a child, regardless of their breed.  Many of them still reside within this Abbey."

General Vindicarr bowed to the older badger before addressing the three judges.  "I disagree.  You are their guardian, not their mother.  The law is quite clear on those definitions.  Need I remind this court the preliminary reports did not list any dibbun as being killed during either battle?"

Lady Sudditta leaned back and unlatched her fingers.  She raised her paw, which silenced the hare prosecutor.  "What this prisoner believed is for speculation.  It doesn't change what she did.  However, she has made a serious charge and I'm curious how she intends proving it.  I know she cannot present verifiable evidence, but I shall give her words more weight than yours since she had no expectation of a trial."

"One of my duties was fletching arrows and crossbow bolts.  We used feathers from an albatross with the chicken dyed sky blue.  The one that killed Chaff had two gull feathers with a crow's as the chicken.  When I held my daughter's lifeless body, I swore I would kill every hare and any beast standing between me and my vengeance.  My one regret is not killing more of those long-eared murderers."

Vindicarr bolted upright and pointed at Tassel.  "What need have we of further evidence?  By her own words, she admits to willingly helping these pirates.  That alone is sufficient cause to be declared vermin.  She has confirmed the facts reported to us in the documents you have read.  Regardless of her reasons, she helped these outlaws, which makes her guilty of their crimes as an accomplice.  Justice demands she suffer their fate."

Lady Pellanore rose from her seat.  "How many here remember a female otter named Swiftstream?  No matter what she did to please the male she married, when he drank, he abused her and his kits.  Even you, Father Abbot, tried convincing her she had to leave her mate.  Yet she defended him right up to the morning before he killed them all in a drunken rage."

Father Draccon twirled the hammer between his two paws as he scrunched his brow.  After a moment, he raised his muzzle.  "If you are trying to make a point, I don't see the relevance, Lady Pellanore."

"Swiftstream was as much a captive as Tassel.  They both did what they needed to survive.  The difference is this young badger knew no alternative.  For her, slavery was right and proper.  Like Swiftstream, none of us can fully comprehend why Tassel did what she did."

Chief Merkez spoke up when the Badgermom finished.  "Are you telling us we shouldn't exact justice for her crimes?  General Vindicarr is correct.  Her complicity makes her just as guilty as those who did these unspeakable crimes against our fellow woodlanders."

"We cannot condemn her for doing whatever it took to live another day.  None condemned Swiftstream for placating a drunken abuser.  When she died at her mate's paws, we felt sympathy for her and her kits."

Lady Pellanore took her seat and stared into the eyes of each judge.  "Yes, Tassel should be punished for her actions, but any punishment must be tempered with justice.  In her mind, there was no wrong committed.  Like the youngest of dibbuns, she must be taught what proper behavior is, and it cannot be learned at the end of a rope."

Father Draccon rose, which silenced any further debate.  "Your words will be considered, Lady Pellanore.  Unless there is a need to hear additional arguments, I believe we can now retire to deliberate the defendant's fate."

The Father Abbot turned first to his left and then to his right.  The two judges nodded their head in agreement.  In unison, the otter and squirrel rose.

"We shall advise you of our decision.  General Vindicarr, Lady Pellanore, if we have any questions, we'll seek your input.  For now, our investigation is completed.  We read the evidence, have heard your positions, and now must retire for our deliberations."

Together the three judges retreated out the door leaving those in the courtroom to disperse at their own pace. 

Stiles floated out of the room.  His feet moved, yet he knew not where they took him.  The Counsel of Elders relieved him of all duties.  The Chief Recorder and Historian sent him home.  Yet there was no reason for him returning to his residence.  His mate remained in the Infirmary and would be there for another day or two.  Even his diapered son was missing, spending this day and the next with Redwall's resident nanny.

Despite the lack of rest from a night and day without sleep, he felt giddy.  Elders who passed him while he moved through Redwall's hallway either tittered or grinned.  He needed no looking glass to guess his expression.  Though the miracle happened less than an hour ago, the Abbey's grapevine already had the news.

Without conscience thought, he traced a path beyond his residence and back to his place of work.  He climbed the stairs and glided to his office.  He needed an outlet for all his energy.  Perhaps something needed his attention.  Once inside, a gravelly voice broke the spell weaved earlier and startled him back to reality.

"Congratulations, Mister Stiles.  Did Trestlerose have a boy or girl?"

"We have a beautiful daughter, though her pelt is so thin right now, we're not sure if she will be a light brown like me or a darker shade like my mate."  Mister Stiles shook his head as he took his seat.  "We still haven't selected a name.  Maybe we can do it tomorrow when Trestlerose feels less exhausted.  She fell asleep right after the bonding and nothing I did roused her.  Our healer said go home and rest; I couldn't."

"I figured you would be here, so I came for the news from the source.  I'm very happy for you."  Badgermom Tassel scratched one of her ears.  "If you would prefer me leaving you alone with your thoughts, I'll understand."

Stiles rubbed his bloodshot eyes before he replied.  "Going over this history with you will be a good distraction.  I just wished the official record gave your side of the story."

Tassel nodded.  "The judges interviewed me and conferred with Lady Pellanore and Vindicarr several times.  I remember them saying they saw no need for a written record during these private conferences as their questions were for clarification of the facts.  I know they kept notes as I saw them writing whenever we talked, but there was no transcription taken by a recorder, like they did during the trial.  It always bothered me when the judges asked for the facts and not the reasons whenever they asked a question about my actions."

"Well I can tell you Lady Sudditta still cannot believe you thought a healer docking your tail a service for your betters you were proud to do, and neither can I.  What I have seen of their personal records show you defended slavery, which seems so out of character for you.  Unless what I heard of your fight with a slaver fox were exaggerations."

The badger laughed.  "Back then I did defend slavery, which shocked my teachers.  One insisted I learn my letters by reading personal accounts about slavery.  It opened my eyes and now I realize it is a terrible evil.  Just a word of warning; those who are converted to a cause become its greatest zealots."

The scribe rubbed his muzzle a few times as he considered Tassel's words.  "We have the time; why not tell me your side?  That is the purpose of our meetings."

"What I am about to say has never been told before, even my mate knows nothing of my past.  You will be the first ever to hear my story.  So let me start with that fateful day and go from there."  The badger stared at the ceiling for several moments before she started.  Over the ensuing hours, Stiles wrote everything he heard.  Pages tumbled from his desk as the Badgermom related her history.  It took several sessions, but soon the story's pieces fell into place. 


In a cabin near the harbor, over a dozen female slaves slept.  All were exhausted from their labors tending to the crops and did not stir when an intruder entered.  Standing with paws akimbo, the fellow bellowed his command that all awaken.  Such an unexpected interruption had those within the room grumbling as they stirred, but not too loud.  None wanted the uniformed taskmaster angered by their actions.

One female pouted over her interrupted sleep to Tassel, who slept next to her.  "Momma T, it's still dark outside.  Do we have to get up now?"

Tassel gazed at the young hogget lying next to her and ruffled the fur on her belly.  "I know, Chaff, but our masters need us, so get those paws washed before we eat."

She watched as the girl weaved her way through the crowd.  When the young hedgehog entered the washroom, Tassel folded their blankets.  As she did the child's, she discovered the strip of dingy yellow cloth had slipped out of her head spikes during the night.  Tassel knew the girl would return wondering where she dropped it; she pocketed the one decorative item Chaff treasured.

"Why have her here working in the field," inquired an old otter.  The lady pointed with her chin in Chaff's direction.  "She should stay back at the nursery with the other dibbuns too young to work."

"Didn't you enjoy the dipper of water she carried yesterday?  I have her do small tasks, like carrying drinking water for the field workers.  By observing us, she learns."  Tassel then chuckled when she noticed the hedgehog's frantic waving.  "Besides, her friends think she's so lucky working with the elders.  It makes her feel special."

True to her prediction, Chaff whined about the loss of her treasured ribbon.  But the pout turned into joyful squeals when Tassel pulled it out of her pocket.  Chaff bounced in place as Tassel weaved it into her head spikes, tying the two frayed ends under her chin. 

Once they gathered their morning meal, mother and daughter found a comfortable spot where they could gaze out to sea.  Though the sky remained inky, the lights of an approaching ship appeared just beyond the harbor.  A few seconds later, three signal fires flared to life on the shore.

Pointing out the vessel, Tassel exclaimed "There's the reason why we got up this early.  That ship will need strong paws loading and unloading cargo."  Giving the hogget a light squeeze, she whispered in her ear.  "While we do that, grab a broom and sweep the warehouse.  Our masters like things clean and they will be so proud of you."

Tassel was right about their assignment.  Their masters herded a contingent of slaves towards the collection of buildings near one wharf.  Inside the warehouse, several slaves grabbed rope and pulleys before returning to the dock.  Others organized the material going outbound according to their taskmaster's instructions. 

While the slaves moved the cargo, Chaff grabbed a broom and dashed to the area where anything offloaded would be placed.  As Tassel expected, the weasel taskmaster said nothing about the child when she left.  Chaff would remain busy while she worked with the others.  Even the ship's cargo would go to another warehouse, so Chaff remained out of harm's way, but still feel useful.

As Tassel joined the dock crew, a male otter pointed toward the approaching ship.  "That's not the merchant ship we expected, it's a warship."

All followed the otter's finger, and stared at the sleek profile of the ship entering the harbor.  Then their taskmaster issued new orders.  Cargo was moved back into the warehouse while the ship's stores were hustled to the dock.  If things were hectic before somebody identified the warship, pandemonium broke out when one of the guards recognized the warship as Lord Tinsaur's flagship.

Tassel raced toward the holding pens where those consigned to the oars awaited the next inbound warship.  She had a momentary twinge of pity for those unfortunates who displeased their master and found themselves here.  They would serve aboard this ship for as many voyages as he deemed appropriate for their misdeeds.  Like the hedgehog who had been Chaff's natural mother, anyone released from such a service lost any latent rebellious spirit in their efforts never to return.

No sooner had Tassel herded the chained slaves into the holding pen than a loud siren shrieked.  Atop the watchtower, a stoat rush up the rungs, his paws a blur as he raced to his post.  Once there, he cranked up his siren, which joined the others as they warbled out the notes of impending danger.

With the replacement oar slaves secured, Tassel hurried back to the warehouse.  She dodged Lord Tinsaur's armed soldiers who raced to their posts.  She ignored the slaves still milling about in confusion.  For Tassel, there was but one thought on her mind, Chaff.

Bursting into the building, Tassel shouted the hogget's name.  On the fourth try, she discerned her voice near the back of the vast room.  Dashing to the child, she fastened her paw about the girl's wrist and yanked her off her feet.  The broom went clattering to the floor, joining one of Chaff's sandals.  By the time they reached the door, Tassel slowed enough the dibbun could stand next to her.

"What's wrong Momma T?  Why are you so angry?  I was doing a good job."

"I'm not angry at you," Tassel growled.  She pulled Chaff into a sheltered doorway.  She didn't have time to comfort the crying hogget.  "That siren means we are under attack.  Best thing for us to do is find somewhere safe, far from the fighting.  We are grave danger, child.  Now keep quiet and follow me."

Outside, confusion changed to panic as every slave darted off searching for a safe haven.  Many raced back to the barracks they left earlier.  Others scurried down whichever road offered the clearest path.  Tassel joined one such group of slaves as they dodged the uniformed and armed servants of Lord Tinsaur charging in the same direction.

As they rounded a corner, five long-eared creatures atop the hill let loose a volley of arrows.  Many of the slaves froze in place.  Lord Tinsaur's soldiers closed on these invaders.  Now the air filled with projectiles as both sides opened fire.  One arrow overshot its mark and landed before the slaves.  Panicked, everybody scattered.  That arrow frightened Tassel and she ran towards an alley.

During the pell-mell rush to evade the battle, Tassel and Chaff became separated.  When Tassel reached the relative safety of a building's lee side, she frantically searched for the child.  Not finding her trailing the retreating slaves, Tassel turned back to the street.

Horror.  The young hogget stood a few paces from her place of refuge.  Chaff staggered another step before she lurched backwards.  Unable to do anything but watch, Tassel's eyes filled with the vision of her daughter with an arrow deep in her chest.  Where Chaff fell, the cobblestones turned red.

Roaring out the child's name, Tassel braved the deadly rain of shafts and scooped Chaff into her arms.  Cradling the girl's warm body, she ignored the blood staining her fur and screamed the child's name a second time.  When Chaff did not respond, Tassel laid her down in the shade and roared out her anguish.

Tassel darted out from cover and ran towards a shack she knew all too well.  Lowering her shoulder, she ran into the door, splintering its frame.  One quick look around and she found what she wanted.  Taking the familiar scythe into her paws, she flicked the honed blade into position.  The familiar tool morphed into a deadly weapon.

She made her way towards the growing number of long-eared archers.  When she got as close as she could, she paused.  As they loosened another volley, she charged.  Halfway there, one of the archers faced her.  A second later, several more turned in her direction.  Still another second passed before one invader readied an arrow.  She would make them rue their hesitation.

Tassel wielded the scythe, keeping its blade pointed upward.  In one mighty swipe, she caught the closest three archers.  The keen blade disemboweled them all.  With her unbridled fury adding strength to her swing, the backstroke took out another two beasts. 

Packed in such close proximity, the archers lost their advantage.  Those still unharmed discarded their bows and went for their sheathed weapons.  The screams of the dying as they tried stemming the flow of gore and the enraged bellow Tassel screamed added to the melee's confusion.

The scythe turned into a quarterstaff as Tassel bowled into the remaining archers.  Before the survivors could organize a defense, she lashed out with paw, foot and staff.  The last long-eared creature standing drew his sword, parried the scythe's blade and sliced through the shaft in a single motion.  Before his backstroke could take her out, Tassel drove the splintered wooden shaft deep into the archer's chest.

Tassel stood atop the hill among the dead and dying.  Panting from her exertion, she left the now broken scythe fall from her grasp.  A glance back towards the port showed another group of the long-eared invaders.  Tassel resolutely set off down the hill on an intercept course.  Her life ended with the death of her child, all that mattered to her was vengeance.

Rounding the corner of an intervening building, she came face to face with one of the long-eared creatures.  This fellow tried calming her.  It didn't work.  Seizing him by his strange uniform, Tassel threw the soldier straight up with all her might.  The building's wooden awning stopped his upward progress and the fellow collapsed at her feet, his skull cracked like a walnut.  Tassel grabbed the soldier's broadsword and raced towards the sound of battle.

As she reached the port, a group of Lord Tinsaur's soldiers fought a menagerie of creatures.  The invaders were forcing the soldiers further down the pier towards the water's edge.  While they fought, a contingent of raiders charged onto the warship via the aft gangplank.  Both sides screamed out war cries as blade met blade.

Pausing, Tassel watched as the soldiers tried rallying against the invaders.  Then she found two of the long-eared creatures fighting side by side against the taskmasters she served.  Once more the image of her daughter's lifeless body came unbidden and Tassel screamed out the hogget's name. 

She charged at full speed, holding the broadsword in both paws.  Such was her concentration she took no notice of anything but Chaff's killers.  Keeping the weapon straight out and level with the ground, she lined up the two long-eared fiends.  The blade skewered the first and Tassel's momentum carried it into the back of the next one.  As the two lifeless bodies fell, the blade dropped from her blood-slicked paws.

Tassel turned, determined to kill more of these unknown beast that murdered Chaff.  There, on the ship, another of the long-eared beasts.  Without breaking stride, and pushing any intervening body aside, Tassel charged up the aft gangplank roaring her daughter's name.

Dropping into a four-paw stance, Tassel gained the extra advantage of speed.  She propelled herself towards the deck of the warship.  As she cleared the top of the ramp, Tassel again roared her daughter's name.

There were a number of beasts on the ship fighting.  The ones not in Lord Tinsaur's uniform had their backs to the gangplank and remained unaware of Tassel's approach.  At least until her battle cry sounded.  Before anyone could react, she exploded into the melee.  With tooth and claw she attacked any creature standing before her, regardless of their uniform.  For the first time, Tassel experienced the bloodwrath of her species.  She continued fighting anything before her until several beasts tackled Tassel and she went down, still screaming her defiance.

"Put them all under restraints.  We'll deal with them once we clear the port."

Standing against the railing was a tall male weasel, his broadsword stained with the gore of his opponents.  As the sailors chained the defeated warriors, the weasel shifted his focus.  Now he watched the battle down on the dock until a fox boarded his ship.  Yelling at the top of his voice, the weasel issued his orders.  Those on deck ran about in a frenzied manner quick to carry them out.  The ship gathered momentum as it departed the harbor.

Once past the pier, the stoat at the wheel steered for open waters.  As the ship left the invaders on the dock, an unknown crew beast shouted out a warning.  Just passing the western edge of the island another warship approached.  It did not carry the markings of Lord Tinsaur's fleet, and it was on an intercept course.  Before the weasel could issue any command, an otter rushed forward.

"Turn command of this ship over to me if you want to get out of here.  I'm the harbor pilot and I can do that better than you, Captain."

The fox intervened.  "Best do as he suggests, Captain.  In open waters, our enemy will have the advantage.  If the pilot can defeat them in the harbor, we can make good our escape."

With a simple nod, the weasel stepped aside.  "I release the ship to your command."

The otter took his place next to the sailor manning the wheel.  "Hard to port, come east and make for the first channel, the one between the main island and the smaller island, ahead slow."

The weasel gripped the railing, his calm voice strained.  "You do know my ship will not clear the bridge at the far end of the first channel?  If memory serves me correctly, low tide will not happen for another hour."

"But the warship's Captain doesn't know that."  The otter kept checking on his adversary's progress.  "Good, our enemy has increased speed.  All oars, increase speed to half.  Strike the sail; we don't want him to catch us too soon.  Let's give him the target he wants; show him our broadside."

Near the first channel, the otter turned the ship onto a southerly course, increasing their speed, but not to full.  The pilot could not hide his pleasure as the other warship altered course and raised its sail.  Everyone heard the other vessel's sail popping as they caught the stiff wind.  The foaming bow wave marked where the enemy warship's ram would be.  It closed at full speed and would soon approach longbow range.

"If we don't do something, that ship's going to ram us."  Both the weasel Captain and the fox shouted the same words in near unison.

The otter pilot ignored them.  He waited until the enemy warship halved the distance.  "Hard to port; helmsman, make for the second channel, the one between the first and second island.  Maintain speed, but ready the sail for hoisting."

The tortured sound of wood splintering echoed over the water.  Aft of them, the pursuing warship tilted forty-five degrees to starboard, its ram jutting above the water.  The mast had snapped in two leaving the sail draped across the bow, hindering anyone with a longbow.  In the water, crewmembers who were pitched overboard by the sudden collision, tried outracing the converging sharks.

With their ship entering the channel, the otter continued issuing directions until he ordered the sail raised.  "Captain, the bridge is yours.  I relinquish command of this ship.  We're now in open waters."

It was the fox who asked the obvious question.  The otter pilot gave the two a knowing look.  "There's a long spur of rocks running in a roughly north to south line.  At high tide, any vessel can cross safely, but as the tide recedes, the spur earns its nickname of Keelcracker.  I kept those rocks between us and the warship.  The outgoing tide and the Captain's lust for battle did the rest."

With the danger from the enemy warship averted, the fox slid down the four steps separating the bridge from the main deck.  He faced the fighters his crew had manacled.  As he inspected the defeated warriors, he moved before Tassel.

"I remember you.  You're the one who gave us a chance at escape."  Barking out his orders, the crew freed Tassel and pushed her before him.  "Have you a name, slave?"

"My name is Tassel, Lord Tinsaur.  I live to serve you."  She kept her muzzle down as she stood before the fox she knew commanded all who lived on the islands receding behind them.

"For saving my life, and that of this crew, I grant you your freedom.  As of this moment, you're a minnow.  Captain, you saw how sharp this minnow's teeth can be, so train her well."

"Will that be my new name, Lord Tinsaur, Minnow?"

Every crewmember broke out laughing at Tassel's remark.  Those further away joined in once their friends relayed the conversation.  The weasel Captain addressed her from the wheel deck. 

"A minnow is what we call anyone new to the sea.  Once you prove yourself, you'll become a sailor.  With hard work, you might even become an officer in Lord Tinsaur's fleet.  Until then, you will obey my orders or those of my officers.  On this ship, I command, not even our Lord may issue orders without my permission."

The Captain now turned his attention to the other captives standing with their wrists bound in chains.  "We have a more pressing issue, what to do with these prisoners.  Tell me, will any of you row my ship?"

One long-eared male at the far end shouted out a defiant no, which the others echoed.  Before the Captain could say anything, Tassel spoke.  "Captain, as my first duty aboard your ship, let me convince our enemy the folly of defying you."

The Captain nod his head.  Tassel marched before the line of creatures.  She ignored those captives from species she recognized and stood before one of the female long-eared beasts that killed her daughter.  "What manner of creature are you?"

"I'm a hare and a better beast than you if you serve these slavers."

Tassel ignored the gob of spittle the female launched in her face.  The image of Chaff's body cancelled whatever mercy she possessed.  Giving no warning of her intentions, she punched the hare in her stomach, doubling her over.  She then grabbed the hare by her cotton-balled tail and furry neck, lifted her high, and slammed her onto the deck.  Holding onto the chain between her wrists, she flung the doe over the side. 

With a deft move, Tassel looped the links onto a deck cleat, leaving the hare scrambling unsuccessfully for a foothold.  She strolled over to a sailor who still held a battleaxe and grabbed it.  She thought of each arm as a piece of kindling as she hefted the axe and brought it down with all her might.  The hare's scream delighted her.  The axe cleaved the other arm, which allowed the unknown doe's body to fall into the sea.

Taking the chain off the cleat, Tassel tossed the cuffs with the severed paws before the others.  She handed the axe to another sailor, bidding him to hold it for her.  After inspecting the remaining prisoners, she stopped before a male hare.  Again Tassel asked if he would serve the ship and his refusal resulted in a brutal beating before he too went partway over the side.  The hare saw her lift the axe; he screamed as his body dropped into the sea behind the ship.

For the third time, Tassel inspected the line of prisoners, stopping before a tall, male squirrel with black fur.  "Perhaps you'll be more reasonable than these hares.  Would you prefer having your paws row this ship or would you rather swim without them?"

The heavy silence grew.  Then she unleashed her fury and the black squirrel soon found himself over the side.  When he saw her grab the axe, he begged for mercy, pleading for a chance to row.  His pleas did not stop the blade severing first one and then the other arm.  Again Tassel tossed the cuffs containing the severed paws at the remaining prisoners.

"When you are asked a question, I expect an immediate answer.  That one hesitated.  It cost him his life."  Tassel stopped before yet another doe hare quivering in fear.  Before she could voice more than the first word of her question, the doe shouted.

"I'll row."  When the hare officer ordered her to stand firm, she screamed back at him.  "Better a chance at life than becoming shark bait."

The surrender of the first hare had the other prisoners joining her.  Even the two remaining hares accepted duty on an oar over death.  One by one the prisoners went below deck.  She left the hare officer for last.

"Go ahead and chop my paws off, I'll not serve you."

Tassel laughed at the hare before addressing the weasel who watched everything that happened without a comment.  "Captain, put this hare on the oar pulled by the female hare.  Punish her if he doesn't obey.  Each time it's his shift on the oars, team him with another prisoner, and let that rower know he will suffer if this one remains defiant."

Two crewmembers grabbed the hare officer, but Tassel stopped them.  "You will learn obedience or your fellow slaves will teach it to you.  Continue your obstinate behavior and you'll beg for the feel of the whip."

A voice called out.  "Three coppers has him rowing like the others before the end of his third shift." 

Another replied.  "Two silvers has him dead within three days." 

In seconds the crew established a betting pool as to how long the hare officer would last.  Ignoring the lighthearted banter of the crew, Tassel addressed her Captain.  "What are your orders, sir?"

"Throw those severed paws overboard, but keep the chains.  We can use those.  Grab a pail and scrub brush, clean my decks of blood."

Over the next seven days, Tassel worked with the crew.  Some expressed hard feelings as she had injured many of them during the initial battle, but they relented over time.  Others sought her out and made her welcomed.  One even offered to share his winnings when the hare officer died mysteriously on his fifth night.

The cry of land 'ho had every crewmember staring off the bow.  Like the rest of the crew, Tassel leaned over the side and watched as a dark smudge on the horizon drew nearer.  She rejoined her fellow sailors scrubbing the deck, but kept her ears open as the Captain and Lord Tinsaur discussed their plans.

"We can provision the ship here and then set course for our fortress stronghold.  Once we have recovered our strength, we can reclaim our home," said Lord Tinsaur.

The Captain stared at the collection of huts set off a road leading from the one pier.  "Strange, nobody has come down to meet us.  Some guard must be assigned lookout duty."

"This is harvest time, Captain.  No doubt everyone is in the mountains working.  I'll take an armed party inland to the orchards and we'll withdraw our soldiers.  We can leave the slaves here since the island is so isolated.  After the woodlanders are driven from our home, we just reclaim what is ours."

As Lord Tinsaur made his way to the longboat davits, the Captain selected the landing party.  Tassel joined the others at the armory.  She selected a pike and a short sword before boarding one of the boats.  All paws rowed towards the sandy beach, grunting in unison.

The crew followed Lord Tinsaur ashore.  They strolled down the path running through the center of the slave village.  Nothing disturbed the quiet.  Like the other sailors, Tassel's eyes swept the area looking for any signs of the inhabitants.  None expected trouble, but Tassel voiced her concerns to the nearest officer.

"This is obviously the slave's living quarters.  There should be at least one slave here, either a dibbun or a sick elder.  Something's not right."

Before anyone could contradict her, the doors burst open revealing the well planned ambush.  A squad of uniformed hares left a nearby building and charged into them, killing one and scattering the other sailors.  Their enemy pressed them from three sides, driving them towards the sea. 

One of the ship's officers ordered a retreat.  Sailors fell back.  Tassel continued her advance as she attacked the hares gathered before her.  She felt her anger rise and a madness settled over her.  Once more the need for vengeance overrode her senses.

She took a step beyond the building she used to guard her back.  Tassel sensed movement.  As she turned, a female otter launch herself from the roof.  Dodging to the side, Tassel kept her spear pointed up and the otter skewered herself on the shaft.  Yet she did not die without inflicting punishment.  A war gauntlet smashed into her face, racking her muzzle's right side.  Tassel never recovered from the attack.  A blow from the rear to her head had her stagger a step.  Darkness descended.

Her agony brought her back to the present.  She couldn't see out of her right eye as blood caked her lids, keeping it closed.  Rubbing her paw over the eye cleared her vision, but renewed the pain.  Tassel tried breathing through her nose and tasted blood.  Then she spied several hares standing over her.

"What a bloody fiasco.  Instead of capturing Lord Tinsaur, he dies in battle.  Even their warship outran our vessels."

"Yeah, and headquarters wanted a high ranking pirate officer for court martial.  Nobody will be interested in simple sailors.  All HQ will do is send them to prison."

The third hare snapped his fingers.  "I got it.  We make the mouse there a corporal and the weasel a lieutenant.  It makes them officers, but so low ranking nobody from Intelligence will question them.  And their denials will just sound like they're trying to avoid execution."

"And what rank will you give the badger?" 

"You ever hear of a badger serving vermin slavers?  That should be special enough for whatever showcase trial HQ wants.  Don't think she'll need any rank."

The three hares assisted their prisoners to their paws and marched them to the water's edge.  Each prisoner was loaded into a different longboat under heavy guard.  The last thing Tassel remembered was the vessel's name, The Jade Coral.

Stiles nibbled on the shaft of his quill pen.  After more than four days working on Tassel's history regarding her capture, one question still nagged him.  The lady badger promised she would disclose everything she knew.  Some parts of her story didn't match the facts as he knew them.  Her version had him wondering about her sincerity.  He needed to reconcile the contradiction.

"I'm curious; the court records never mentioned any officers in the service of Lord Tinsaur.  You claimed the hares captured two, but those executed were all inhabitants of the Northern Alliance.  Whatever happened to them?"

"Though my fever grew stronger each day, I had my lucid moments.  During such times, my fellow captives and I discussed our expected fate.  None of us knew what form of execution these hares intended and fear fueled our imaginations.  Wanting no part of such a death, we came up with the perfect escape plan."

Stiles propped his head on his paws, eager to hear.  When Tassel offered nothing more, he understood her hesitation.  He scrambled for a clean piece of paper.  The poised pen in his paw awaited her explanation.

"We drew lots the day we reached Rimstone.  Short straw got to murder the other two and then commit suicide.  I drew the short one and strangled my two crewmates with a torn sleeve.  I might have succeeded hanging myself, but Fate had other ideas.  Just as I finished preparing the noose, several hares entered the hold with additional prisoners.  I figured dying in battle acceptable if I could kill a few more of those hated long-eared murderers.  My next clear memory was awakening in the prison cell."

The scribe leaned back and reached into the dwindling satchel of bound scrolls.  "Let's move on to the trial's conclusion."


For two weeks the three judges remained sequestered.  On occasions they would exit for food or summon some resident to their chamber.  Those who answered such a summons were questioned on a specific topic related to the trial and then sent away.  Local gossip could not determine if the three favored the prosecution or the defense.

During the time of deliberation, the Counsel of Elders ruled over Redwall Abbey.  No sooner had they assumed control than radical changes were made.  Despite the objections of Lady Pellanore, the hares shifted Tassel to a secured location.  In an empty room far from the residential wings, they chained the badger to a support column.  Restricted to a range that left half the room inaccessible, her one constant companion became a chamber pot.  The only break in her isolation occurred whenever a hare guard delivered her food.

Dinnertime came and Tassel awaited the arrival of her meal.  In the past, a hare would place the tray on the floor and push it to her.  Tonight, Henrietta brought her meal.  Corporal Sweetleaf stood in the door, reluctant to close it.

"I'm on duty for another hour.  You'll have to leave when I knock.  Tell whichever guard relieves me you just arrived with her meal.  He'll retrieve the empty tray when he goes off duty."

Henrietta handed the food to the badger before sitting against the now closed door.  She remained there looking down at her crossed feet and clasped her paws around her bent knees while Tassel ate her meal.  Sometimes her eyes would wander to the badger's face, but would shift back to her feet if their eyes locked.  She wanted to speak, but couldn't find an appropriate greeting, so she kept silent.

"I take it you have found me guilty too."  Tassel's gravelly voice surprised her as she hadn't spoken a word since the meal arrived.  "Not that I blame you, or the others."

"General Vindicarr and Badgermom Pellanore have been arguing their position whenever they meet.  He calls her too emotional and she calls him too rigid while they trade insults.  Several times they have come very close to brawling.  It's great entertainment when you're stuck inside because of the cold and snow."

"Glad my imminent fate amuses the folks here.  Maybe when they execute me you can have a big festival, give out gifts.  I'm sure me dangling at the end of a rope will be the highlight of the event."  There was no mistaking the sarcastic note in Tassel's voice.  "Wonder what you give a dibbun attending their first execution?"

Another sound intruded.  Judging by the rapid cadence of the knocking, something was happening outside.  Henrietta jumped to her feet and reached for the door.  Her paw never touched the door's latch.  It opened so fast that it almost struck her as she dodged to the side.  The hares never acknowledged her presence.  They moved about the room, preparing Tassel for movement.

The guards whisked the badger from the room.  Without hesitation, Henrietta joined the hares, matching their brisk pace as they moved through the corridors toward the nearest exit.  Though the snows outside were deep and the air bitter cold, the hares rushed across the open courtyard with their prisoner in tow rather than follow the warmer and more serpentine passageways through the inner wall. 

They passed through the entry foyer and into the Tapestry Hallway.  There they led Tassel to the defendant's box and fastened her chains as they did during the trial.  Captain Greypaw supervised their work and once satisfied, exited through the doorway reserved for the judges.  The remaining hares, including Corporal Sweetleaf, took their accustomed places three paces behind the prisoner.

By ones and twos the elders of Redwall Abbey assembled in the room.  The snow that had clung to the badger's fur while outside had not yet dried and already the crowd was abuzz with anticipation.  As one of the first arrivals, Henrietta staked out a front bench seat for an unobstructed view of Tassel and the judge's table.  While she waited, she checked out the growing multitude, noting the appearance of the two teen hedgehogs and Robertasin further back.  Along the upper balcony's rear section, the younger dibbuns gathered, their faces pressed between the railing's posts as they jostled for a better view.

It seemed as if every resident and visitor to Redwall Abbey gravitated en mass to the makeshift courtroom.  The crowd grew silent as former general Vindicarr and Lady Pellanore approached their respective tables.  Once they sat, everyone waited for the three judges.

Just as the assembled spectators became fidgety, the doorway opened.  Now attired in his finest uniform, Captain Greypaw once more signaled the beginning of the court session.  A great hush fell across the room as the hare gave his invocation.  When he finished, the door opened a second time and the three judges took their places.

While the squirrel and otter sat, the Father Abbot remained standing.  The elder pushed back his habit's hood.  "It has taken us much time and deliberation coming to a consensus.  Now it is time to render our verdict.  Let me say no leader, be they an officer of the army or a ruler of a community, should ever be compelled to explain their reasons for what they do, but we are not leaders, we are judges.  Such explanations are not only proper, but required if justice is to be served."

Once the shrew sat, Lady Sudditta rose.  "Our first issue was determining the prisoner's maturity.  Based on her own comments, and as confirmed by the healer, she is physically an elder.  However, if this was the sole standard, your Badgermom would have but one silly little hogget to watch." 

Laughter rippled through the crowd until the squirrel held up her paw.  "The defendant claimed to be a mother to a dibbun of four springs.  Such a task needs an elder, or somebody with the wisdom to act as such.  It is therefore our judgment the badger be considered an elder."

The squirrel returned to her seat and the otter stood.  "Maturity means the beast must have the responsibility to make choices, and accept the consequences.  The badger claimed 'it was my paw that warmed her bottom when she was naughty,' which infers the defendant knew right from wrong.  In spite of her emotional state at the time, she could distinguish killing another for vengeance as wrong, yet she did it.  As a slave, she could have chosen to await the outcome of the battle; instead, she sided with one faction."

Once again Lady Sudditta stood as Merkez resumed his place.  "A bigger question is this war.  The badger king calls it a fight against pirates, which would be defined as chasing criminals.  The defendant willingly joined these vermin, which makes her as guilty of any crimes they committed."

Again the female squirrel addressed the assembly.  "But the king has also called this enemy a pirate nation.  That confers the status of prisoner of war to any soldier captured.  Finding them guilty of a crime while they performed their duty is unacceptable, unless their actions are found to be egregious.  Killing an enemy is part of a soldier's duty, even if it is our soldier who dies."

Chief Merkez rose, his paws held high in an attempt to quell the angry crowd.  "That brought us to the next issue: was the badger a soldier fighting for the wrong side?  We think not.  A slave is similar to a simple peasant serving a distant ruler.  The peasant owes loyalty, but it is not their place to fight a war when it comes to their homeland.  A civilian who fights soldiers earns the disdain of any court.  Such beasts act outside the boundaries of an army and therefore have no protection from the laws shielding soldiers performing their assigned duties."

Father Draccon spoke from his seat.  "The defendant's actions during the battle where she was captured cannot be considered in this trial since she was in the uniform of a sailor.  However, she wore no such military uniform during her initial encounter.  Therefore, her actions then were those of a civilian, and no matter your view regarding this war, the badger performed in a criminal manner when she first fought for Lord Tinsaur."

Chief Merkez addressed the courtroom without rising from his seat.  "We conferred with Healer Fazbee, wondering if the defendant's actions the result of bloodwrath.  All badgers suffer this condition to some degree.  Our healer believes it possible, though he cannot make such a medical finding this long after the event."

"But we considered that an excuse, not a reason," Father Draccon said.  "If all badgers go into a murderous rage whenever angered, even the warrior hares would avoid such unstable beasts.  Anger must be controlled."

When the two male judges remained quiet, the squirrel spoke.  "A warrior badger fighting in a battle may find bloodwrath an asset, but rage is an emotional state.  By her own words, Tassel fought for vengeance, not loyalty to her master, or the protection of her fellow slaves.  She chose anger.  Since we consider her an elder, the accused must accept the penalty for her inappropriate actions."

After a slight pause, Father Draccon summarized the issue.  "Were we to excuse Tassel's actions due to bloodwrath, we grant all badgers a legal reason for avoiding the consequences of their actions.  This we cannot allow."

"Finding the defendant guilty was almost a foregone conclusion."  Lady Sudditta shifted her focus from the crowd to Tassel.  "I say almost because we can understand the power behind an emotion.  As a mother, I can understand the emotional anguish you suffered if such a child existed, regardless of its blood bond.  It does not relieve the pain when others call it accidental or collateral damage.  Anger remains.  However, laws must guide us when we are blinded by such inner turmoil, and this badger acted in spite of what she must have known was wrong."

At this point Lady Pellanore sprang from her seat, her fists striking the table and halting the oration.  Moving before her table, she growled.  "You cannot charge her with crimes committed by her superiors prior to boarding the warship.  And by all accounts, less than ten days passed before her capture.  How can you charge her with being an accomplice to criminal acts?"

"Oh do sit down and give it a rest."  General Vindicarr leaned back in his seat and stared up at the ceiling.  "Your bombastic defense of this vermin badger grows tiring.  We are here so justice may be served, not to listen to another maudlin emotional plea."

The staccato rapping of the hammer Father Draccon used as a gavel interrupted their verbal duel.  "Though we have been sequestered, we are not blind to your continual bickering.  Both you and Vindicarr have been sniping at each other since this hearing opened, and if my sources tell me right, it has come to near blows between you on several occasions.  I'll not allow it in this court.  Both of you, resume your places."

With order restored, the Father Abbot spoke.  "In the defendant's homeland, there were slaves kidnapped from foreign lands and forced into Lord Tinsaur's service.  Something any inhabitant would know.  Now recall the incident in the kitchen involving two young moles and the defendant.  If the theft of a pie deserves the loss of a paw or the life of a dibbun, did she think such crimes as kidnapping elders from their homes and forcing them into a life of slavery warranted any lesser penalty?  She knew how those slaves came to be there and by joining Lord Tinsaur, accepted the responsibility for those crimes."

The Father Abbot nudged the otter.  Merkez glared at the prosecutor.  "As we were saying before the interruption, what has concerned this panel is the extent of any punishment.  Lady Pellanore is right when she said justice must be tempered with good judgment.  General Vindicarr, your explanation of our options under the law is far too harsh.  We either condemn the accused to a swift death, or a lifetime imprisoned in some desolate place.  Based on the personal experiences you and Captain Greypaw related, a penal colony would be tantamount to a living hell.  We find both options unpalatable."

Looking out at the assembled crowd, the Father Abbot continued where the otter stopped.  "Yet we cannot dismiss or ignore these charges.  Justice must be served and the punishment must match the crime."  Raising his muzzle, the shrew locked eyes with the defendant.  "It is the unanimous ruling of this panel that you are guilty of aiding slavers, the murder of honorable beasts in the service of their king, and for perpetuating the crime of slavery upon others, including the child you claimed as yours."

Chief Merkez spoke, his voice subdued.  "We spent much of our time deliberating your sentence.  The Law allows no leniency, yet your crimes were an emotional response to an unfortunate happenstance.  Something we can all understand."

Lady Sudditta stared at the tabletop, her eyes never rising.  "Our decision regarding your punishment is a fair compromise.  To have shown any further mercy would be synonymous with our tacit approval of your actions.  Something we cannot do if justice is to prevail."

Silence followed.  Father Draccon hesitated.  Motioning his fellow judges together, he held a hasty conference.  The shrew stood.

"It is the judgment of this court you stand within the triangle two times.  Your punishment shall be to receive three lashes for every year of your life followed by thirty days of isolation in a secured place.  Should you survive this portion of your sentence, you shall then serve a time equal to your age in involuntary servitude to this Abbey and under my sole discretion, or that of my successors, regarding further disciplinary actions.  I assure you, any misdeed during this time shall be severely punished.  Upon completion of your sentence, you will be given one week to move beyond one day's march from this Abbey.  A distance we shall better define at the time of your release.  If ever you are found within this distance, you forfeit your life."

With that, the Father Abbot banged the table with his gavel one final time and the three judges withdrew.  Vindicarr jumped to his feet once the door closed, his joy evident.  Lady Pellanore buried her face within her crossed arms as she slumped over the defense counselor's table.  Henrietta remained mute like the other residents filing out of the room.

Two weeks passed.  When Captain Greypaw and Corporal Sweetleaf entered the room used as Tassel's cell, their faces remained devoid of any expression.  Instead of carrying a tray of food, they carried chains and a bag of implements. 

"So today is the day," Tassel asked.

No other words passed between the three as Tassel stretched out on her belly.  From the bag she dropped earlier, Sweetleaf removed a leather strap and a short blade.  While the Captain watched, the doe did her duty.  The only sounds within the room were the sharpening of the blade on leather, or the sound of the edge removing the furry stubble.

Dropping to his haunches, Captain Greypaw stared into her eyes.  Neither spoke while the doe continued shaving the fur off Tassel's back.  Giving no preamble, the Captain blurted out a question that took her by surprise. 

"Tell me, badger, do the dead ever haunt your peace of mind?"

"No, Captain, they remain dead.  I'm surprised you would ask such a question.  As an officer in the army, you must have killed many over your career."

"Yet my mind is disturbed and my sleep is often filled with the horror of personal combat."

Tassel inspected the haggard face of the hare.  "Yes, I see you're troubled and I'm guessing last night proved rougher than usual.  So you come to me, a vermin convicted of killing so many and wonder how I can sleep untroubled by the memory of those I murdered?" 

Silence filled the room.  Tassel could not move because of her restraints, but the hare remained where he sat as if he too wore chains.  Tassel mulled over the hare's inquiry.

"Let me answer your question this way.  How does Vindicarr feel about his assignment?  Does he look forward to flogging me?"

Captain Greypaw could not hide the contempt in his voice.  "I loathe speaking of a former officer in this manner, but he revels in it.  He worked two days building a mound at just the right spot so he can add more power and momentum in his motion.  I do believe he is drooling over his duty of wielding the whip.  He speaks as if beating you will somehow avenge those you killed.  He calls it justice, but I see it as vengeance; nothing he does will bring the dead back to life."

Turning her head, Tassel glanced at the doe just finishing her assignment.  "Tell me Corporal, if something happened to the hare, or the Father Abbot changed his mind and my flogging became your responsibility, how would you react?"

She replied without hesitation.  "I'd hate it.  I would do it because duty required it, but I would be happier if another did it.  I just find it repugnant beating you when you don't fully comprehend what you did as wrong.  However, I'll do what must be done."

"There's your answer, Captain.  Both of them will sleep untroubled by their actions since they have resolved their feelings.  You're stuck between these two extremes."  When the silence became too much, Tassel locked eyes with the hare.  "Do you seek my advice?"

Captain Greypaw nodded.  When Tassel considered how much the Captain distanced himself emotionally from her, she knew it took great courage approaching her.  The hare might not be a friend, but he did act with honor.  Perhaps she could help.

"Very well, Captain, here it is.  Take a tankard of October Ale and find a quiet spot.  Relive your battles, recall every detail.  If you are happy about your conquests, toast your many victories.   If you regret killing a kindred spirit whose one mistake was being on the wrong side, raise your glass in honor of your gallant enemies.  If you are honest with yourself, their faces will never bother you again."

Corporal Sweetleaf stood and stretched.  Her words brought both of them back to the present.  "The prisoner is ready."

The Captain removed several thin leather thongs from his pocket.  "Your muzzle will be bound shut so your cries will not disturb the tranquility of this Abbey.  It will also prevent you from biting off the tip of your tongue.  In a penal colony, it is a common result of such a harsh whipping.  Consider it repayment for answering my question."

As the Captain reached for her muzzle, Tassel twisted her head away from his paw.  "I ask one favor.  Let me go there without any restraints.  I give you my word; there will be no trouble.  Allow me this one measure of dignity."

The hare hesitated before he grabbed her muzzle.  Tassel made no further struggles as the Captain tied her muzzle closed.  The doe tapped her commander on the shoulder just as he finished with the bindings. 

"It sure would be a bed of thistles to Vindicarr if she came willingly, sir."


While Tassel read the account of her flogging, her posture remained rigid.  With each additional page she read, her paws trembled.  As she reached the last one, her shaking turned uncontrollable.  Pages Stiles arranged in proper order scattered like leaves before a high wind.  The squirrel scribe jumped off his stool and sorted through them.  As he rearranged the material in its proper order, he glanced over at his guest, who now rested her head between her paws, moaning.

"That was most insensitive of me, dear lady.  No doubt those documents have resurrected memories best left buried.  I cannot imagine the pain you suffered."

"No," growled Tassel, "you couldn't possibly know unless you felt the whip as I did.  The flogging induced the bloodwrath all badgers suffer, which explains your description of a titanic struggle while bound to the triangle.  When the bloodwrath ended, I fainted from exhaustion.  A bucket of cold brine revived me.  Then I experienced pain like none I had ever known."

Tassel shuddered.  "Near the end of my sentence, I passed out a second time.  Again a bucket of brine brought me to my senses.  That salt bath added a fiery sensation, which seeped into each welting cut.  It added still another form of torture to my flogging.  By the time the last lash fell, I had reached the limits of my endurance."

The squirrel padded over to Tassel and sat beside her.  He said nothing and did no more than rest his paw on her thigh.  Another shudder ran through her body as she leaned back against the cushion.  Tassel remained still for several moments.

"Perhaps we should end this session now.  If you like, I could remove this from my records."

"We shall continue.  Your account is most accurate and descriptive when it comes to my flogging.  In fact, it is a bit too detailed.  Yet your account ignores my solitary confinement.  Redwall may not have a dungeon, but it has four cellars used to age October Ale.  Three are always full while the fourth awaits the next year's vintage.  The empty one became an oubliette, a kind of dungeon accessible via the ceiling.  Let me tell you what happened after they cut me down and where your account continues."


The drummer ceased.  Exhausted by her struggles, Tassel slumped down as far as her restraints allowed.  Salt from the brine wash stung her eyes and left her with a translucent vision.

A measure of relief came when Tassel felt one chain slacken and her arm dropped to her side.  Two hares maneuvered her arm over their shoulders and they took a firm grip.  The process repeated itself when the second chain played out of the ring atop the other post.  If it were not for the four hares supporting her weight, she would have collapsed.

The four soldiers dragged Tassel as they followed behind Captain Greypaw, Corporal Sweetleaf and Vindicarr.  Vindicarr coiled the whip about his left arm while leading the others toward a low building just past the orchard.  As the hares dragged Tassel, they crossed wide patches of snow, which soon became marred by crimson splashes. 

A door opened and the cloudless brilliance of the late winter day gave way to the shadows inside.  Flint and steel came together, producing a glowing sun that dispelled the shade within the building.  Vindicarr handed the lantern to the Corporal and once more the hares proceeded forward while dragging her across the wooden floor.

Moving through one door, the party descended several flights of wooden stairs until they came to a massive door.  Past this barrier the party weaved its way around numerous crates stacked alongside painted lines.  Once the group reached a section Tassel found no different from any other within the underground warehouse, they lowered her to the hardwood planks. 

One hare strung a rope through the eyebolts in her wrist shackles and soon her arms were pulled high enough Tassel wanted to lean up, but had not the energy to do so.  A door within the floor lifted, revealing a black pit.  No sooner did she perceive this opening than Vindicarr's foot delivered a hard kick to her hip, tumbling her over the side.

Once again her arms supported her weight and the pain from the sharp ridges within the cuffs competed with the collision her back made when it contacted the far side.  As she swung back to the brown hare, he withdraw a blade.  Holding Tassel by her ear, he severed the thongs binding her mouth.  Vindicarr pointed down and she dropped into the blackness. 

She collapsed on the floor, but suffered no additional injuries as those holding the rope controlled her fall.  A few seconds later the rope whipped through the eyebolts in her cuffs, disappearing in the light from above her.  As Tassel looked up, she could see Vindicarr silhouetted by the lamp.  Then the ceiling trapdoor crashed down and sealed her in a room blacker than any night.

Must not cry out.  Must not cry out.  She repeated this mantra, determined not to give the brown hare any indication of her pain.

Tassel held her muzzle shut.  She listened as the hares above her slid the bolts home.  Tassel continued her vigil until the muffled slamming of a heavy door.  Another few breaths passed and she released her grip.  Alone in the darkness, she shattered the oppressive silence with a tortured scream.

She recalled what Corporal Sweetleaf had relayed about her prison days earlier.  Not having the strength to stand, Tassel crawled across the worn stone floor until her questing paw came against a stone wall.  Hoping random chance would work in her favor, she moved along one wall, her outstretched paw questing for the corner.

Luck was with her.  Tassel's paw first contacted a cold metal container and another cool to her touch.  A wooden dipper hung inside the cold bucket.  She lifted one dipper full of the cold water and poured it over her back.  Wherever the cold liquid ran, she felt relief from the burning sensation the salt caused.

Tearing one leg off her britches, she tore it into two parts.  One she dampened in the bucket and cleansed her back.  Though the action made every cut and welt explode into new pain, she continued washing the salt from her back.  Panting from her exertion, she pushed the half filled water bucket into the corner and dragged what she knew was her slop bucket until she found another corner.

Memories of a time when she visited a deep mine on a far away island came back to Tassel.  Slaves laboring deep within the earth tied blindfolds over their eyes.  In such a lightless world, one risked blindness when they exited the mines.  Those slaves went without any light for three or four months, she could endure one.  She did not know if one month could jeopardize her sight, so she fashioned a blindfold from the second piece of torn fabric.

Following the perimeter of the cellar proved painful and arduous.  As she reached the final corner, her paws felt a wooden bucket filled with apples.  Next to this she found two heavy blankets and a sheet.  Until the thirty days passed, this would be her larder and her bed.  Tassel found the cold bearable thanks to the blankets and once wrapped within them, fell into a deep sleep.

Each time Tassel awoke, she explored her cell.  Without any visual reference, she did not know the dimensions of her prison.  Even the ceiling defied her attempts at touching it.  Tassel's imagination soon turned the cellar into an immense site whenever she remembered it held an entire year's vintage of October Ale.  Since she had no idea what lands the Abbey controlled, her mind increased the yield with each attempted calculation.

Prior to her incarceration, Captain Greypaw said her supplies would be replenished every five days.  This didn't help since she had no way of telling time.  Tassel ate and drank whenever she wanted.  When her supplies ran out, she wondered how soon the hares would return with additional food and water.  Fear had her thinking they abandoned her to this blackness.

It started with the sound of a heavy door moving.  Tassel removed her blindfold and placed it on her bedding.  Her paw latched onto the handle of the empty apple bucket she kept near her blankets.  She kept one paw along the wall as she searched for the dry water bucket.  Anticipation had her listening for the sliding sound made by the bolts sealing the trapdoor.

A shaft of light illuminated the ceiling like the breaking of dawn after a long night.  The forms of those who stood above her remained shadows before the sun.  Somebody lowered a rope to her.  Tassel's fingers trembled as she hooked the empty buckets and her eyes followed them upward.  Seconds later, a bucket containing apples descended and she removed it from the hook.  Her guards repeated the process and lowered a full bucket of water.  Once freed of its burden, the rope flew upward.  Each paw held the handle of a different bucket.  Just as she stepped away from the light, the darkness again embraced  her when the heavy wooden trapdoor dropped into place.  Throughout the process, the hares never uttered a word nor responded to her shouted greeting.

Alone again, Tassel sought ways of occupying herself.  She felt the cold stones, trying to discern patterns her fingers could use to identify where she stood in relation to the four corners.  Sometimes she attempted to venture across the open floor but without the comfort of the walls, she soon became disoriented.  Terror filled her mind as a wrong turn left her wandering in circles until she blundered into the stony wall.

While awake, her cell morphed into a frightening place.  Tassel wondered if this pit contained every evil demon her elders told her inhabited the night.  The oppressive dark magnified her isolation.  In her desire for companionship, Tassel wished Henrietta was here, almost.  Without somebody to answer her voice, the room resembled a cold crypt.

Sleep provided Tassel no solace.  Dreams that seemed like distant and wispy happenings whenever the sun rose took on too much substance within this rock bordered tomb.  Sometimes she recalled fond memories of her life.  Those were rare.  Terrors, both real and imagined, haunted her sleep.

One nightmare kept repeating, each time more frightening than the last.  Tassel envisioned herself standing atop the staircase leading down to the Tapestry Hallway dressed in the finest of silks.  A nearby mirror reflected her image wearing fancy earrings and a sparkling necklace like the great nobles she saw as a child.  A merry festival drew her closer.  When she reached the bottom of the stairway, General Vindicarr greeted her by bowing low before extending his paw as he escorted her to the party.

An instant later, the scene misted and when clarity returned, Tassel found herself secured to the triangle and Vindicarr's whip uncoiled.  As each lash landed, she screamed and the festival's merriment grew even louder.  Couples danced past her paw in paw with an expression reflective of the happy occasion as another wave of agony enveloped her.

Such a nightmare had her heart race.  Like a bursting water jug dropped from above, the horror of her dream vanished, yet the emotions it invoked remained.  The dream emphasized her recollection of the brown hare's delight when he administered the court's sentence.  Each time she pictured his maniacal expression, Tassel trembled.

"That hare makes even the cruelest of our taskmasters back home seem like a gentle lover." 

Tassel's voice echoed through the empty chamber.  Nobody responded.  She shuddered again as the memory returned and she tried vanquishing it by burrowing deeper into her bedding.  Knowing the hare and his whip awaited her or how every resident of the Abbey stood against her had Tassel wallowing in self-pity.

Time passed and Tassel acclimated to the chill of her prison.  Familiarity with the room allowed her to dart about the chamber as her fingers identified landmarks.  She even ventured away from the walls, confident she could eventually reorient herself.  Such excursions provided her the opportunity to flex her muscles and gave her something to do in the perpetual darkness.

Above her, the sound of a distant door moving on its hinges.  If her ears did not deceive her, the next sound would announce the arrival of her guards.  She had a good reason to wonder if her senses tricked her.

Both buckets are still half full.  Are those hares coming early?

Removing her blindfold, she stared at the ceiling.  The sound of the bolts sliding reverberated throughout the cellar.   Such a soft noise, and yet it reminded her of thunder.  She bounced from foot to foot wondering what brought her visitors.  A patch of light defined the opening and Tassel approached, shielding her eyes from the distant glare. 

The silent figure standing above her lowered a wicker basket tied to a rope.  Not sure how she should perceive this offering, Tassel approached with caution.  Just as she freed the basket, a sharp whistle drew her eyes to the lighted doorway.  Whoever stood by the opening tossed something down to her.  Before the door again sealed her in darkness, she recognized the object as the doll Shortspike received as a gift.

Gathering both items, Tassel rushed back to her corner.  Though the basket held her curiosity, the doll captured all of her attention.  It may have been nothing more than a collection of rags sewn together to resemble the hogget, but to her, it became a viable connection to the world beyond her dark cell.  She wanted a companion, now she had one.

"Well Miss Stickerback, it's so nice of you to visit me.  How did you ever get away from that silly hogget?"

Shortspike reminded her of the hogget she raised back home and how her life ended with an arrow in her chest.  Her daughter never held a doll; her only possession was a length of discarded yellow fabric she weaved in her head spikes.  It was dingy, it was frayed, but it became Chaff's prize possession.  One hogget had so much and the other had so little, yet both were precocious youngsters, full of life.  At least one was.  That thought brought her back to the reality of the present.  Tassel crushed the doll to her breast and sobbed for the child she lost.

Her tears spent, Tassel replaced the blindfold over her eyes.  Setting the doll aside, she opened the picnic basket.  The smell of fresh baked bread assaulted her nose.  Such a mouthwatering sensation had her wolfing most of it down before she regained her composure.

"What say we try saving the rest?"  Tassel giggled as she spoke to the doll she held in one paw while she placed the warm bread back in the box.  "Let's find out what else is in here."

One ceramic jar she touched burned her paws and she yelped at the unexpected pain.  She licked her fingertips trying to sooth the tingling sensation.  Tassel turned her head to where she dropped the doll. 

"You're right.  If the bread is warm, maybe something within this jar is hot. ... Open it carefully?  What do you think I was trying to do when I burned my fingers?  ...  Maybe it would be best if we wait for it to cool. ... Fine, I'll open it now."

It took effort working the lid off without spilling the contents.  Tassel dipped her finger into something hot and slimy.  She brought the lumpy mess to her lips and cautiously licked her fingers.  Her delighted voice filled the room.

"Why it's oatmeal; there's even a taste of honey mixed in it. ... My word Miss Stickerback, we do have the makings of a fine meal. ... Don't be so impatient; I'll open the other jar too."

The second jar felt cooler to her touch.  After Tassel removed the lid, her nose detected the unmistakable odor of vegetable stew.  Dipping her finger in the broth proved it was still warm, but unlike the oatmeal, did not retain its heat.  Holding the lid over the opening, Tassel tipped the jar and drank the warm broth.  With the liquid drained, she scooped out the contents, savoring each new taste sensation until her claws scraped the insides clean.

As much as she spoke of restraint, the contents of the basket soon disappeared.  Her questing fingers explored every corner of the container, but found nothing more.  With a full belly, Tassel jogged to the corner where she stored her supplies.  She finished off her banquet with an apple and dipper of water.

Once she returned to her bedding, Tassel's fingers probed for the doll.  Carrying it with her, she spoke to it of her home life.  She talked of Chaff and compared her to Shortspike.  This had Tassel laughing or crying as she recalled many incidents of her hedgehog daughter's life.

After she exhausted every memory, Tassel sat on her blanket.  The gravel in her voice filled the room with an evil echo, but it felt so good having a companion, even an imaginary one.  Her distorted voice no longer scared her.  She remained sitting in the corner, rocking the doll like the female otter did after nursing Chaff before she was weaned.  Just as the rocking would cause the infant to sleep, Tassel soon drifted off into the land of dreams, but this time no terrors invaded her rest.

Time continued.  Once again the sounds of the heavy door opening and the sliding of bolts awakened her.  Tassel pranced out to the middle of the floor.  Dropping the blindfold onto her bedding, she willed the opening to appear.  The light brought her such joy.

The rope lowered about a third of the way with a lantern, which illuminated much of the empty cellar.  For the first time, she saw the dimensions of her prison.  Then the unmistakable sound of wood sliding over wood.  The hares lowered a ladder.

Corporal Sweetleaf started the long descent to the stone floor.  This must be my final day here before I face the post again.  Fear gripped her and she hustled to her corner where she wedged herself.  Two more hares soon joined the doe officer as they approached her.  In the outline of the illuminated opening, another three hares observed her.

All right girl, you can either go down fighting and be dragged to the post begging for the mercy you know they'll not show or you can go with some measure of dignity.  Either way, you'll be feeling Vindicarr's whip before this day is over.

The soldiers drew nearer.  Summoning up whatever courage she had, Tassel pushed away from the stony corner and took a step forward.  Though fear made her stomach churn, she stood tall.  She marched up to Corporal Sweetleaf trying to project a confidence she didn't feel and with a voice that broke, offered to follow them up the ladder.

Instead of grabbing her, the soldiers stepped aside.  They flanked Tassel until she started up the ladder and followed close behind her.  Those upstairs assisted her without making any additional move at restraining her actions. 

The guards surrounded Tassel and they left the storage cellar.  A quick stop at an unoccupied washroom allowed Tassel a bath and change of clothing.  Satisfied with her appearance, Corporal Sweetleaf led the group through the maze of passageways inside the wall until they reached the Abbey proper.  Everyone proceeded to the second floor.

They turned down another passageway and approached Captain Greypaw.  Beyond him, a reddish-brown mouse reacted to the squad as it approached.  The mouse squeezed past the Captain and opened the closed door.  Corporal Sweetleaf moved before the officer and snapped off a sharp salute.

"Sorry for the delay, sir.  Tassel smelled quite ripe and needed a change of clothing.  I thought it best we make the prisoner as presentable as possible before her audience with the Father Abbot."

"Are all our travel preparations ready?"  When Corporal Sweetleaf nodded, the Captain instructed them to meet him at the main gate.  They withdrew, leaving her alone with Captain Greypaw.

"You seem confident I'll not be any trouble, Captain."

The hare ignored the implied question in her greeting.  "We have been recalled to Fiery Mountain and will be departing today, Tassel."

Her jaw dropped.  "That has to be the first time you ever used my name.  Considering everything you have said and done since we first met, I'm curious why you chose this time and place."

Just then the mouse exited the room and pointed at Tassel and then at the closed door.  As she started past Captain Greypaw, he stopped her with a paw placed gently on her shoulder.  Putting his muzzle so close to her ear that the long whiskers on his nose touched her, he murmured so low she almost missed his words.

"I took your advice, Tassel.  Thanks to you, my sleep remains peaceful.  The demons that haunted me are vanquished.  I'll always be grateful." 

With that, the hare quickstepped down the hallway.  In a matter of seconds he disappeared beyond the same corner the other hares had taken.  A less than gentle harrumph from the mouse reminded Tassel there was still the matter of the Father Abbot.

The female mouse stood before the door, as much a guardian as a herald.  She turned her back on Tassel and gave a gentle knock.  The mouse didn't wait for a response, she opened the door and stepped into the room.  Once pass the threshold, she kept her back to the door.  Tassel followed.  As soon as Tassel stepped far enough into the room that the door would not strike her when closed, the mouse exited, sealing her in the office.

Tassel never had an opportunity to see where the Father Abbot worked.  His office appeared larger than it was due to the huge window dominating the wall opposite the door.  To either side there were shelves running almost to the ceiling holding an array of books.  A quick glance behind her revealed even more books.  Nothing within the room revealed anything about its occupant's personality.

With the exception of a heavy wooden desk located at the very center of the room, the office contained minimum furnishings.  Opposite the desk sat a sofa big enough for two other guests.  A pair of chairs flanked it like miniature guards.  Not certain about the proper protocol, she stood at a spot halfway between the sofa and the desk.

Behind the desk, the leader of Redwall Abbey sat.  He leaned forward in his chair, his grey muzzle resting atop the interlocked fingers of his paws.  The light green color of his habit's hood may have accentuated the graying muzzle and brownish fur of the shrew's face, but it did nothing to soften it.  This fellow's expression showed no evidence of friendliness. 

"A good meal will have to wait; duty first," the shrew muttered. 

Tassel and the Father Abbot engaged in a brief staring contest.  She felt the old shrew might not accept coming out less than first so she maintained her silence.  She broke eye contact and gazed down at the rug. Time stretched as she examined the fine weave and intricate pattern.  She waited.

"You are about as welcomed as Razdor."  A slight pause before the shrew continued.  "No, I suppose an uneducated vermin wouldn't know the fable about a demon responsible for sewing discord among friends.  You are just like that legendary demon.  Razdor did it to the entire world; you caused the same trouble at our Abbey."

Father Draccon rose from his chair and walked to the large window.  He continued looking outside as he spoke.  She wanted to demand he at least face her, but some instinct warned her that challenging this one would not be wise.

"I'm now regretting the favor I did King Meles.  I thought this a simple trial and Redwall's independence guaranteed justice.  Maybe it did for the ruler of the Northern Alliance, I don't know.  If you were some woodlander dignitary or some vermin beast, none would be concerned about your final fate, but badgers have a special place in the history of our Abbey, especially females."

The Father Abbot never acknowledged his guest by facing her.  "Perhaps King Meles hoped we would be so shocked by your crimes that we would order your execution, thereby keeping his paws clean.  All I know is your case has destroyed this Abbey's peace and harmony.  Many here want you dead; most want you gone since you represent every disgusting thing vermin have done to woodlanders.  Your support of our enemy sickens us and your constant presence reminds us just how evil such creatures can be."

The shrew glanced over his shoulder and glared at her.  "Did you know about the many altercations between Lady Pellanore and former general Vindicarr outside the courtroom during the trial?  They remained verbal, though quite heated.  It escalated after the first part of your sentence."  He waited a short time, but Tassel kept her counsel.  "I'm not speaking to the wind.  Respond while I'm feeling amiable."

"You seem to have forgotten I remained in isolation both before and after my flogging.  How can you blame me for whatever bad blood existed between your Badgermom and the hare?"

"Oh but I can, vermin.  Vindicarr's eager anticipation of your next session in the triangle infuriated our dear lady so much she challenged him to a duel.  I forbad it, but they slipped beyond our gates.  Lady Pellanore killed the hare, but died four days later from her injuries.  The world lost two honorable citizens while you continue living.  As far as I'm concerned, we came out the looser in the exchange."

"So you're not happy with the verdict.  Why not send me away or have me executed?  I know it would please you.  You had the chance when you sentenced me."

Tassel's sarcastic tone had the shrew spinning around and stomping to his desk.  One paw shoved the chair out of his way with such force it toppled.  Father Draccon leaned across the desk and Tassel noted how his eyes glowed with an inner fire.  He did not mask his anger too well.

"It seems the emotional ploy worked on Lady Sudditta, and Chief Merkez.  They argued long and hard for your life.  I preferred having you executed deep in the woods and leaving your body for the carrion birds while shipping your head back to the king as proof of your death.  However, after ten days of endless haranguing, I conceded.  I now consider that a mistake.

"After your initial stand within the triangle, the three of us were bombarded with demands about sending you to a proper prison.  It would mean imposing the minimum sentence as defined by the king's court, which would more than double what even Redwall's Counsel of Elders thought a reasonable punishment.  Lady Pellanore's death stopped the Counsel's long deliberation regarding your second flogging.  Against my better judgment, the Counsel of Elders decided your sixteen years of involuntary servitude would commence when you were released from the cellar at dawn.  I objected, but their decision was unanimous.  I had to concede to their decision."

The Father Abbot circled the desk and made for the door.  The shrew waited until she faced him.  Father Draccon yanked the door open and led Tassel through the Abbey's corridors to the main door.  They continued their rapid pace across the open courtyard. 

Soon the two stood outside a tower doorway guarded by one of Redwall's residents.  Father Draccon extracted a key ring from the pocket of his habit and opened the lock.  Once inside, they climbed a spiral staircase that wound itself around the interior walls until it abutted another heavy wooden door.  Using a second key, the shrew opened it and motioned her inside.

Tassel beheld a chamber that almost replicated her cell under Fiery Mountain.  The only thing missing were the iron bars.  A wooden bed mirrored the one back there, even to the eyebolts located at each corner.  The only item out of place was a wide leather strap hanging from a hook over the bed.

"I must say, Father Abbot, you do have a strange sense of décor."

"Consider it inspiration.  If your work is satisfactory, it remains where it is.  Cause me any problems and I shall apply it as much as I deem fit.  Perhaps my arm is not as powerful as Vindicarr's, but I'll do my best to make the experience most unpleasant.  Since Lady Sudditta and Chief Merkez have returned home, your fate is in my paws.  For my part, I have no intention of coddling vermin."

It took a few minutes showing her the limits of her quarters.  With the exception of the tower's roof, Tassel learned anything beyond the other doors remained inaccessible, barred from the outside.  The Father Abbot explained how each morning she would be awakened, given a quick breakfast and provided a list of duties.  If she completed them, she could enjoy an evening meal before being sealed in her cell. 

Father Draccon emphasized the consequences of any misdeed.  He also informed her she would be chained to her bed each night.  If she was good, there would be enough slack for a comfortable night's sleep.  If not, she would experience a strapping while chained to a bench in a less than restful position.

"And you expect me to accept such harsh treatment?"

"To the contrary, vermin, I'm hoping you do resist." 

Father Draccon's face displayed a predatory sneer worse than the one the hare showed.  Tassel felt a shiver run up her spine, and it had nothing to do with the cold.  This shrew wanted some excuse to hurt her.

"Since my fellow judges will remain ignorant of your fate, I need only justify my actions to the Counsel of Elders, and they will not object if I show evidence you became belligerent, uncontrollable, or endangered others.  The Counsel will claim Redwall tried showing mercy, but you responded like all vermin do and we were forced into shipping you off to a proper prison.  It means a far harsher sentence, but what happens there will be of no consequence to us."

With a beckoning of his paw, Father Abbot ordered Tassel to follow him.  Once outside, the guard joined them as they marched across the field to the triangle.  Father Draccon ordered the posts be dug up, cut into kindling, and the cellar scrubbed by nightfall.  He never checked her reaction to her workload.  He just turned back to the Abbey's main building leaving her with the attendant guard.

It required over an hour digging each pole out of the ground.  Tassel then spent another hour dragging them to the woodpile and reducing each log into kindling.  Before the hour of noon, she entered her cellar prison with mop and pail.  As Tassel emptied the dirty water for the final time, she noted how dark the night sky appeared.  Despite the late hour, she rushed back to her former prison cell.

As she exited the building, the otter guard blocked her path.  "It's well past the final bell and the Father Abbot awaits you in the tower."

"Not until I return this to its rightful owner."  Tassel revealed the rag doll, Miss Stickerback.

Tassel and her guard stared into each other's eyes, measuring their opponent's determination.  They remained locked in this silent duel of wills for the shortest of times before the otter stepped to the side.  As Tassel hurried to the Abbey's main building, the guard fell into step behind her. 

With the hallways deserted, none saw the two slip into the dormitory.  Tassel hesitated.  She spotted the sleeping hogget Shortspike.  She approached the bed with all the stealth she possessed and slipped one claw under the tot's arm.  Tassel lifted the hedgehog's exposed arm as slow as she could while watching the dibbun.  Once the girl's paw rested on her doll, she withdrew and followed the guard to her prison tower.


Tassel leaned back, her voice sounding so distant.  "I knew the Abbey's leaders resented me, but I always held onto the hope things would get better someday if the residents saw me as peaceful.  Though I do admit there were days when a bad night's sleep and my newest welts had me wanting to lash out at whichever resident next crossed my path."

Stiles lowered his quill and removed the excess ink.  The squirrel placed the pen near the knife he used to maintain a fine point.  Whenever Tassel told her version of events, she had to often prod him into transcribing her words.  After describing that first day, the squirrel kept glancing at the floor.

"An interesting story, Badgermom Tassel, though I'm surprised our former Father Abbot never recorded your private conversation.  I always found him so diligent when it came to maintaining an accurate diary.  He did write some less than complimentary things regarding the Counsel of Elders overruling his decision of sending you to a proper prison.  He also mentioned your heavy workload, but nothing more.  From what I read, his threats of physical harm were nothing but bluster as his diaries never referred to you by name after your release from the cellar."

Tassel shifted her position on the couch.  She studied the squirrel scribe sitting behind his podium near the opposite wall.  His words surprised her.  It raised her hackles as well as her ire.

"Are you telling me the Father Abbot never mentioned how he laid into me with that strap on my first night out of the cellar?  He never revealed how many times he repeated the beating?"

All it took was a shake of the squirrel's head.  Tassel needed some outlet for her emotions.  She snagged the nearest pillow and threw it in the direction of the scribe.  It sailed over the ducking writer and struck the chalkboard behind Stiles, smudging notes made earlier.

"Why that vile, Hellsgate demon's spawn," she snarled. 

Tassel stomped a path before the couch from one wall to the other while Stiles peered over the wooden podium.  "That shrew made my life as miserable as he promised.  He never allowed me visitors and the slightest complaint about my actions resulted in a firm application of the strap.  And now you tell me there is no evidence substantiating my claim?"

Stile's timid voice confirming her statement set off another blistering list of descriptive words, all directed at Father Draccon.  "Even after all these years, I cannot pass the tower where I was imprisoned without shuddering.  There are times I awaken in a cold sweat from a dream where I am once again in that room." 

Tassel dropped back on the sofa, her voice still straining for self-control.  "No wonder everyone thought Father Draccon such a nice fellow.  He kept his abuse of me a closely guarded secret."

The fiery oration continued.  Eventually Tassel's voice tired of vilifying the long deceased Father Abbot.  Though she kept her utterances closer to a normal level, the list of vulgarities continued. 

Stiles reached into his almost depleted satchel of scrolls.  "Let's forget about describing your life as an indentured servant since it brings up so many unpleasant memories.  Why don't we examine how it all ended?"

Tassel pushed away the proffered scroll.  "Not right now, sir.  I need a good night's sleep and a quiet day to purge my anger.  Tomorrow, right after the Dibbun Bell, we shall try to conclude this account."

"Another tankard of October Ale, Sire?  I understand this year's vintage is exceptional, though our brew master does have the habit of making the same claim every year."

King Meles sipped his drink as he lounged in the comfort of the Father Abbot's office.  He placed his paw over the tankard, blocking the shrew's attempt at topping his mug. 

"Too much of a good thing will leave my head spinning and no doubt I'll be offered another while downstairs.  Best we conclude our business so we can return to the Dibbun Day festivities with clear heads.  That way, even oldsters like us can enjoy such a fun day."

The king knew his hare guards stood at the end of the corridor leading to the Abbot's private office.  Their presence kept all from approaching and even a sharp-eared hare would remain ignorant of anything said inside.  It made conversing far more productive between the two rulers as they could avoid the diplomatic niceties that sometimes led to misinterpretations.

"Your letter last week was quite specific about your purpose and I was most pleased following your orders, Sire.  Other than myself, only the gatekeeper knows your secret and she isn't one who talks.  Your news will become the highlight of this year's celebration."

"Not everything in my letter was the truth, Father Abbot."  He placed his tankard on the floor by his chair.  "I never intended asking you to reconsider joining our alliance.  It was included in my official communication to legitimize my coming here and speaking one on one.  I'll tell you now I would advocate just the opposite."

"To think I spent so much time trying to find an excuse not to accept your offer.  Though I'm the Father Abbot and I rule here, there are times I must bow to the will of Redwall's Counsel of Elders.  When you make your big announcement and with everyone in a festive mood, I may have found it hard advocating our continued independence."

"You do know why," asked King Meles.

"It's our vermin badger.  If we join your alliance, we would have to surrender her to your courts, something which would offend our sense of justice since she has already been convicted by us.  Freeing her isn't an option as there are those who would see this as preferential treatment, or us maneuvering into a more favorable position with you.  Either could cause a rift in your union.  Keeping her here isn't possible as it would be in defiance of your laws.  Is that a fair summation of the problems our joining your Northern Alliance would create?"

His question had King Meles chuckle.  "You have a keen eye for politics, Father Abbot.  My official report will say you refused my request for an alliance.  Redwall will remain independent and beyond my jurisdiction.  No matter what the other nobles may think of your vermin badger, they too will disregard what has been labeled an Abbey matter.  However, her presence does create another problem we must address."

"Than you have me at a disadvantage.  I see no problem with her status or her eventual exile."

"I do believe it's time we change her status from indentured servant as such a term is tantamount to calling her a slave.  We are both opposed to such an abomination and so another solution is needed.  Yet I cannot allow her exile, now or later, without incurring the wrath of too many nations.  What is needed is a way of keeping her imprisoned while offering her a sense of freedom.  This way both factions can claim my judgment favored their position."

"An interesting dilemma, your majesty; have you found such a solution to your problem?"

King Meles polished off the dregs of his mug before responding.  He needed time to gauge the shrew's reaction.  If he opposed him, he had no power to force his will.  Then the problem of her eventual release might cause political troubles at a future time.

"I intend offering her probation for life.  Tassel will be confined within the outer walls of this Abbey and still subject to your orders.  If you or your successors believe her conduct ever warrants it, or she ever proves herself a danger to you or others, surrender her to the full weight of woodlander justice and we will reinstate her original sentence.  I'll not intervene if you ever exercise this option.  I'm certain just the threat of such a harsh punishment will keep her docile.  The downside to my proposal is finding her a position where she can be seen as making a vital contribution to your society."

Draccon sputtered.  "Our residents resent her presence, but tolerate her because they know she will be expelled at some defined date.  Keeping her here for life will not sit well."

"Has she ever proven to be a problem over this last year as an indentured servant?"

"Everyone concedes she has become a model citizen, hard working, obedient, respectful, and quiet.  I would be hard pressed denying her such a change in status without incurring opposition from the Counsel of Elders after you make such a public announcement.  As much as they detest that sow, your offer would appeal to their sense of fairness.  Though I cannot think of what duty lies within her ability and meets your criteria, but it need not be decided tonight.  It can wait."

He levered himself out of his chair and stood next to the door.  "Then our business is concluded, Father Abbot.  I do believe the best time for making my royal proclamation is when we get downstairs.  I expect our vermin badger is in attendance?  She should hear about my decision regarding her status from me."

The shrew moved to the door, but hesitated.  "Her behavior was not to my liking today so I confined her to her cell for the evening.  It will take me a few moments making her presentable.  Enjoy the festivities, your majesty; I'll join you as soon as possible."

They parted company at the end of the corridor.  While the shrew took a path through the Abbey, King Meles retraced his steps to the foyer before going into the Tapestry Room.  As he strolled through the Abbey, his attendant hare guards surrounded him.  His position required them, but he sometimes wished he could leave these soldiers back home.

When the king's entourage entered the hallway, everything stopped.  The musicians ceased playing and like a pebble within a still pond, the silence rippled outward until every conversation ended.  A nod of his head and a wave of his paw restarted the music.  As the melodious notes filled the room, the residents whispered as if this some formal function that required lowered voices.  Within a short span of time the gaiety that existed before his entrance returned.

Minstrels were well into one show when the Father Abbot returned to the head table.  At the intermission Father Draccon suggested they make their announcements, but he just grunted in reply.  Once more the minstrels played the vamp to their show.  When the play ended, every resident within the hall joined him applauding the actor's performance.

Since King Meles stood, he called out for silence.  In a matter of seconds, the Abbey residents focused on him. 

"Today is the day the Eternals bless our young with gifts.  It is a time of celebrating the good things about life at a time when the world is deep into the winter season and these cold nights seem to last forever.  Though I am your guest, I have brought presents that will mark today as a most memorable feast."

King Meles pointed to the door behind the head table.  One of his attendant hare guards rushed over and opened it on his unspoken command.  One by one, out stepped the many residents who served the king in his war against the pirate nation.  Residents applauded while long departed husbands, wives, and relatives called out to the returning multitude.

The Abbey's champion warrior entered first, holding aloft the Sword of Martin like a battle standard.  The golden pummel reflected the lantern lights.  The red jewel in its hilt bedazzled everyone within the room as its many facets drew every eye.  To a chorus of cheers the old otter returned the blade to its proper place above the tapestry portrait of the Abbey's founding warrior, Martin.

He allowed the thunderous cheers to resonate throughout the chamber.  Like the Father Abbot, King Meles applauded.  Just as it seemed like the returning warriors would join loved ones, he shouted above the din. 

"And now, a special gift for two who thought they lost so much."

Every eye followed his finger and focused on the open doorway.  A gaunt squirrel stepped into the room.  Despite his cleanliness, there was no hiding his unkempt appearance and the lusterless sheen of his black fur.  Even his green eyes remained devoid of life.  Two females shrieked at the top of their voices.  In a mad rush, Robertasin and her mother embraced the father and husband they thought long dead.

"His release was providential.  A troop ship lost its drinking water during a sudden storm.  It forced them to set course for an uninhabited island to replenish their supply.  At the same time, and on the opposite shore, a pirate ship did the same.  Needless to say, our Long Patrol hares and the menagerie of vermin sailors had a bit of a scuffle." 

He waited until the laughter ebbed.  "Our victory resulted in the capture of their ship, the extermination of every pirate, and the liberation of the surviving oar slaves.  Both ships docked less than an hour before my departure for your Abbey.  Needless to say, I couldn't leave this fellow behind, regardless of his condition."

After crushing wife and daughter in his embrace, the male squirrel's eyes flared to life.  The liberated oar slave stepped forward and pointed his finger at the female badger sitting in a distant corner.  At first his growl couldn't be heard over the cheering, but when he let out a second and louder snarl, the room fell silent.

"There is no way I could ever forget your scent.  How did you get here, badger?  And how is it you live?  I remember well what you did to my cousin and those hares when I was first captured."

Tassel stood and took a step forward while the crowd parted.  "And I remember you too, sir.  You were the one scheduled to serve the oar with the rebellious hare officer.  Since those who were chained alongside him earlier suffered harsh beatings, I'm wondering if you know the how and why behind his mysterious death."

"You accuse me of murder?  I'll not stand here and accept such an accusation from a beast who served slavers."  His eyes darted from face to face.  "Somebody give me a sword and I'll put this filthy vermin deep underground where she can rot." 

"There will be no bloodshed on this festive day."  King Meles allowed his voice to thunder.  With order restored, he stared at the squirrel family standing before the head table.  "The female badger has been tried, convicted, sentenced, and punished for her crimes.  If you cannot accept this judgment, withdraw in peace and with my blessings to you and your family."

For several seconds nobody moved.  The male squirrel lowered his arm and turned in his direction.  The former pirate prisoner's quick bow was just deep enough it could be considered respectful.  The rescued squirrel beckoned to his mate and daughter before they made for the exit.

The disturbance created by the former oar slave when he spotted Tassel dampened the festive spirits for many of Redwall's inhabitants.  Few cheered the announcement about the pirates being defeated and peace restored.  The king remained standing before a quiet crowd.  As the silence grew, the king returned to his seat.  Attending musicians took this as a cue and played a lively tune.

Tassel retreated to a bench along one wall.  From there, she had a view of the entertainers as well as the head table where the Father Abbot sat.  I have got to think before I react.  No doubt Father Draccon will again demonstrate his displeasure with my tongue when I'm put back in my cell, and my back is sore enough.  Her mind fixated on the last minute instructions of the Father Abbot just before they entered the room about being on her best behavior and she remained oblivious to those around her.  It took the stroke of a gentle paw to distract her mind.

"When I asked if you would be here, our Father Abbot gave an adamant no.  I'm glad he relented; you deserve some fun."

"I don't think he had much of a choice, Henrietta.  According to the Father Abbot, the badger king has something to say I must hear."

That got the vole's attention.  She tried prying the information out of her, but pouted when she learned Tassel knew nothing about the upcoming announcement.  Then the vole embraced her, but Tassel's sudden intake of air had the vole retreat.  Henrietta stared at her with a befuddled look.

"I don't understand, Tassel.  Before the verdict, you always welcomed my hugs, now you avoid me."  The vole stood up and crossed her arms; she kept shifting as if deciding if she should stay or leave Tassel alone.  "Even when your guards allowed it, you push me away."

Tassel kept her muzzle pointed down at her feet.  "Considering what I am, I'm doing you a favor.  If you continue associating with me, others might suspect your actions.  You've been too good a friend to suffer because of me."

There came a loud snort from the vole.  "Don't you remember me telling you the harvest festival marked the end of my eighteenth year?  I'm considered an elder, so I need nobody's approval regarding who I befriend."

Then the vole's claws mussed the fur on Tassel's arm.  "I know the Father Abbot said you're not allowed to have anything personal or I would have given back your grooming kit.  So why don't you come to our furrier?  I could do wonders to that pelt of yours if you would just give me a chance."

"I have no time for such luxuries.  The Father Abbot keeps me far too busy and he isn't likely to grant me time off for a proper grooming.  I'm just happy he's allowing me to attend this festival, regardless of his reasons.  As you said, it is good to have some fun."  For the first time in many days, Tassel smiled.

While the minstrels played, she felt the heavy thump of the vole as she plopped down on the bench.  Her friend's words became a comforting noise and she nodded whenever there was a short pause.  Once more her friend tried wrapping her paws about her and this time Tassel did not withdraw.  It was worth the slight discomfort.

"The Dormitory must feel empty with only one dibbun.  Wonder if Shortspike is keeping whichever elder is assigned duty there busy.  If nothing else, I bet her continual use of the word silly is having them yank their fur out by the roots."

"You're right about that, Tassel.  I've heard the elders assigned to the Dormitory are most grateful when somebody else takes over.  The stories I hear say she has more energy than any two elders can contain.  I'm thinking she's lonely since Dale and Egress claimed private quarters once they became elders."

The two friends sat back and remained quiet while they enjoyed the show.  As the costumed actors performed, the vole would explain either the background to the story or the latest gossip regarding whichever resident Henrietta identified in the swirling crowd. 

King Meles rose after a long round of applause at the show's conclusion, which had the crowd grow quiet.  For the next few moments, the king thanked everyone for such a splendid time.  He complimented the chef and made a quip about not being able to walk through the doors because of such good cooking.  Laughter and loud clapping followed.

Once the room grew quiet, the badger king pointed at the bench in the distant corner.  Tassel knew he pointed at her.  Henrietta gave the reluctant Tassel a gentle prod and followed two paces back.  Each time she hesitated, Henrietta hissed at her, insisting she keep moving forward.  Now she stood before the table where both the badger king and the Father Abbot sat.

"I am here to announce a change in your status as indentured servant, Tassel.  Because of your exemplary behavior this last year, you have been placed on lifetime probation.  I'll not go into the details of your status as Father Draccon can explain them better when you meet in private tomorrow."

Tassel gave a deep bow and backpedaled but two paces before she heard the commanding tone of the king.

"Stay where you are, sow.  Since you are an elder, you will not receive a gift this day, but this doesn't mean I cannot give you as a gift."

He ignored her obvious confusion and pointed to the closed door at the end of the hall.  Two hare guards hastened as they obeyed their ruler's unspoken command.  When the door opened, a small hedgehog charged into the room.  She made straight for her.

"Momma T.  Momma T."

That voice held such joy and brought back such wonderful memories.  With a practiced ease, she knelt and caught the running hogget.  Both arms swept around the enthused girl.  Tassel extended her claws and without thinking, kneaded the girl's back while avoiding the spikes like she did so many times.  Then she pushed the child away from her.  Joy turned into horror.

"You're dead.  I saw you die and I held your lifeless body."  Tassel squeezed her eyes shut.  "This is all a bad dream; no, it's a nightmare and I'm back in my cell.  You're not real.  None of this is real."

"I'm real, Momma T.  After the arrow hit me, I fell and struck my head.  I went un ... I went uncon ... uncon." 

When Tassel opened her eyes, there stood a six-year-old hedgehog with her arms crossed in front of her like an angry elder.  The girl gave a powerful exhale, which had her lips sounding like sheets flapping in a strong wind and had her whiskers moving back and forth as if they were oars on a ship. 

"I fell asleep and couldn't wake up."

It was the kind of reaction Chaff had whenever the proper term for something important escaped her mind or was unknown to her.  Such a serious expression on a young child always made Tassel giggle when she was a slave.  Here, it jarred her sense of reality.  She reached out to Chaff and when her fingers felt the warm body, pulled the child into a crushing embrace.  Now the crying hogget wrapped her shorter arms around Tassel's neck.

"The Healers kept me in the Infirmary back home for so long 'cause the arrow came close to my heart.  It took forever getting it out."

Tassel's paws kept feeling the hedgehog, confirming her reality.  "How did you get here?"

"Since I had no parents, the Healers sent me to their home once I was strong enough to cross the ocean."  Chaff pointed at the badger king.  "I told him who raised me and he brought me to Redwall Abbey."

The touching reunion ended when Father Draccon spoke.  "For now, Chaff must reside in the Dibbun Dormitory while you continue sleeping in your tower.  Once I have found you a permanent duty, I'll have you moved into proper quarters and I might consider granting you visitation rights."

The Father Abbot pointed at the two elders assigned to the Dormitory.  "Chaff will go with them while you return to your room."

A reluctant Tassel released the girl and watched as the elderly couple led Chaff up the steps.  At first, Chaff balked, but a quick kiss from Tassel and the promise of seeing her later stopped the hedgehog's resistance.  While the two elders and Chaff climbed the steps, Tassel withdrew.

For the next three weeks, Tassel worked at various tasks within the Abbey.  Sometimes the other elders ignored her; most times they tolerated her presence.  When she received a summons to meet with the Father Abbot, Tassel experienced a sense of both expectation and dread.

Before Tassel rounded the final corner and approached the Father Abbot's office, she adjusted her latest piece of attire.  Thanks to one of the performers at the Dibbun Day festival, she now wore a mask over her scarred face.  She reached up and tugged at the fabric near one ear and after taking a deep breath, marched into the Father Abbot's office.

Inside the room sat an odd assortment.  The first one she knew all too well.  Father Draccon, wore his customary green habit and sat behind his desk.  On the chair next to him a female squirrel held a young female mouse sucking her thumb.

"You summoned me, Father Draccon," Tassle asked.

"After much consideration, I have decided you shall replace Lady Pellanore as our Badgermom.  Nurse Boteza tells me Sarweed is no longer a toddler, but a dibbun.  That makes her your responsibility."

"You want me as Badgermom?  I expected some lowly position, such as a woodchopper or a laundry worker.  Not something so important.  Why would you give me such a position?"

"As an outsider, I didn't expect you to know we at Redwall put a lot of faith in dreams and visions.  It is that simple a reason."

Sarweed chose this moment to make her presence known by sliding off the squirrel's lap.  The child marched up to her and stared at her before turning to the nurse.  The young mouse continued sucking on her thumb, which distorted her words. 

"Half no ace." she declared.

Tassel laughed as she knelt down before the mouse so they could look each other in the eye.  "Oh I have a face and you'll see it later today."

Nurse Boteza shifted her gaze from the mouse standing before her to the Father Abbot.  The squirrel hesitated and faced her.  The smile she displayed gave Tassel a feeling of confidence, as if this lady had judged her and found her worthy of the child.

"I will accompany our new Badgermom and show her around her new quarters.  Something tells me Tassel might need a little guidance over these next few days."

"Agreed.  Have her return here in an hour and I'll explain anything you overlooked," said the Father Abbot.  As Tassel prepared to shut the door, the Father Abbot called out to her.  "I would consider making your mask a permanent addition to your wardrobe.  It makes it easier talking to you without looking at such a sickening face."


An hour later, he explained what he expected of her as Redwall's new Badgermom.  The Father Abbot had just gotten comfortable when somebody knocked on his door.  His secretary opened it and poked her head inside.  Her expression said he should anticipate trouble.  Her words confirmed his suspicion.

"Father Abbot, the full Counsel of Elders is demanding an immediate audience."

"Not unexpected, Cinnamon; please send them in."

Five residents pushed past the mouse secretary.  They stomped into the room with fire in their eyes.  Taking their seats, they perched along the very edge of the chair glaring at him.  The only one who didn't sit was a female mole, the current leader of the Counsel.  She marched right up to the Father Abbot's desk and leaned over it as if she meant to make their meeting a more physical one.  Father Draccon never gave her a chance to talk.

"Over the last two weeks, Martin the Warrior has visited me in a vision.  Each night he insists for the safety of this Abbey's young, that badger must be given the position held by our late Lady Pellanore.  I resisted.  The next night the vision repeated with Martin being even more emphatic.  This morning, I realized he wasn't showing me what duty to give her; he was showing me a way of ridding Redwall of her presence."

Each member of the Counsel blinked.  Even their leader backed away from the desk.  The lady's face took on an expression of utter confusion.  A look mirrored by the assembled Counsel members.

"I have denied her any and all rights at disciplining those dibbuns without my expressed approval, which I'll never give.  Sooner or later, one of those youngsters will do something wrong and she will react.  Within the hour, a simple verbal reprimand will become a harsh thrashing only a Healer could fix.  At that point, every resident will express their indignation and demand I do something.  I shall then order her immediate expulsion, which you will support."

Realization came to the Counsel members and their eyes brightened.  The mole laughed and her voice turned delightful.

"Brilliant, sir.  Under the terms of her probation, once she is expelled, even if we later admit it was unfounded, she can never return.  King Meles must declare her an escaped vermin criminal.  If she is lucky, she will escape and disappear.  If she isn't, she'll either be killed when they try arresting her or she will feel the full weight of woodlander justice for whatever time remains of her life.  In either case, our paws are clean.  Our Abbey's reputation for justice remains untarnished and after another generation, that foul beast will be nothing more than a forgotten footnote in Abbey history."


Stiles retrieved the last scroll as Badgermom Tassel returned it to him.  He returned it to its proper place in the satchel he used.  Some inner sense told him Tassel needed to talk.  He puttered around his workstation until she voiced her question.

"If the Father Abbot conveniently forgot about his many disciplinary actions against me, why would he record this conversation?  Wouldn't it be a very damning blemish to his stellar reputation as a just arbitrator?"

"He didn't.  I'll not speak ill of the dead by saying who, but one Counsel Elder coveted the position of Father Abbot.  Six months prior to your arrival, Father Draccon had a mild heart seizure.  This Counsel Elder thought he could use the conversation as leverage and have himself elevated to Father Abbot after the shrew's death.  It didn't work.  Father Draccon already nominated his successor in a letter he wrote right after his recovery.  When he died of a massive stroke four days after your elevation to Badgermom, Father Hughnaught became our new leader.  One needs a very compelling reason to ignore the wishes of the former leader."

Tassel went to the fireplace where she prepared another pot of tea.  "I remember the day our chef took the title of Father Abbot.  Chaff was being quite a naughty child.  Father Hughnaught gave me full disciplinary authority over those dibbuns, with the exception of anything harsher than a spanking."  Tassel gave an amused snort.  "Our recently departed Father Abbot had too soft a heart.  If he ever suspected I intended such an action, he often suggested I consider another form of punishment."

Just then the door to the scribe's private office opened and a female mole leaned inside.  Her eyes scanned the room until they fixated on Tassel, who continued brewing the tea.  Stiles shivered when he noted the predatory look the mole gave the unsuspecting badger.

"Our Counsel of Elders has just announced we have a new leader.  Her very first order has Tassel reporting to her office."  When Tassel turned, the mole's eyes brightened.  "Redwall's new Mother Abbot is Robertasin.  Apparently the Counsel was swayed by her argument about living so close to the Abbey she knew what concerned us the most and since she lived outside the Abbey, she could act in our best interest without friendships influencing her decisions."

As the mole retreated and the door closed, the teapot crashed to the floor where it shattered.  Lurching forward, Tassel dropped to all fours and scurried to the trashcan.  Her paws held onto the rim as she vomited.  Each time he thought her distress had passed, another wave of nausea seized Tassel and she continued retching.

Stiles grunted as he assisted a quivering Tassel to her feet.  His voice overrode her objections and he led Tassel to the Healer's office.  Twice along the route Tassel tried convincing him she felt fine, but he remained deaf to her pleads.  A quick conversation with the Healer and she hustled Tassel into the examination room while Stiles sat outside the closed door.

After several moments, Healer Shortspike exited.  "You need not concern yourself, Mister Stiles; Tassel is in excellent health."

He jumped up as if the chair became a lit oven.  "Are you daft?  That badger just puked in my office four times.  Even the most inept of healers would know she must be sick."

"She is in excellent health."  Healer Shortspike held up her paw, which stopped any retort.  "I have instructed one of my staff to hunt down Bruno and have him brought here as soon as possible."

"Then she is sick or you would not be summoning her mate."  Now a belligerent note colored his words.

"Will you promise not to leave here until Bruno gives you permission?"

Stiles nodded.  The healer checked the immediate vicinity before she said another word.  Satisfied no other resident stood within hearing distance, she whispered her explanation.

"Tassel had a bad case of what some call morning sickness."  The stern expression melted as the statement's implication penetrated his mind.  "Let Bruno hear it from his mate first, but our Badgermom is pregnant.  Now if you will excuse me, I have to inform Robertasin why her first order as our new Mother Abbot cannot be obeyed."

The early evening breeze had shifted during the day from the east to the south.  It still blew over the tower's roof dissipating the summer heat, but no longer carried the scent of newly tilled land.  The shifting breeze washed over the courtyard and the aroma of fresh bread from the nearby bakery drifted over the stone parapets.  Atop the tower, only the rustling pages pressed in a binder competed with the soft snores of the napping Honored Eldest.

As the squirrel Tigraff finished reading the last sheet of paper, he closed the binder that held what were once scrolls within a weathered satchel.  He packed the binder in its proper place in the footlocker the former Chief Scribe guarded as if it were a valuable jewel.  Satisfied everything was where it belonged, the young squirrel dropped the lid into place.

The heavy thud awakened Stiles.  The Honored Eldest gave a leisurely stretch and a long yawn as he stirred.  With much grunting and groaning, he levered himself out of his comfortable chair.  Ignoring his attendant, Stiles shuffled over to the tower's high rim and gazed out upon the cultivated fields.

"Three days have passed, boy.  Have you finished my story, or do you need more time?" 

"I have indeed, sir, and there are some questions I must ask you."  When the Honored Eldest made a come hither motion with his paw, Tigraff asked about the hares and why no record listed Tassel's adopted daughter, Chaff.

"Greypaw's unit went back to the war, departing from Fiery Mountain on two ships.  As luck had it, the six privates wound up on one ship while Greypaw and Sweetleaf sailed on the other.  During the voyage, a great tempest struck and one ship almost floundered, while The Jade Coral sank with all aboard.  Since neither Greypaw nor Sweetleaf kept a diary, with the exception of the bent ear private, the names of all the others became lost at sea."

Stiles heaved a heavy sigh.  "The Captain's luck held throughout the remainder of the war as he never did see battle.  When the war ended, he retired with the rank of Major, the sole survivor in his officer's class.  He met a wonderful doe and had a son late in life."

"After her hitch in the military, Sweetleaf returned home and married some farmer.  Her oldest daughter and Greypaw's son met while serving in the Long Patrol and married.  You might recognize their grandchild's name from the history of the Invasion War, Threadfoot."

"And what of Chaff, Honored Eldest?"

A note of disappointment tinged his words.  "You did not look too hard.  She died of pneumonia six winters after her reunion with Tassel." 

His voice carried a melancholy note thanks to the resurfacing memories.  "They buried Chaff in the cemetery outside these walls and our lady badger could never visit her adopted daughter's grave.  She always said that became the harshest part of her lifelong sentence.  When Tassel died, they found Chaff's old head ribbon in a box.  Her son had Healer Shortspike place the faded ribbon inside his mother's coffin and they buried it with her."

"Do you remember the picnic basket?"  Tigraff nodded.  "I never did tell Tassel who sent it to her.  Bet she would be surprised knowing it was Greypaw.  According to my interview notes, he intended giving her only the food.  Shortspike found out what he planned and asked him to 'let Miss Stickerback visit that silly badger.'  Tassel always thought it was Henrietta's doings, despite the vole's adamant denials."

Styles turned once more towards the setting sun, his eyes focused on the horizon.  He remained that way for so long his attendant drew closer, wondering if some traveler had caught his attention.  Side by side the two squirrels stood, one seeing into a distant past and the other trying to grasp some elusive image. 

"I'm the last one.  Poor Henrietta, she died defending the main gate when the Horde first stormed our Abbey.  By the time the Invasion War ended, only two other residents familiar with Tassel's history survived from that earlier time.  Robertasin died of a bad heart three years later and Healer Shortspike passed on five years after that from brain fever, a common ending for healers."

"The ailment you refer to as brain fever is called rabies, Honored Eldest.  I understand she drank poison rather than risk spreading the disease.  It's an honorable, though sad ending for anyone afflicted by such an incurable scourge.  My notes say they found her body in the same cellar where they held Tassel, wedged in a corner behind a cask." 

"So you read my account of Tassel's trial and what happened afterward?  Every Chief Historian I approached has said Tassel's life at Redwall was unworthy of recording; only her death merited their attention.  I always thought them wrong as a heroic death means little if you don't know the hero's life."

Tigraff checked his surroundings.  He leaned close to the Honored Eldest and whispered.  "If you can act surprised at tonight's dinner, I'll tell you a secret." 

A nod prodded the youth.  "Representatives from Mossflower University's College of History are collecting the original scrolls penned by Redwall's earliest leaders.  I will go with them and help operate the machine that will transform these diaries into books all can read."

"I have known of their visit for over a month.  Our Chief Historian prattles endlessly about ridding the cellars of clutter.  Why should I act surprised when they arrive tonight?"

"Without the approval of our Chief Historian, I mentioned your account about Tassel's early years.  The University's representative almost fainted.  He said something about Noonvale University coveting such historical material.  When I left his office, I understood the legal college also wanted the material regarding your trial."

"Will they safeguard all my supporting documents too?"  Tigraff's smile confirmed the truth behind the question.  "For that, I'll not object to having my food ground into mush tonight.  As much as I would love reviewing those documents one more time, I do believe my work is finished."

The Honored Eldest faced the stairway.  "Let's not keep anyone waiting for dinner because of a senile old fool."

Five days later, Stiles still floated through the Abbey as he recalled the wonderful accolades bestowed upon his historical accounts.  Learning scholars wanted the truth behind what others referred to as the vermin badger's history gave him great satisfaction.  It made sitting through the adult's rendition of happy birthday and the dibbun's inept skit about his long life bearable.

Stiles thought about climbing to the tower's roof, but today his joints protested.  With a stuffed belly from a breakfast filled with his favorite foods, he decided to remain indoors.  A turn at the main foyer found Stiles facing the Tapestry Hallway.  This early in the morning, the sun did not touch the Great Tapestry, yet its light made it possible for any visitor to discern the many images sewn into it.

He found a bench between two windows offering an unobstructed view of the Abbey's historical record.  He leaned against the wall between the two sunbeams staring at the image of the Abbey's founder and legendary mouse warrior, Martin.

Sunlight had moved from the middle of the hallway's floor to the bottom of the wall holding the tapestry when his contemplative quiet shattered.  He shifted his gaze to the source of the disturbance.  A contingent of some twenty dibbuns of various species preceded two adult stoats into the room at a fast gait.

"Now children, we're here to see the Great Tapestry and learn about its history."  The female stoat noticed him and gave a slight head bob.  "There are others here, so let's practice our manners too."

Over the next fifteen minutes, Stiles listened as the children hunted down the many pictures sewn into the tapestry and rattled off their historical significance.  Each time a child described the picture they saw correctly, the female stoat praised them.  An incorrect answer had the stoat asking another dibbun for the proper response.

A light tap to his shoulder had Stiles looking into the eyes of an adult male stoat.  "Tell me sir, where is the Sword of Martin?  I thought it always hung above the central image of the great warrior."

For just a moment, he balked.  In the past, such a question from a vermin beast was the prelude to some bloody conflict as the vermin often tried stealing the Abbey's greatest treasure.  Then he remembered the nearby city now consisted of all manner of honorable creatures living in harmony.  The old distinction of woodlander and vermin were fast becoming a remnant of a time best forgotten.

"At the far end of this room is a display case.  The sword is kept secured inside as too many visitors in the past have tried touching or holding the sword.  Our Mother Abbot feared it might injure some visitor or could be stolen, so she moved it there."

After a quiet thank you, the male stoat meandered closer to the display case.  As he stared at the legendary weapon, he announced its presence.  Within seconds, the dibbuns mobbed the case as each jostled their schoolmate for a better view.  It took the stern voice of their teacher to restore order.

One young ferret raised her paw and waited until the teacher recognized her by name.  "My mother said there is an evil demon called the Dibbunator held within a prison cell guarded by Martin the Warrior.  Sometimes this monster escapes and rips out the soul of any child she finds.  Will we see where this monster is held?"

Stiles wanted to laugh at such a foolish question before he noted the bobbing heads of the other children.  His anger grew.  He yelled at the assembly.  All eyes focused on him as he moved towards the students faster than he ever did in the last ten years.

"Unless my ears deceive me, I understand your name is Tassel."  The young ferret's nod had Stiles draw even closer to the frightened female.  "What you seek is the same beast whose name you bear.  There were elders here who hated Badgermom Tassel and called her a dibbun hater.  It seems such an insulting term has become the name of some imaginary demon used to frighten children.  She does not deserve such a foul legacy."

The young ferret swallowed hard as she confronted him.  "Momma said I was named after a hero, not a monster."

Styles kneaded his forehead.  He understood the child just repeated a story told to her by her elders.  She knew nothing about its source.  His anger vanished.

"And your mother is right; Badgermom Tassel was a most honorable beast.  However, there is another side to her history.  For a while, she spent her time imprisoned in a tower, and before that, one of our deep cellars.  The tower no longer exists, destroyed in the siege of Redwall during the Invasion War.  As to ripping the souls from children, it is nothing more than a vicious lie.  Those who called her Mother Tassel were blessed because she loved them all.  You carry a name worthy of pride."

Those words made the young ferret stand tall and puff out her chest.  When the teacher reminded the students about touring other sections of the Abbey, the dibbuns clustered around the two elders who retraced their path.  Just before they left, all the children chorused a hearty farewell to him.

For his part, he lifted his paw and waved before returning to his seat.  He muttered about vicious rumors and how they tarnished a good name.  Stiles lifted his tired eyes and stared at the fabric face of Redwall's legendary warrior now bathed in sunlight.  He leaned back against the wall until he became quite comfortable.  A few seconds later, he slipped into a deep sleep from which none ever awaken.